Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Peter H. Pettigrew is born on the 7th of August, 1960. He screams into the night just moments after the echoes of his mother's own voice fade from the room. 

The facts are these: He is a healthy baby with a light scattering of light brown hair. His lungs are strong, his heart beats fine, and his grip on his mother's finger is all she can focus on. 

"Will you look at those chubby cheeks!" The mediwitch gushes to his mother. "Cute as a button, he is, and with his mother's eyes to boot." 

Edith isn't sure his eyes will stay like hers, vaguely remembering something about babies' eyes changing color. But she can see her father's nose, and her grandma's chin, and she's sure his hair will look just like her own. He doesn't look much like his father, with his dark hair and darker eyes, but that's just fine. She loves her little boy, and she's sure her husband will love him just as much once he gets back from his business trip.

Edith smiles at the thought of her husband returning earlier once news of the birth reach him. She can't wait to be with her husband and her child. Her family. 

-

When Peter turns three his father gives him a little plush animal with fur so soft that the little boy refuses to loosen his hold on it. He loves the little thing, carrying it around all day and talking to it at every moment. It's a little lion with a golden-brown mane and Peter names it Mr. Lion. 

The little family dotes on their youngest member. They eat cake, and play games, and when night falls they all cuddle together on the couch while the father reads from a storybook and the mother cards her fingers through the little boy's hair. He falls asleep in between his parents, still holding on to a little plush lion. 

It's the perfect ending to a perfect day. 

---

Gilbert Pettigrew leaves on a business trip to France on the 14th of August 1963. His wife and his three-year-old son expect him to return on Monday but he doesn't. Not on Monday or Tuesday nor Wednesday either.

Edith sends owl after owl. No word. She floos his workplace, she writes to his mother, she frets and she worries all the way until Friday. 

His workplace sends her an owl: Mr. Pettigrew asked for a transfer, he no longer works for this division. 

Edith doesn't know what to do. But she knows what she has to do: take care of Peter. 

"Come along darling," Edith says, going to pick up her son. "It's time for bed."

"Nuh-uh." The little boy shakes his head, ducking away from her arms. "I'm waiting for daddy."

The mother sighs, fidgeting with the ring on her finger. She kneels in front of her son and says, "Daddy would tell you to go to bed." 

"But I can't go to bed." Peter cries. "Daddy has to tell me a story first."

"Mummy can tell stories too, dear." His mother says, smiling slightly. "I'll tell you any story you want."

Her smile falters when Peter shakes his head. "I want Daddy's stories."

"Well- Peter, darling... I don't think daddy's coming home tonight." She says, reaching out to hug him. "And Mr. Lion has to sleep too, you know?" 

"I want Daddy!" The toddler cries into his plushie, refusing to be held by his mother. 

Meanwhile, she frowns and she worries, and she does her best to console her child. She sings to him, and hugs him and strokes his cheeks free of tears. When he falls asleep on her lap, she places a soft kiss on his forehead and takes him with her to bed. 

Thursday sees Edith Pettigrew rise with the sun. After a restless night, the word in her mind is comfort. She remembers slow evenings at her mother's side. Arms drawing her into a hug and a plate placed in her hands, the sweet smell of treacle filling the air. 

Edith might not be able to give her boy what he wants, but she can do her best. 

So on the 16th of August 1962, Edith Pettigrew steps into Diagon Alley with sure steps and a shopping list in hand. It's early still, but sugar is slow to caramelize, and she needs some fresh air to clear her mind. 

She heads to the bank first, as one does when in Diagon. She greets the teller, hands over her key and... 

"You don't have access to this vault." The teller says, "Is there anything else?" 

Edith can't say she processed that immediately. "I'm sorry, what?" 

"Your access to the vault has been removed." The goblin says slowly. 

"By who?"

A raised eyebrow and a pointed look over his glasses tell her everything his next words do, "The owner, Mr. Pettigrew."

Edith doesn't make treacle tart that day. Instead she stares at the ring on her finger, and fends off the questions of a little boy missing his dad. 

---

"Mrs. Pettigrew, make sure the paperwork for Magical Incidents gets filed properly." A mustached man says as he strides down the hall, calling over his shoulder, "And get Miss Brown to submit her forms to Acquisitions. Don't let her bully you into doing it."

"Yes, Mr. Wilkes." Edith replies, though her boss has already shut the door behind himself. 

She slumps behind her desk with a sigh. The pile of paperwork for Magical Incidents is as huge as ever, and seems even less organized with every passing day. Edith gets to work immediately. 

Accidental magic makes up the most of it. A giant kitten wreaking havoc in Diagon, courtesy of a seven-year-old girl. A nine year old boy somehow getting past a storefront's charms and turning the whole display red. A six year old making all of Fortescue's ice cream flavors taste like strawberry. 

Edith is glad Peter's outbursts are more prone towards levitating his favorite toy rather than sabotaging a business. 

So she sorts through paperwork and makes piles and sends memos, and when she's finally done she finds Miss Ada Brown. 

"Edith! How are you?" The younger woman greets her with a smile to make Witch Weekly envious. 

The exchange of pleasantries goes as usual. That is to say, a whirlwind of Hello's and How'd-you-do's with mixed in tidbits of gossip courtesy of Ada.

It makes Edith feel almost like she's a schoolgirl again, sighing over boys in class and trading gossip during dinner in the great hall. She's reminded of late night giggling with Saoirse and Christine. 

Edith wonders if some people wouldn't find it strange that she has found this camaraderie with Ada considering she'd only met her a couple weeks ago. But Edith, plain and soft spoken as she is, has always liked shiny people. With her gossip and her smiles and her bright clothing, Ada glows with life, and Editg can't help but drink it all in. 

She smiles and nods and hums at all the right places. She is the audience that Ada craves, and she plays the role well, until finally she gets a chance to fulfill her goal. 

"So, what made you come down to my little corner of the world?" Ada asks. 

Edith gives a little sigh, sending a commiserating look to the younger woman. "Mr. Wilkes wants the acquisition forms."

Ada returns the look easily. "Don't tell me he's hounding you about that now?" 

Edith hums in confirmation, a half-shake of her shoulder hinting to a shrug. A subtle 'what-can-you-do' that Ada immediately picks up on. 

"They're not even due until next Tuesday!" Ada groans, rolling her eyes at their absent boss. "Don't worry Edith, just tell him they must have gotten shuffled somewhere and somebody missed them. I'll slip by and drop them off on Monday." 

Edith lets a little puff of amusement escape through her nostrils. Not a laugh, nor something as unrefined as a snort, but enough to let Ada know her audience is receptive. 

Ada grinned. "See that there? A sense of humor. That's why we're such good friends, and why it's a shame you're stuck down in filing."

Edith starts a slight shake of her head but Ada rolls right on, "No, no, it's true. The gents up there could use a little laughter. Maybe the shaking would loosen up the stick up their—" 

"Ada!" Edith interrupts with a badly hidden smile. 

"Yeah, yeah, that's 'uncouth' or whatever." Ada rolls her eyes teasingly, "Your inner mum is showing, which means it's time for you to go home and take care of your little tyke."

"I'll be doing that very soon, worry not. Just had to pop in here before leaving." Edith says. "And my Peter is a darling, I assure you. 

"Tell him his auntie Ada says hello." 

And with that, Edith gladly lets herself be ushered out of the little office. She likes Ada, but whether she asked her to or not, Ada would have delivered everything on time anyway, so the visit was really for nothing but Mr. Wilkes' need to give orders.

Tomorrow will be another pile of paperwork. Another string of endless tasks and meaningless errands. Hours upon hours of work she has no passion for. But tonight she will have time with her son, and if working here is the way to give him the life he deserves, she will do it a hundred times over. 

Edith throws a pinch of powder into the floo, "Number 8, Stoutwell Street." 

The green flames swell around her as she steps through. The soot-stained grey of the standard ministry chimney is replaced by worn upholstery and a little boy napping on the sofa. The sight of her home is a balm to her soul.

---

Peter practically bounces where he stands, "—and then Mrs. Carter made scones and she said we had to wait until after lunch, but Mr. Carter was already eating one so Mrs. Carter told him off, but then she said fine, cause Mr. Carter set an egg- exan—" 

"Example?" 

"an ex-am-ple and then we had scones even though we hadn't had lunch yet."

"So it was a good day?" 

"The best! The scones were really good and Mr. Carter gave me a Hen-gist of Wood-croft card for my collection, see?" He says, brandishing a chocolate frog card where a red-haired man gives her a firm nod in greeting. 

"Oh, how wonderful!" Edith says with a smile, making a show of inspecting the card. "And it looks brand new too! Not even a crease."

"Yeah!" Peter says, nodding vigorously, "Mr Carter's the best."

Edith smiles at her son, giving the card back to him.

 "...Mum?" Peter says after a while, avoiding his mother's eyes when she looks at him. "Why don't I have a Dad?" 

Edith stills, her fingers immediately clench around her ring. "Peter— You— Did someone say something to you?" 

"No, I just— Mervin has a mum and a dad. And Mr. Carter is a really good dad."

Edith swallows hard. She thought she was ready for when Peter started asking questions, but she really isn't. "Your dad," She starts, feeling the familiar engraving on the inner curve of her ring. "He loved you very much." Once, she doesn't say. I thought so, she doesn't say. 

"But he had to leave." Edith says instead, ignoring the part of herself that still asks why. 

"Oh." Is all her son says for a very long time.

He looks at the floor, frowning. Edith forces her fingers to still their fidgeting.

Peter looks up, "Will you have to leave too?" 

Edith feels her heart break all over again. "No, darling. Never." 

Chapter Text

Dear Mr. Pettigrew, 

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. 

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl no later than July 31st.

---

"Mum! It's here! It's here!" Peter runs to the kitchen, wildly waving a piece of parchment around. "I'm going to Hogwarts!" 

"Oh! Come here, let me see." His mum beams at him, waving him towards her. 

Peter practically shoves the letter in her face in his excitement. 

Edith takes it with gentle fingers, reading the letter has fond memories of her own bubbling up. Even as she dreads sending her little boy away, she can't help the smile that spreads over her face. 

"Oh, darling, you're going to Hogwarts!" Edith gushes. "We should celebrate. Let's bake a cake, whichever type you want." 

"Can we make the one with berries on top?" 

"Of course, my darling boy." His mum says, running her fingers through his hair. "Oh, you've grown so fast. Hogwarts already!"

---

Peter has been to Diagon Alley before. He knows where all the stores are and where they sell all of his favorite things. That is to say, Diagon is not an unfamiliar place for him, and yet—

"Are we going to Flourish and Blot's first? Or madam Malkin's? Can we buy a broom?" 

"First year's aren't allowed to have their own brooms." His mum interjects. 

"What about an owl? I'm gonna need one to send letters."

"There are owls at Hogwarts."

"And quills! And lots of parchment!"

"Planning on writing me daily, are you?" His mum teases. 

"Uhh." Peter hesitates, "Once a week?" 

"Twice a week and we have a deal."

"Yes, mum." Peter says quickly. "But it's also to take notes, you know?" 

"Taking notes? The little boy who said the owl had taken his worksheets?" His mum asks with feigned confusion. "The owl we don't even have?" 

"Muuum." Peter whines, "I was seven! And it was just writing my letters. Now I'm gonna be learning magic!" 

"Well then, I'll be expecting good grades out of you, shall I?" 

"Uhh." Peter backtracks. "I mean, the classes are probably going to be difficult, and I don't really like writing papers and all that."

His mum sends him a mock stern look. 

"But I'll work really hard!" Peter adds. "And I bet I'll be great with actual magic."

Edith sees her sons eyes widen with realization and a knowing smile quirks her lips up. 

"My wand!" Peter exclaims, "Can we go to Olivander's first?" 

"All in due time, darling." She says. "Shopping for supplies goes first."

"What about sweets? I won't be able to get any of the candy I like at Hogwarts!" Peter complains with wide eyes, "... Will I?" 

His mum hums, amused, "There's no candy store at Hogwarts, but the train trolley has some. And you'll be able to get sweets at Hogsmeade once you're in third year."

Peter gapes up at her, "But that's two whole years away! 

"Well then, you better make sure whatever you can fit in here is enough to last till the holidays." Edith says, presenting a nicely stitched satchel with a dramatic flourish of her hand. 

"Whatever I can fit in there?" Peter says, grinning wildly. 

"Until the seams are bursting." His mum replies, matching his grin. 

She laughs loudly when Peter lunges for the satchel and attempts to drag her towards the sweets store. 

---

Periwinkle, Minty Green, Ruby Red. Lights of all colors spring from the wand in his hand, lighting up the darkened room and falling to the ground like a gentle snowfall. 

"Chestnut and Dragon Heartstring, 10 inches, slightly springy." Olivander says as he clasps his hands together. "Wonderful combination for those who enjoy the finer pleasures of life." He adds with a wink at a grinning Peter. 

The eleven-year old is spellbound, staring at his wand. "Is it a good wand for charms? And powerful spells? Oh, is it good for duels?" The questions spill out one after the other. 

"It's a very good wand for large displays of magic," Olivander says, with a twinkle in his eye, "and a quick learner too."

"Wicked." Peter breathes out, finally looking away from the wand to stare pleadingly at his mom. "Can we get this one?" 

Ollivander chuckles alongside his mum, "I rather think that wand will rebel if you don't take it with you." He says. "It has chosen you. Remember that, Mr. Pettigrew, and take good care of it."

"I will." Peter nods seriously as his mother pays for the wand. 

Edith makes Peter store the wand in it's box before leaving, which he does reluctantly. They leave Ollivander's with Peter still beaming, clutching the box to his chest. In fact, he's so preoccupied with his wand that he walks out of the store right as an older couple enter, and straight into a dark haired boy. 

"Uff."

"Oi, watch it!" 

Peter stumbles back, losing his equilibrium as he refuses to let go of the box. His mum steadies him before he can fall.

"Sorry!" Peter says, picking up the boys glasses and handing them back to him. 

"Oh, thanks." The boy says, putting them back on. "That's your wand right? What's it like?" He waves to the box in Peter's arms with clear anticipation. 

Peter lights up immediately, "It's amazing!" He says, before seemingly realizing he doesn't know this boy and continuing more hesitantly. "I've never felt anything like it." 

The boy grins back, "Cool. Guess I'll see you at Hogwarts then?" 

Peter nods, offering "I'm Peter."

The boy shakes his hand, "Nice to—" 

"Son," The man who had entered Ollivander's earlier poked his head out, offering a smile to the boys and a nod to Edith. "We've got to hurry if we want to get to Fortescue's before closing time."

"Coming, dad." The boy calls to his father. "Sorry Peter, gotta go. See you at Hogwarts!" He says, and goes into Ollivander's with a bounce in his step. 

He's gone before Peter can realize he didn't get his name. Still, he's glad there will be at least one semi-familiar face at school.  

----

"Mum! Have you seen my blue jumper?" Peter calls out from the other side of the house. 

Edith looks up from the lunch she's packing. "I packed it already, it's in your trunk." She calls out. 

"Oh." She hears. "Thanks, mum!" 

Edith shakes her head with a sad little laugh. She's going to miss her little boy much more than he knows, she's sure. But she knows he's going to have a wonderful time at school. She nods to herself as the sandwich and the slice of pie wrap themselves up with a flick of her wand. 

Moments later, she hears the sound of Peter going down the stairs. 

"I'm ready, mum." He pops into the kitchen. "When do we leave?"

Edith gives him a look. "School supplies? Robes? Toothbrush?" 

Peter nods at each question. 

"Socks?" 

Peter's eyes widen and he runs off to grab a few pairs. Edith gives a fond shake of her head. 

"Okay," Peter says, popping in once again, "Now, I'm ready."

"Alright. We leave in ten minutes." 

---

The Hogwarts Express is a lot shinier than Peter imagined. And bigger. The crowd is about as large he expected, but the noise is just... 

"Daaad! Come on, my friends are right there!"

"Hurry up, Gid! I'm not letting the firsties get our compartment."

"Martin! Martin! Where'd you get to?" 

"Deirdre! No running near the tracks!" 

Well, he didn't think there'd be so much shouting involved. Still, Peter feels excited enough to shout, so he guesses that about explains it. 

"Now, Peter, write me at least twice a week and don't hesitate to ask the professors if you need something."

"Yes, mum."

"And try to make friends on the train, even if they end up in another house."

"Yes, mum."

"And remember I'll be proud of you no matter what house you end up in."

"Yes, mum, I know." Peter said with a laugh, "You already told me all this."

"Sorry, sorry." Edith says, brushing his hair away from his forehead. "I love you."

"I love you too."

"You've got everything? Trunk? Lunch? Wand?" 

"Yeah—" 

"Here," His mum presses a few sickles into his hand. "For the trolley."

"Thanks, mum." 

Edith presses a kiss to his forehead and gives him a teary smile. "Go on then. Have fun."

Peter gives her a tight hug. "Bye mum." He says, and climbs into the train. 

Edith watches him go and waves at him from the platform when he looks back at her. She's going to miss him. 

Peter looks down the corridor at all the compartments and takes a deep breath. This is the first time he's leaving home for longer than a few days. The first step to becoming a proper wizard. 

Peter nods to himself with an excited smile pulling at his lips and steps forward.