HARDLY A GOOD OMEN
Per the delictable KL's prompt: Peter finds he's allergic to cats, the Marauder's tease unendingly. This didn't quite follow it, but it's Peter-centric, which is new for me, and I think it's rather nice. Kinda want to pinch this ficlet's cheeks. :P (Despite the title, not a Good Omens fic. LOL)It was an inauspicious start for a boy who wasn't entirely sure he belonged in Gryffindor to begin with. After all, it was hardly a good omen to be allergic to one's Head of House, was it?
Peter sat on his bed, miserable, his eyes red and his nose itching as badly as the kneazlepox he suffered through by his mother's hands last winter ("Well you haven't caught it on your own yet and I'll not have you ill for three weeks at school!") He was alone for the moment, but he knew Transfiguration was due to end at any time, and his roommates, who were so far wary of him at best, could only be counted on for an unpredictable reaction.
He hoped they would be understanding, but somehow he doubted it. Sirius and James only just held back from beating each other silly last night, just because their families had some different ideas. And Remus, well, he seemed a bit snotty, like he was better than all three of them. He'd barely said two words since he was Sorted.
So Peter sat quietly, huddled into a small ball at his pillow, waiting for the three boys he would be spending the next seven years either avoiding or becoming best mates with.
They arrived with little fanfare, but much clomping of stiff, new shoes. The noise stopped just outside their dormitory's door, and Peter could hear their quiet murmurs as they presumably decided upon the best way to make him feel worse than he already did.
He squeaked as the door opened.
The footfalls were quieter now, more deliberate. Two pairs went to the opposite side of the room, but the third seemed to be coming right towards Peter. He held his breath (more difficult than normal with plugged up nose) and waited for the assault.
But there was only a soft voice. "Peter? I've got notes from class for you here if you'd like to copy them."
Peter wasn't an expert yet, but he was fairly certain that was Sirius's voice, his words clipped and formal. He searched the echoes in his mind for traces of teasing or sarcasm or disdain, but try though he might he was unable to find any.
Tentatively, he tugged the curtain aside, and indeed it was Sirius, soberly holding out a few sheets of parchment, including some blank ones, and one of his prized self-inking quills that just last night he'd snapped at James for touching.
He sniffled, and then winced. "Er. Thank you, Sirius," he said, enunciating as best as he could to make sure the words got past all the snot in his head. "Was there anything really important I missed?
Sirius shrugged. "Not really. I'm sure you'll catch up in no time." Then he turned away, walking back to his own bed with sure, measured strides. Between them, James was rummaging through his trunk, and on the far side of the room, Remus was just sitting on the edge of his bed and staring at Peter, the slightest bit of a smile making him seem more like a proper eleven-year-old boy.
The room was quiet for a while, save the soft rustling of boys in a still unfamiliar space. Peter blew his nose on his handkerchief as he carefully copied out Sirius's notes (which looked a bit sparse, and he was dismayed to realise that he probably was going to be behind the rest of the class).
And then someone started giggling, and then others joined in, and Peter soon found that he couldn't help himself and started laughing too. He didn't know what was funny or if they were all laughing at him, but right now he was laughing with them, and maybe these boys would be all right after all.
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