Peter sat at the back of the library in a state of faint confusion, sighing deeply into the open book front of him. Studying for Transfiguration class was a damn sight easier when Remus was around to help. For the fourth time in as many minutes he attempted to read the opening passage of chapter 8, his mouth not-so-silently muttering along with the text.
"Hamster transfiguration is particularly difficult... due to the illogical nature of their lower in...testinal wall, which remains in stark contrast to the remarkable transfiguration properties of the common... or household mouse, who's internal positioning of the digestive system enables... a particularly explosive (that is not to say literally) transformation during the latter part of the spell ..."
Peter shook his head vigorously at the book, as though registering his bewilderment of it might cause the words on the page to suddenly start speaking in plain english for once.
He was not a stupid boy, though many would probably argue different, but he did sometimes suffer with the more sophisticated vocabulary displayed around him. Often when Remus went off on one of his Muggle literature-inspired poetic ramblings, it was all Peter could do to stay focused. Some of Sirius's jokes tended to go over his head a little, and occasionally James' tactical quidditch plays did nothing more than baffle him into nodding in dumb confusion at all the technical jargon. Peter was the kind of boy who liked to call a spade a spade: or in this case, a transfigured hamster a teacup.
His hand absentmindedly wandered into his pocket, where a paper pag full of sticky sugar sweets from last week's Honeydukes raid lay waiting. Peter's eyes slid over to Madam Pince's desk. She was bent over a large pile of book returns and didn't seem to be paying much attention to anything else. With well practised movements, he yawned and neatly deposited ten or eleven Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans into his open mouth. Chewing contentedly he focused his attention back to the open textbook.
"mmmf... for suckshesful transfiguration to.. nomm.. occur, oo must firsht prepare yoor subject by .....eerrgh, peanut butter.."
He screwed up his face in disgust as one of the beans spurted nutty goey juices all over his tongue. Peter hated peanut butter. It was cheap and plentiful in the muggle world, and over the years he had been subjected to many sandwiches filled with the rancid stuff by his mother. It didn't seem to matter how many times he protested and made a great show of spitting it out onto his plate, she never remembered. She had neither the time nor the money to prepare anything more nutritious, and instead meals in the Pettigrew household usually consisted of a cheap carbohydrate, and an even cheaper filling. Jam sandwiches. Chocolate Spread. Baked beans on toast if it was cold out. Probably why i'm so bloody short, Peter reflected darkly. Stealing another glance at Pince, he spat the clump of jelly beans out into his handkerchief and scraped manically at his tongue, making faint retching sounds as he did so. Stupid fucking every flavour beans.
A shocked giggle came from his left, and Peter jerked his head towards the sound. Two fourth year Hufflepuff girls were goggling at him from the next table with a look of mild revulsion on their faces. Oh god, what an idiot. Peter flushed and attempted to hide himself behind his stacked textbooks. This only served to make them giggle louder. Still flustered, he turned his full body away from the girls and blocked their gaze with his elbow. Idiot. Idiot idiot idiot.
Giggling girls were one of Peters biggest fears. They did it constantly, and you never really knew exactly what they were giggling at. Of course in situations such as these it was bloody obvious what they were giggling at, him, and rightly so for he was a messy disgusting pig.
Now he had to make the decision to either stay and be the butt of some ridiculous fourth year girly joke, or leave and be unprepared for tomorrows practical. Remus was on prefect duty later tonight, so there was no point expecting extra tuition back at the dorms. Asking Sirius for help was probably about as useful as asking a teapot for a hand with the washing-up. Peter sighed in desperation. Screwing his eyes together and looking the very picture of distress, he asked himself that old familiar question.
WWJD?
"Hamster transfiguration is particularly difficult... due to the illogical nature of their lower in...testinal wall, which remains in stark contrast to the remarkable transfiguration properties of the common... or household mouse, who's internal positioning of the digestive system enables... a particularly explosive (that is not to say literally) transformation during the latter part of the spell ..."
Peter shook his head vigorously at the book, as though registering his bewilderment of it might cause the words on the page to suddenly start speaking in plain english for once.
He was not a stupid boy, though many would probably argue different, but he did sometimes suffer with the more sophisticated vocabulary displayed around him. Often when Remus went off on one of his Muggle literature-inspired poetic ramblings, it was all Peter could do to stay focused. Some of Sirius's jokes tended to go over his head a little, and occasionally James' tactical quidditch plays did nothing more than baffle him into nodding in dumb confusion at all the technical jargon. Peter was the kind of boy who liked to call a spade a spade: or in this case, a transfigured hamster a teacup.
His hand absentmindedly wandered into his pocket, where a paper pag full of sticky sugar sweets from last week's Honeydukes raid lay waiting. Peter's eyes slid over to Madam Pince's desk. She was bent over a large pile of book returns and didn't seem to be paying much attention to anything else. With well practised movements, he yawned and neatly deposited ten or eleven Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans into his open mouth. Chewing contentedly he focused his attention back to the open textbook.
"mmmf... for suckshesful transfiguration to.. nomm.. occur, oo must firsht prepare yoor subject by .....eerrgh, peanut butter.."
He screwed up his face in disgust as one of the beans spurted nutty goey juices all over his tongue. Peter hated peanut butter. It was cheap and plentiful in the muggle world, and over the years he had been subjected to many sandwiches filled with the rancid stuff by his mother. It didn't seem to matter how many times he protested and made a great show of spitting it out onto his plate, she never remembered. She had neither the time nor the money to prepare anything more nutritious, and instead meals in the Pettigrew household usually consisted of a cheap carbohydrate, and an even cheaper filling. Jam sandwiches. Chocolate Spread. Baked beans on toast if it was cold out. Probably why i'm so bloody short, Peter reflected darkly. Stealing another glance at Pince, he spat the clump of jelly beans out into his handkerchief and scraped manically at his tongue, making faint retching sounds as he did so. Stupid fucking every flavour beans.
A shocked giggle came from his left, and Peter jerked his head towards the sound. Two fourth year Hufflepuff girls were goggling at him from the next table with a look of mild revulsion on their faces. Oh god, what an idiot. Peter flushed and attempted to hide himself behind his stacked textbooks. This only served to make them giggle louder. Still flustered, he turned his full body away from the girls and blocked their gaze with his elbow. Idiot. Idiot idiot idiot.
Giggling girls were one of Peters biggest fears. They did it constantly, and you never really knew exactly what they were giggling at. Of course in situations such as these it was bloody obvious what they were giggling at, him, and rightly so for he was a messy disgusting pig.
Now he had to make the decision to either stay and be the butt of some ridiculous fourth year girly joke, or leave and be unprepared for tomorrows practical. Remus was on prefect duty later tonight, so there was no point expecting extra tuition back at the dorms. Asking Sirius for help was probably about as useful as asking a teapot for a hand with the washing-up. Peter sighed in desperation. Screwing his eyes together and looking the very picture of distress, he asked himself that old familiar question.
WWJD?
26 comments | Leave a comment