dotmoon.net
Directory

The Red Wall by amy

The House

Peter stared at his hands as he was gripped by memories. Thoughts ran so quickly through his mind that he could hardly comprehend them before they were gone. The impact of what he had just done had not yet hit him, but it was simmering close to the surface, ready to break through all the other thoughts.

Although he would never be as smart as his school friends, he had a knack for plotting his way out of danger whenever his neck was on the line. His great strengths in such situations were his lack of pride and his inability to make decisions. Because he was always forced into actions by some outside influence, he was never responsible for anything that happened. Guilt never bothered him since nothing was ever his fault. He sank down into an ornate wooden chair and tried to gather himself together.

His entire life had been out of his control. He had not asked to be plopped into the unhappy marriage of his parents. They were very ill suited for each other. His father was the cold, rational type; the sort of person who is respected but rarely liked. His mother was once a pretty girl, who never sought any particular accomplishment. She was a social vine who wound her way up social ladders by clinging to others. People found her pleasing in a way they never could her husband because her opinions always matched their own so perfectly. She considered social status to be all important and she clung to compliments like precious jewels. Though she was without any great degree of malice, she secretly delighted when one of her friends slipped in their social standing.

After age began to quickly strip away her beauty, her husband discovered her to be almost entirely without aptitude and lost interest in her. While that same realization came to her in a much slower manner (and she never fully admitted it), she began to see Peter as her source of future advancement. She was disappointed to find that her son was in no way particularly handsome or talented, so she took on that peculiar point of view some mothers have which blinds them to their sons’ faults and magnifies whatever small accomplishments they happen to acquire.

His father had no such illusions when it came to his son. He was disappointed to find that his son was without sense, so he made little time for the young boy. He was never unkind to Peter, nor did he openly ignore him. He simply let his job at the Ministry of Magic dominate his time. When he was around, he viewed his wife and son with disinterest, and left them to their own amusements.

Although his character naturally tended towards his mother’s side, his father’s absence seemed to cement the matter. She quickly taught him the art of social climbing, but he never could achieve her subtlety. Her manner was charming. His was desperate. Her secret terror was abandonment. With Peter, it was no secret. Still, he clung to his betters with such tenacity that people accepted him, either through indifference, pity, or need. He never really cared which.

The years past and Peter felt the force of his mother’s will sweep him around. He embraced whatever goals or aspirations she set for him and abandoned them just as quickly when she lost interest. He borrowed whatever borrowed opinions she expressed at any given time, never fully grasping any of them. He learned to flow, never to stand. He learned to be pliable and avoid responsibility.

His mother’s friends found him quite pleasing. Unlike their own children who were filled with pert opinions and frolicking energy, Peter was well behaved and eager to please. He never caused problems and, if the group Peter happened to be a part of at any particular time did manage to get into trouble, he always appeared to be perfectly innocent. The others often wished their own children could stay so clear of trouble.

His father played one crucial role in bringing Peter to his present state. When the time came for him to leave home to attend Hogwarts, terror gripped him at the thought of leaving his mother. He was largely her creation and without her, he felt he would be lost. His father, who never seemed to pay attention to anyone’s moods or feelings, sensed his fear. On the night before his departure, Peter was sitting on his bed, starring at the trunk his mother had packed, practically shaking with fear. His father appeared in the doorway and studied Peter for a moment. His usual look of disinterest was replaced for a moment by an expression of disdain. “Find some courage,” he said to his son.

“I… don’t know if I can,” Peter replied, his voice squeaking.

“I’m not your mother. I won’t tell you what to do. I understand that you’re afraid to leave home, but,” he said, his expression softening, “being away from your mother and her friends will teach you to think for yourself.” He left Peter alone to consider the matter.

In the end, Peter never understood what his father had said to him that night. He did not think in terms of principles or morality—such concepts were lost on him. He did spend a substantial amount of time considering his father’s words, trying to twist them into a command. Even his dreams that night were filled with vague images and sounds he could not quite make out. In the morning he awoke uneasy and tired. He had never spent so much time thinking in his life.

On the train ride to Hogwarts, Peter was hit with sudden inspiration. He was quietly observing the other students, trying to find the center of influence. They were chatting excitedly about any number of topics but one particular subject caught his attention.

“Gryffindor is the house for me,” said one dark haired boy as he rested his head leisurely against the train window.

“My family has a proud tradition in the Slytheron House,” said the handsome boy sitting across from the first boy. He laughed. “I hope I get into Gryffindor.”

The other boy laughed with him. “What’s your name?”

“Sirius Black at your service,” he replied with an exaggerated bow.

“James Potter,” said the dark haired boy as the two shook hands.

The girl sitting next to Sirius began to talk about her house choice, but Peter was not listening. He decided that he knew what his father was trying to tell him the night before. Although his mother had not attended Hogwarts, his father had been in Gryffindor. “Have some courage," he had said. When James turned to him and asked, "So what House do you want to get into?” Peter replied, “I’m going to be in Gryffindor.”

A sort of calm determination took over him with a strength he had never before experienced. He was certain that if he could do this one thing his father wanted, he could fix everything between them. The cool lump of resentment which had long been festering in his stomach would fade and whatever shortcomings his father saw in him would be put aside once he saw how alike they actually were. Gryffindor would solve all of their problems.

He waiting quietly as the hat sorted the other students. He barely noticed Sirius Black’s dramatic display of mock humility at being placed in Gryffindor. Instead, he concentrated on his goal with strength of will he would never experience again. He convinced himself that he was brave and daring by recasting many of his past actions in a more favorable light while completely omitting others. His mother had trained him to take this basic human tendency and turn it into an art form. By the time his name was called, he was convinced he would be the greatest Gryffindor student Hogwarts ever produced.

The Sorting Hat was placed upon his head and he heard the small voice, “In which House should I place you? Slytherin, I think...”

“No. Gryffindor,” he replied.

The voice paused. “Are you sure? Slytherin would suit your strengths better, I must say.” He paused again waiting for a response, but Peter remained firm. “It will be difficult.”

Normally, Peter would have stopped right there and given up, but some part of him wanted to be all those things that his father represented, even though he did not understand them. He insisted, saying, “I am a Gryffindor.”

The hat made a small noise, as if it had clicked its non-existing tongue, but it didn’t argue further. “Gryffindor!” it shouted and Peter smiled.

Back to Summary Page

The dotmoon.net community was founded in 2005. It is currently a static archive.
The current design and source code were created by Dejana Talis.
All works in the archive are copyrighted to their respective creators.