Archive of Our Own ^beta

The dormitory was dark and still, save for the faint rustling of fabric and the creak of the door easing shut. Peter stirred at the sound, fingers tightening around the edge of his blanket as he peeked through the gap in his bed curtains. A moment later, he sighed, already knowing who it was before he reached for his wand.

“Lumos,” he muttered, casting the tiniest glow.

James stood at the foot of his bed, looking, for lack of a better word, wrecked. His hair was an even bigger disaster than usual, like someone had tugged at it—like he had let them tug at it. His tie was stuffed into his pocket, his robes barely thrown over his shoulders, and his cheeks were flushed pink, the kind of color that had nothing to do with the cold.

James cleared his throat. “Couldn’t sleep,” he said, voice low and not at all convincing.

Peter stared at him for a long beat. “Right. No shit.”

James gave a half-hearted shrug, barely bothering to keep up the act. Then, without another word, he trudged to his bed, flopped down, and shut his curtains behind him. A second later, a muffled, “G’night,” filtered through the fabric.

Peter didn’t answer.

Instead, he exhaled, letting the small Lumos flicker out before sinking back into his pillow. This had become routine. James sneaking out, only to return hours later looking like this—distracted, barely even trying to pretend anymore. Peter knew better than to ask where he went. Knew better than to expect an actual answer. And honestly? He could hardly blame him.

He wished he had somewhere to escape to, too.

The dorm was suffocating these days, weighed down by an absence they all felt but never acknowledged.

Ever since the incident, something had splintered between them.

Sirius had been exiled—not explicitly, not officially, but in a way that felt undeniable. He’d packed up his things and switched dorms with Frank Longbottom, without a word of protest from anyone. They’d all just… let him go. Now, he spent most of his time with Lily and the others, lingering at a different table during meals, moving in different circles. He still looked like Sirius Black, still smirked like he owned the world, but there was something forced about it. Too sharp, too bright. Like if he stopped performing for even a second, he’d fall apart.

Remus’s state was just as bad, if not worse. He had completely disappeared as well. Not physically per say, as he still sat with them at lunch and in class, but in every other way that mattered. He barely spoke. He barely existed. Conversations with him felt like speaking to a ghost, like something essential had been hollowed out of him and replaced with silence. Peter didn’t know how to reach him anymore, didn’t even know if he wanted to be reached. Even if he did, Peter had the feeling that he wasn’t the person that Remus was looking for.

James, at least, had tried at first. He’d pushed forward with that relentless optimism of his, pretending everything would smooth over if they just gave it time. But lately… lately, it felt like he was pretending less and less. Like he was slipping into his own distractions, losing himself in something—or someone—that made it easier not to see how bad things had gotten.

Which left Peter.

Alone.

He sighed, sinking further into his mattress.

***

The castle corridors echoed with the soft shuffle of feet as Peter, James, and Remus made their way from Transfiguration.

Peter cleared his throat in one of his desperate attempts to light up the mood. “So, anyone up for sneaking into Honeydukes later? I’m running low on Fudge Flies.”

Remus barely glanced up, mumbling, “Need to study in the library.”

James offered a half-smile, though his eyes seemed distant. “Got something already, but definitely tomorrow, yeah?”

Peter nodded, though doubt gnawed at him. “Yeah, sure. Tomorrow.”

As they reached the staircase, Peter paused. “I’ve got a free period now. You two have Advanced Potions, right?”

Remus nodded, clutching his books a little tighter. James gave a noncommittal grunt.

“Alright then, see you later,” Peter said, watching them head towards the dungeons. He never saw the appeal in taking advanced subjects. Honestly, school was overwhelming enough as it was. He preferred classes like Care of Magical Creatures or Divination. Surprisingly, he had a knack for the latter, even though most dismissed it as nonsense. Which is quite ironic, given that they literally lived in a world where everything was magical. How exactly would flying on brooms qualify as something less nonsensical, by that logic?

Exactly.

Not that he would ever say so out loud. James would hex him into oblivion if he did.

Deciding to make the most of his free time, Peter wandered outside, finding solace under a secluded alcove. Settling down, he reached into his bag and pulled out a copy of The Adventures of Martin Miggle, the Mad Muggle, a popular wizarding comic that always managed to lift his spirits. He wasn’t much of a reader, except for those. The story had been over for years, and he pretty much knew every copy by heart now. Still, it brought him comfort.

Peter had just gotten to the best part—where Martin Miggle, a Muggle completely unaware of magic, mistook a wand for a particularly dangerous stick—when a voice cut through his focus.

“Greetings, Peterkins!”

He didn’t react at first. Surely, that wasn’t directed at him. No one called him that.

Then, before he could turn the page, someone appeared right in front of him. Quite literally planted himself there, hands on his hips, head tilted ever so slightly, exuding the kind of effortless self-assurance that could only belong to—

Gilderoy Lockhart.

Peter blinked. “Are you talking to me?”

“Well, I did say Peterkins, didn’t I?”

“My point exactly. No one really calls me that.”

“I see. Probably should’ve picked something more…bestial.”

Peter’s brain stuttered for a second. “Uh?”

Gilderoy flashed a dazzling smile, then waved a hand as if to say, You know. “Your friend group. You all have animalistic nicknames for some reason. Thought that was your shtick.”

Peter could only stare.

Gilderoy Lockhart. Same year, shared several classes. Not exactly close, but he had always been friendly enough with him. A bit ridiculous at times, certainly more coquette than even Sirius had ever been—preening, poised, with an easy confidence that bordered on theatrical.

To each their own.

Although, the truth was - and Peter would die before admitting it -, Lockhart had an incredible sense of style. Even when they were younger, he had this uncanny ability to look effortlessly put together. Peter had spotted him in Hogsmeade a couple of times wearing outfits that defied all logic—patterns that shouldn’t work together but somehow did, colors that clashed in theory but looked impeccable in execution. And even now, in standard school robes, he had flair. His tie was adorned with a little enchanted pin that shimmered and moved, and his uniform was worn just so, fitted perfectly, like he belonged on the front page of Witch Weekly. Then, there was of course the way that he talked, his speech a tapestry of grandiloquent elegance and theatrical flair, each sentence woven with elaborate, self-aggrandizing language that harkened back to a bygone era. He was captively ostentatious, if there was such a thing. Come to think of it, with him, conversations felt less like exchanges and more like performances.

“So,” Gilderoy continued, with the air of someone who assumed he had Peter’s full attention. “How’s the planning for your annual party going?”

Ever since third year, the Marauders had taken on the habit of throwing a huge back-to-school party. It all started as a spontaneous gathering in the Gryffindor common room, a way to fend off the post-summer blues and celebrate their return to Hogwarts. James had suggested a small get-together, Sirius had insisted on adding music, Remus had procured some enchanted snacks, and Peter had managed to sneak in a few bottles of butterbeer. What began as an impromptu evening among friends quickly became the talk of the school.

Each subsequent year, they felt the unspoken challenge to outdo themselves. By fifth year, the party had moved from the confines of the common room to the Room of Requirement, allowing for more elaborate setups. They introduced themes, enchanted decorations, and even managed to charm the suits of armor into performing synchronized dances. Word spread, and soon students from all houses were clamoring for an invitation.

Peter frowned. He had, in fact, completely forgotten about the party. “Yeah… not sure there’ll be one this year, mate.”

Gilderoy gasped dramatically. “Why?”

Peter shrugged, not about to dive into the complex and exhausting lore of his best friends. “Internal conflicts.”

For a beat, Gilderoy was silent. And then, suddenly, his entire face lit up.

“Oh my god.” His hands clapped together, eyes glimmering with something Peter could only describe as a divine revelation. “This is amazing, actually.”

Peter blinked again. “What?”

Gilderoy barely even acknowledged him, too caught up in whatever idea had just possessed him. “The perfect opportunity! No Black-Potter production this year means no competition. I will take up the mantle! My party will be the event of the season.” He was practically buzzing, already talking to himself more than to Peter. “Oh, this is perfect—the decorations, the invitations, the theme—I have to find the perfect robes—”

Peter just sat there, watching in stunned silence as the boy turned on his heel and strode away, still murmuring grand plans under his breath.

What the hell had just happened?

***

It was another five days before Gilderoy Lockhart approached him again. Just like last time, Peter had found himself reading alone when it happened. Only this time, before he could utter as much as a single sound, Gilderoy began, his tone grandiose and his expression earnest:

‘’I have come to a profound realization and must tender my deepest apologies. When I expressed elation at the prospect of you not hosting a party, I was not reveling in the discord among your comrades. Rather, I was enthused by the opportunity it presented. I now recognize that my words may have seemed inconsiderate and self-centered.”

Peter blinked, trying to process Gilderoy's elaborate monologue. "You might as well be speaking Parseltongue, because I didn't catch a word of that."

Gilderoy's expression softened, and he spoke more plainly, "Basically, I apologize for being so joyous about your misfortune. I am sorry to hear that your friend group is struggling at the moment."

Oh.

Peter couldn’t help but let out a light chuckle. “Merlin. That was days ago. Who even does that?”

Gilderoy shrugged elegantly. “As I mentioned, the realization only just dawned upon me. I came to you the moment it did.”

With anyone else, Peter might have dismissed this as plain politeness. Or full-on hypocrisy. Yet, as he searched the boy's eyes for a trace of mockery, he found nothing but sheer sincerity. For a moment, the usual flamboyance was replaced by genuine remorse, and Peter couldn't help but believe him.

He nodded, offering the boy a small smile. “Alright then. Apologies accepted, I guess.”

“Well, I am most glad that we were able to clear that up before my party.” Suddenly, Gilderoy’s demeanor shifted to one of theatrical excitement. He marked a pause, bringing his index to his lip in a comically quizzical way. “Oh, did I say ‘my party’? How clumsy of me. Perhaps I should have said…” He paused again, his eyes stopping somewhere behind Peter. “Our party!”

Peter blinked, utterly puzzled. “What are you looking at?”

Gilderoy rolled his eyes in exasperation. “I’m breaking the fourth wall,” He sighed, though he quickly recovered his poise. “But anyway! Our party! Yes, indeed, Peterkins, this my gift to you. I hereby knight you as my co-host.”

By Godric, that boy was really about to make him grow precocious forehead wrinkles. “Sorry?”

“Given that your friends are in a bit of a predicament, I am offering you to join effort to organize the newest, hottest party in town, by yours truly. Well, us. Ours? You get it.”

“Yeah, no way,” Seeing how his face dropped, Peter sighed, attempting to sound a bit more kind. “But thank you, really. Gilderoy that’s…awfully generous of you.”

I guess? I frankly don’t know what’s happening here.

“Oh, okay,” Gilderoy's confident demeanor wavered, and he shifted his approach. "I mean, I could, of course, manage the event on my own, but..." He hesitated, an uncharacteristic uncertainty in his voice. "I really want it to be exceptional, and you have experience in these matters. Your assistance would be invaluable."

Peter was taken aback by this display of vulnerability. Gilderoy always exuded confidence; if anyone knew how to throw a party, it would be him, right? Yet here he was, seeking Peter's help.

He couldn’t even remember the last time anyone had come to him for any type of advice. That wasn’t really his role, when it came to things. Or anything, actually.

Before Peter could respond, Gilderoy added, "Besides, it might help take your mind off whatever is troubling you with your friends."

Peter debated internally for a moment. After all, he had been in dire need of distraction. So what if his came in the form of a tall blond boy with a diamond haircut and eyes so blue you'd think he had conjured them to look like that? The boy was harmless. It was better than nothing, surely.

Finally, he nodded. “Alright, I’m in.”

Gilderoy beamed, practically bouncing on his heels. “Splendid! I shall rendezvous with you soon to discuss the particulars of our grand affair.”

As Gilderoy departed with his usual flair, Peter wondered if this would become a pattern: Lockhart disrupting his solitude only to flit away moments later.

***

The first so called rendezvous ended up being scheduled later on in the week. In true Lockhart’s fashion – and despite the fact that they shared many classes together and that he could have just come up to Pete in person -, the invitation came under the form of a luxurious envelope made of enchanted parchment. Somehow, he had charmed the paper to glow softly and then, upon opening it, to let out some glistening specks of blue and silver. Inside, adorned cursive letters spelled out:

At a quarter to five, we shall meet; in front of the Trophy Room, our plans to complete.

As Peter was preparing to leave the dormitory for his long-awaited meeting with Gilderoy, he was startled by Remus's voice.

"What's that?" Remus inquired, nodding toward the elaborate invitation in Peter's hand.

Peter shrugged, attempting nonchalance. "Oh, just Lockhart's way of inviting me to study."

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Really? He went through all that effort just for a card? Couldn't he have just talked to you?"

"Then it wouldn’t be him, wouldn’t it?" Peter replied, glancing at the ornate script.

“True,” Remus nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on the invitation. "Well, it's a beautiful piece of magic," he commented, before returning to his book. "Have fun studying, Pete."

"Yeah, sure. See you later, Moony," Peter muttered, tucking the invitation away as he headed out.

Peter glanced at the clock; there was still some time before curfew. Just to be safe, he had taken the liberty of bringing James's Invisibility Cloak. He could have asked James for permission, but he figured it was better to beg for forgiveness afterward. Besides, if James were more forthcoming about his own whereabouts, Peter would know when to return the magical garment. For tonight, it was safely tucked under his arm as he made his way to the third floor, half-whistling.

He had to admit, for the first time in a while, he felt a spark of excitement. This felt like a small adventure, reminiscent of the shenanigans he and his friends used to get up to. He had missed that sensation.

Arriving at the Trophy Room, Peter immediately spotted Gilderoy, who greeted him with a radiant smile.

"Perfect! Let us go then!" Gilderoy exclaimed.

Peter blinked in surprise. "Wait, we're not meeting here?"

"No, this was only the primary location. I couldn't put the other on the invite; it's kind of a secret," Gilderoy replied, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

Intrigued, Peter nodded. "By the way, thank you for the card. It was beautiful."

Gilderoy beamed, his smile almost blinding. "Did you like it, really?"

Peter nodded earnestly. "Of course I did. Remus said so as well."

Gilderoy's face glowed with pride as he guided Peter through the castle. "Well, I am glad."

As Peter navigated the labyrinthine corridors of Hogwarts alongside Gilderoy, he began to recognize the familiar path leading toward the castle's kitchens. This route had been a secret haunt for him, James, and Sirius during their nocturnal escapades to procure treats for Remus after full moons. The realization that Gilderoy was guiding him to this clandestine spot piqued his curiosity.

Upon reaching the entrance—a painting of a fruit bowl—Gilderoy extended a finger and tickled the pear. With a soft giggle, the pear transformed into a gleaming green door handle. He grasped it and ushered Peter into the bustling realm beyond.

The kitchen sprawled beneath the Great Hall, mirroring its vastness. Four long tables stretched out, directly aligning with those above, where meals would later materialize. The high-ceilinged room was alive with activity; house-elves scurried about, tending to bubbling cauldrons and chopping ingredients with practiced precision. The stone-flagged floor echoed their hurried footsteps, and the air was thick with the mouthwatering aroma of baking bread and simmering stews.

As they wove through the organized chaos, Peter couldn't help but notice the beaming faces of the house-elves. Each one paused momentarily to offer Gilderoy a warm greeting, their eyes twinkling with admiration. It was evident that Gilderoy had endeared himself to them, a testament to his enigmatic charm.

Eventually, Gilderoy led Peter to a secluded nook nestled within the storage area. The space was narrow, flanked by towering shelves laden with jars of exotic spices, sacks of flour, and an assortment of preserved ingredients. Despite the abundance of supplies, the alcove exuded a cozy intimacy, a hidden sanctuary amidst the kitchen's hustle and bustle.

"Voilà! My humble abode," Gilderoy proclaimed with a theatrical flourish, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

Reaching into his satchel, he produced a neatly wrapped package and extended it toward Peter. Unwrapping it, Peter discovered a selection of Fizzing Whizzbees, their packaging shimmering enticingly.

Peter's face lit up with genuine delight. "Oh, sweet! They're my favorite."

Gilderoy's smile widened, a hint of pride dancing in his eyes. "I know. I noticed them on your desk the other day."

A warmth spread through Peter's chest. It was a simple gesture, but it made him feel unexpectedly seen. In that moment, the art of being noticed felt profoundly significant. He gently shook his head as he began to unwrap his sweets.

“Alright, Lockhart. Let’s plan a party.”

***

“Wait, wait,” Peter forced himself to stop the giggles he had been carrying for the last minute or so, looking at Gilderoy with raised eyebrows. “Say it again, please.”

The boy huffed, although he was clearly fighting his own smile. “It’s called crème de cassis, and I’ll have you know, it’s the finest of delicacies.”

“We cannot have crooeme de caffist—”

“Crème de cassis.”

“Yeah, that one,” Peter snorted. “We cannot have that as the main drink at the party.”

“But it’s delicious! We can even top it with champagne to make kir royal.”

“Listen, I respect the commitment to the bit, but unlike you, most people aren’t possessed by the spirit of an old aristocratic French guy.”

“Ugh, I know! Everyone is so dull around here, it’s a curse.”

“We’ll have butterbeers and firewhisky.”

“How insipid.”

“Everyone likes it though.”

“Fine,” The boy crossed his arms defeatedly. “But I will still provide some crème de cassis for the elected few.”

“Great, I’m sure Nearly Headless Nick will appreciate the gesture.” This earned him a playful shove, which he took laughing. “OW!”

“You will try it as well, Peterkins. I will make an honest, cultured man out of you.”

“Alright, I’ll try it.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Now, for music, I was thinking of having an enchanted cello…”

They stayed there for two hours, without even realizing it. By the time they made their way up again, it was well past curfew, which had Peter thankful for the invisibility cloak. Though it proved to be difficult to fit both of them under the garment due to both their height difference and Gilderoy’s jitteriness, they eventually regain their respectful dorms unscathed.

As he finally put himself to bed, Peter found himself already yearning for their next meeting.  

***

It is commonly believed that it takes three weeks to build a habit. If you repeat an action over and over again in the course of exactly 21 days, by the 22th, it’ll be ingrained in your system.

For Peter, it took him less than three hangouts for Gilderoy to become a natural component of his life. Just like he always had scrambled eggs with a side of jam for breakfast, or how he slept with half a leg covered, or how he liked to recite his lessons out loud to memorize them.

Just like that, just like all of these things, Gilderoy became a habit.

As time went on, the party planning was rendered into a mere pretext to see each other, until, eventually, they stopped mentioning it altogether. They had taken to hanging out for the sake of hanging out. Even Gilderoy’s notes had turned purely decorative. He never specified the time or place on them anymore. He didn’t to. The ritual was well established by now: always at a quarter to five, always that secret nook in the kitchens. Instead, Gilderoy had replaced the contents of the invitations with random quotes he happened to like. Almost systematically, they were from the same author:

“To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.”

“I am so clever that sometimes I don't understand a single word of what I am saying.”

“Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else's opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.”

Gilderoy admired Oscar Wilde because he had deemed him the most honest and unforgiving man to have ever walked the earth. He also found him very funny, a fact Peter couldn’t help but agree with. In many ways, it often felt like Gild had modeled himself after the guy. It reminded Pete of Sirius and Remus’s obsession with David Bowie.

The situation with them hadn’t really evolved much. Except from the fact that Peter had started interacting with Sirius again. Only in bits and pieces, and never when James or Remus was present. It was usually short, plain small talk. Although, sometimes, the temptation would be too strong to refrain for Sirius.

The temptation to ask questions Peter couldn’t possibly have the answers to.

“How long, do you think?”

“Pads…”

“No, I know. I’m in no place to ask it’s just…how long, d’you reckon?”

Peter knew what he meant.

How long till you all forgive me?

How long till he forgives me?

“I don’t know, Pads.” Then, when he couldn’t stand to see Sirius’s face drop, “Soon, probably.”

Sometimes, Sirius would be bold enough to ask about Remus directly.

“How is he?”

“Better, I think.”

He wasn’t exactly lying. From the outside, it truly seemed like Remus was slowly but surely coming back to his former self. He was less guarded, even allowed himself to smile from time to time.

Things were, very loosely speaking, looking up.

But they were also other stuff, stuff that pissed Peter off.

One of them being James Potter and his bloody secret relationship.

He knew he was seeing someone. The proof had piled up to the point of non-plausible deniability. Peter was happy for him, he truly was.

In theory.

In practice, the fact that James would hide it from them to that extent drove him mad.

Luckily for him, Gilderoy was a fantastic person to vent to.

"It's just... I don't get it," Peter began, his voice tinged with frustration. "He’s clearly seeing someone and he knows that I know, but he won't say anything. Why doesn't he trust me? I don't care who he's dating."

Gilderoy leaned in, his blue eyes fixed intently on Peter, offering silent encouragement.

"I mean," Peter continued, "we're best mates. We've been through everything together. What's so different about this that he feels he has to hide it?"

Gilderoy nodded thoughtfully before speaking. "I'm sure he has his reasons. Perhaps it's not about the dating itself, but rather the who."

Peter frowned, confusion evident on his face. "What do you mean?"

Gilderoy shrugged lightly. "Maybe it's someone unexpected."

"Unexpected?" Peter echoed. "Like who?"

"Well," Gilderoy said, choosing his words carefully, "what if it's someone from another house?"

“Ano-? What do you-" Peter's eyes widened as the implication sank in. "Oh."

The thought settled between them. Given their group's frequent disparaging remarks about Slytherins, it made sense that James would be reluctant to admit to dating someone from that house. It was hard to imagine James Potter, out of anyone, feeling any sort of shameful period.

Yet.

"Damn," Peter muttered, a newfound understanding dawning on him. "You're so smart, Gilderoy."

Gilderoy offered a modest smile. "Sometimes, seeing things from a different perspective helps."

Peter nodded, feeling a mix of relief and guilt. "I just wish he'd felt he could tell us. Maybe we've been too harsh, made him think we wouldn't accept it."

"People often hide things when they're afraid of judgment," Gilderoy said gently. "Perhaps giving him a bit of space and showing support will encourage him to open up."

There was something in his tone, a softness that made his comments pointed, like it wasn’t just about preaching random wisdom. There was a…depth to them.

Peter chuckled, attempting to lighten the mood. "Sounded a bit personal, there."

Gilderoy remained silent, his gaze distant. Peter blinked, truly taken aback by the realization.

"Oh, come on. You? I don't believe it."

The boy merely shrugged. "Then don't."

Peter's eyes narrowed slightly, a mix of curiosity and something deeper flickering within them. "But you're so... you!"

Gilderoy arched an eyebrow, a hint of amusement playing on his lips. "And what am I?"

Peter's words tumbled out, each one revealing more than he intended. "You're bold and radiant. Always talking to everyone at lunch, or in the hallways, and you just don’t…care what people think? Like I can't think of anyone more authentically themselves than you."

As the words hung in the air, Peter realized just how closely he'd been observing Gilderoy—the way his laughter echoed down the corridors, the effortless grace with which he navigated social circles, the sparkle in his eyes when he spoke passionately. Unbeknownst to him, these details had etched themselves into Peter's mind, painting a portrait so vivid and so clear he could draw it out from memory alone.

"I mean," he continued, his voice softer now, "you make it look so easy. Being yourself, I mean. It's...kinda nice to watch?" He gulped, not exactly sure of the way he worded it. But he meant it.

Gilderoy's gaze softened, the usual gleam tempered by something more vulnerable. "Appearances can be deceiving."

Peter felt a pang in his chest, a mixture of empathy and something else, something he wasn't ready to name. He had always seen Gilderoy as this untouchable figure, a beacon of confidence and charm. But now, glimpsing the cracks in that facade, he felt an inexplicable urge to reach out, to understand, to be there for him.

Peter's heart raced as he mustered the courage to meet Gilderoy's gaze. "Please, explain it to me. I want to know.”

Gilderoy's confident demeanor faltered, revealing a vulnerability Peter hadn't seen before. He took a deep breath, as if weighing the decision to bare his soul.

"The truth is," Gilderoy began, his voice tinged with a raw honesty, "I want everyone to like me so much. I need everybody, all day long, to think that I'm cool and funny and smart. Every day, I feel like I’m running for an election that I know nothing about."

He paused, glancing at Peter as if expecting judgment, but finding only attentive silence.

"I’m aware of the fact that most people think that I'm ridiculous," he continued, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "You probably thought that too, with your friends. It's okay, you don't need to pretend."

Peter opened his mouth to protest, but Gilderoy held up a hand to stop him.

"But see, I noticed being considered ridiculous made me into something, you know? If you mention my name, there's something attached to it. A particularity. I'm not just a name, walking around."

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that seemed more about seeking comfort than maintaining his usual polished appearance.

"Don't get me wrong, I like all the things that make me me, but I've exaggerated them to such a degree that sometimes I don't know what's real anymore. It's exhausting, having to act like that all the time. But it makes people laugh and notice me, so..." Gilderoy's voice wavered as he continued, "But honestly? I feel so alone at times. I have all these people around me, but it's just... superficial. As in, if it came down to it, in a life-and-death situation, I wouldn't be anyone's first choice.”

He paused, his gaze distant, before turning back to Peter. "That’s why I’m so jealous of you. Always been. With Potter, Black and Lupin, you know? Even if you’re going through a rough patch with them at the moment, what you have is just…so special. Ever since first year, I kept thinking, 'God, I'd kill for something like that’.”

The boy's voice trailed off, leaving a heavy silence between them. Peter felt a pang of empathy, realizing the weight of the facade Gilderoy carried daily.

"Gilderoy," Peter said softly, "you don't have to pretend with me."

Gilderoy looked up, his eyes searching Peter's face for sincerity. For the first time, Peter saw not the flamboyant showman, but a young man yearning for genuine connection.

In that moment, the walls between them crumbled, and Peter felt his own heart open in response. Peter hesitated, the weight of Gilderoy's confession lingering in the air. But it didn’t take long for him to decide.

"You know," Peter began, his voice soft, "what you said about not being anyone's first choice? It's funny, because that's exactly how I feel about my friends."

Gilderoy's eyes widened in surprise, clearly not expecting such an admission.

"I'm serious," Peter continued, his gaze dropping to his hands. "I don’t know how it looks from the outside but…Most of the time, I feel... left out. There are these special bonds within the group, and I'm not really part of any of them. There's the connection between Remus and Sirius, the one between James and Sirius... but me? I'm just... there."

He paused, swallowing the lump forming in his throat. "It's like I'm always on the periphery, the tag-along. They have these inside jokes, these shared experiences, and I'm just... an afterthought."

Peter's voice wavered as he continued, "I try to fit in, to be a part of it all, but no matter what I do, I can't shake the feeling that if I weren't there, it wouldn't make a difference. They'd carry on, just the same."

"Was it…always like that?” The blond boy asked.

Peter knew the answer to that already. He had asked himself that many times in the past.

“No,” he stated, his tone firm. “I think I used to have that connection before, with James. Well, until he met Sirius.” He paused, letting out a small, bitter laugh. “Actually, do you want to hear a secret?”

The other boy nodded, expectingly.

“I kinda hated Sirius for a while. At first, you know, for stealing James away from me. I know it’s petty, but it’s true. Me and James, we grew up together. We were always practically attached at the hip as kids. Went on holidays together, and all. But then, Sirius came around and everything changed. I know James would probably say that it isn’t true, that I’m still his best friend and maybe I am but…it’s just different now. What they have, it’s just…too strong to compete with. I’ve learned to accept that, but it hurts sometimes.”

“Peter…”

He shrugged, giving the boy an apologetic smile. "I guess what I'm trying to say is... I know what it's like to feel alone, even when you're surrounded by people. To feel like you're not anyone's first choice."

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. What’s that saying? C’est la vie, or whatever.”

Gilderoy snorted, shaking his head. “Your accent is terrible, but yes. That is the saying.”

A comfortable silence settled between them, the weight of shared vulnerabilities hanging in the air. After a moment, Gilderoy broke the quiet.

"Can I tell you a secret?" he asked gently.

Peter nodded, curiosity piqued. Gilderoy reached out, placing his hand atop Peter's. The touch was warm and natural, sending a pleasant shiver up Peter's arm. His heart began to beat faster, a flush creeping up his neck.

Gilderoy leaned in slightly, his voice soft and sincere. "I think you're a thousand times cooler than Sirius Black."

Peter blinked in surprise before a broad smile spread across his face. A chuckle escaped his lips, soon joined by Gilderoy's own laughter. The tension fully melted away, leaving behind a newfound closeness between them. The distance between their worlds seemed to shrink, leaving Peter with a whirlwind of emotions he couldn't quite decipher.

"Thanks, Gild’," Peter said, still smiling.

"Anytime, Peterkins," Gilderoy replied, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze before letting go.

***

It started out as a great day.

Earlier that week, James had approached Peter and Remus, a sheepish grin on his face.

"I've been a bit absent lately, haven't I?" he had admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "How about we make up for it with a trip to Hogsmeade this weekend?"

Peter's eyes had lit up at the suggestion. "That sounds brilliant!"

Remus had nodded in agreement, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Sure. Why not."

Saturday arrived with a crisp chill in the air, the sky a clear expanse of blue. The group—Peter, Remus, James, as well as Marlene and Lily—set off towards Hogsmeade, their breath visible in the cold air as they chatted and laughed.

The village was as picturesque as ever, with its snow-capped cottages and the distant sound of enchanted candles tinkling in the breeze.

"First stop, The Three Broomsticks?" James suggested, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses.

"Absolutely," Marlene agreed. "I've been craving a butterbeer all week."

Inside, the warmth was a welcome contrast to the chilly outdoors. They found a cozy corner and settled in, the wooden table between them soon laden with foaming tankards of butterbeer. Peter took a sip, savoring the sweet, butterscotch-like flavor.

"So, where’s Mary today?" Remus asked, leaning back in his chair.

The girls exchanged a look, smirking.

“Take a wild guess,” Lily replied sarcastically.

“Who’s the lucky guy this time?” James grinned, brows wiggling.

“Amos Diggory.” Marlene provided, snorting.

“Uh,” James blinked. “She really has the most random taste in men, doesn’t she?”

Random was the exact word for it. Peter had seen Mary give a chance to every type of guy in the book: tall, short, buzzcut, bald, ginger, blond, grade-a asshole or big nerd, everything.

“He’s nice enough, I guess,” Lily shrugged. “I just can’t begin to imagine what they would talk about.”

“They’re probably not doing a lot of talking anyway.” Marlene stuck out her tongue teasingly, which had Lily blush as the rest of them erupted in laughter.

“Who, d’you reckon, is like the weirdest crush she’s had so far?” Peter found himself asking, for the sake of it.

Lily pondered for a moment before replying, "Good question. I mean, there was a week where she was obsessed with the idea of having both Gideon and Fabian Prewett at the same time."

James almost choked on his beer. “Merlin, are you kidding?”

“I swear! We were like well, sure, but if only one of them likes you? But no. It had to be the two of them or she wasn’t interested.”

“Yeah, sure, that was something, but—” Marlene pointed her index at Lily. “Remember Gilderoy Lockhart?”

Lily smacked her hand. “Oh my god! Yes!”

For some reason, the name instantly had Peter sat up straighter. He leaned in, curious. “What about him?”

Lily and Marlene exchanged glances, a hint of amusement in their eyes. Lily shrugged lightly. "Well, you know how he is."

There was something in their tone, like a weird implication. It didn’t sit right with him.

Peter's brow furrowed. "No, I don't. Tell me, actually."

A brief tension settled over the table. Lily attempted to diffuse it with a light laugh. "Well, he's a bit... out there, you know?"

Marlene rolled her eyes, clearly less inclined to sugarcoat her thoughts. "Oh, come on, Lily. Let's be honest. The way he dresses? Not to mention the fact that he's pretty much obsessed with himself."

I’m aware of the fact that most people think that I'm ridiculous.

He could picture him, shoulders slouched as he opened up to Peter. How small he had looked.

Peter felt a surge of defensiveness on Gilderoy's behalf. "That's not fair. You don't really know him."

“He is really good-looking though.” Lily admitted, fully ignoring him. “But the date he had planned? Crazy.”

“What was the date?” James asked, a smirk dancing on his lips.

Marlene snorted, the sound grating against Peter’s ears. "He wanted to take her on a moonlit broom ride over the Forbidden Forest, reciting his own poetry the entire time."

Lily rolled her eyes. "Yeah, because nothing says romance like dodging bats and listening to his endless self-praise."

You probably thought that too, with your friends. It's okay, you don't need to pretend.

This felt wrong. All of this. It made Peter skin crawl, to see them mock the boy like that. It made him want to scream, actually. To knock the table over as he proved them all wrong.

He is so much more than this. He is funny, and extremely kind.

He gripped his drink more tightly, huffing. “Yeah, cause Godric forbid someone wants to make an effort to plan a nice date, right?”

There was a beat. If they weren’t uncomfortable before, Peter had definitely ruined it for everyone now. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Remus shuffling awkwardly.

Eventually, Marlene was the one to break the quiet, her tone dismissive. "It's not that deep, jeez."

Peter's frustration boiled over. The words were out before he could even think twice about them. "Well, sometimes you're a cunt Marlene, but it's not that deep, right?"

Lily's eyes widened in shock, and Marlene's face flushed with anger. Without another word, both girls stood up. Peter didn’t really hear what they were saying, too focused on his own thoughts. But he imagined it boiled down to Marlene cursing him off as Lily dragged her away. Not that he cared.

As soon as they were both out, James turned to Peter, concern etched on his face. "What the hell, Peter? Are you okay?"

It was too late to back down now. The sluice that had been holding back Peter's feelings, all the frustration, anger and disappointment he'd built up over the last few weeks, was now bursting out like a flood.

Peter's eyes darkened, his hands clenching into fists on the table. He glared at James, his voice trembling with pent-up frustration.

"No, James. I am not okay. I'm fucking fed up." He spat the words out, each one laced with bitterness. "You all think Gilderoy is ridiculous? I'll tell you what he isn't, at least. A liar. A hypocrite. He might be a lot, but he's honest about it."

James opened his mouth to respond, but Peter cut him off, his voice rising. "At least he doesn't go around sneaking behind his friends' backs. At least he’s not hiding a secret relationship, only to come back like it's nothing after ditching us for weeks to plan one hangout to clear his conscience. Tell me, now that you feel slightly better about it, how long are you gonna go missing for? Or don’t, really. Doesn’t make a difference, right? You’ll probably expect us to drop everything on the spot if it’s convenient for you.”

“I—”

“I should be used to it,” Peter shook his head. “Being the one that’s left out. I’ve accepted it, to a certain point. But sometimes, it hurts too much.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with accusation. James's eyes widened in shock, his face paling. Remus shifted uncomfortably, his gaze dropping to the table.

"Pete, calm down," Remus interjected softly, his tone placating.

Peter let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh and mirthless. "Oh, don't get me started on you, Remus." He switched his focus. “I feel for you. I really do. What happened with Sirius was fucked up and shitty. I don’t why he did it, and I don’t think he does either. But it’s killing me to watch you like that. I’ve been walking on egg shells, trying to pretend that I can’t hear you cry at night because you miss him. He broke your trust, he broke all of us’ but…” He huffed. “I think we’ve gotten to the point where you’re punishing yourself more than you’re punishing him. If you don’t want to forgive him, then fine. If you want to cut him away completely, be my guest. I will respect your decision. But I don’t think you want that. But whatever it is, however you feel about that, it’s not going to go away if you just ignore it. So stop looking for confirmation in the universe that you’re unlovable and work it out.”

He took a long breath as he got up to leave, eyeing both of his friends. “Same goes for you, James. Sort your shit out. Cause I am tired of being the one left with all the mental burden.”

He didn’t wait for them to answer, didn’t give them a chance to react as he stormed off, painfully aware of the entire room staring at him.

***

He ignored them for a week after that. A whole, entire week. He wasn’t even sure if he had meant to, at first. It just happened. He found himself choosing a different seat in class, leaving the common room early to avoid awkward encounters, skipping meals in the Great Hall whenever he knew they’d be there. It wasn’t as though they were hunting him down—he caught James glancing at him a few times, and Remus had tried, once, to stop him after class, but Peter had just muttered something about needing to be somewhere and walked away.

Part of him felt bad for lashing out, for the way he’d snapped, for the look on James’ face when he’d stormed off. But then, all he had to do was remember the frustration, the way they had laughed along, the way they dismissed him so easily, and suddenly, the guilt vanished. It wasn’t his job to make things easy for them.

Unfortunately, it was just his luck that this should happen the same week they were given a particularly complicated Potions assignment. Peter was rubbish at Potions. It wasn’t a matter of effort—he tried, he really did—but for some reason, nothing ever seemed to work out the way it was supposed to.

Normally, Remus would help him. It had become an unspoken arrangement over the years—Peter would struggle, Remus would sigh and roll up his sleeves, and together, they’d manage to piece something passable together. But obviously, that wasn’t an option now.

Peter tried to do it alone for a day. He really did. He stared at his textbook, muttered the instructions under his breath, even sketched out a rough plan of what to do step by step. But by the time he actually got to brewing, he’d already wasted half his ingredients on a botched first attempt, and his second wasn’t looking much better.

“This is a nightmare,” he muttered, stabbing at the thickening mixture with his spoon. It let out a miserable gurgle in response.

“You know,” Gilderoy said beside him, lazily flipping through his own Potions book, “most people prefer stirring.”

He had joined him earlier today on the pretense of studying, not bothering to ask why Peter was alone in the first place. Which, honestly, he was thankful for.

Peter shot him a look. “Yeah, well, most people probably know what they’re doing.”

“Mm. That is a problem.” Gilderoy leaned in slightly, peering into Peter’s cauldron like it was some kind of fascinating specimen. “What is this supposed to be, anyway?”

Peter sighed, slumping onto his elbows. “Pepperup Potion.”

Gilderoy made a thoughtful noise. “Well. It’s certainly something.”

That startled a laugh out of Peter, even as he groaned and buried his face in his hands. “I’m doomed,” he muttered. “Slughorn’s gonna watch me down this in class and I’m going to just drop dead on the spot.”

Gilderoy clicked his tongue. “No, no, we can’t have that.”

Peter snorted, glancing up at him. “Why?”

“Well, for a start,” Gilderoy waved a hand, as if he were conjuring one from thin air. “There are still about a thousand Oscar Wilde quotes that I need to send to you.”

Peter shook his head, but he was smiling despite himself. He tapped his spoon against the rim of the cauldron, watching as the potion sloshed dangerously. “Doesn’t change the fact that I’m screwed.”

Gilderoy hummed, shutting his book with a decisive snap. “Funnily enough, it’s your lucky day. I happen to be something of an expert.”

Peter arched a brow. “At Potions?”

“At everything,” Gilderoy corrected, smug as ever. Then he grinned. “Come on. I know where we can get better ingredients.”

Which was how Peter found himself trailing after him through the castle, weaving through hidden corridors and slipping past a few distracted prefects, until they finally pushed open the glass doors of the Greenhouse. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and herbs, the faint rustle of leaves shifting in the warm evening breeze. Most students wouldn’t bother coming here at this hour, which meant they had the place to themselves.

Peter hesitated, glancing around at the shelves stacked high with vials and potted plants. “Are we even allowed to be in here?”

Gilderoy scoffed, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Well, you’re not, but I am.”

Peter shot him a skeptical look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The boy’s expression turned smug as he ran a hand along the rim of a potted plant, brushing off a bit of soil. “Professor Sprout and I have an understanding.”

Peter frowned. “What, you flirted your way into a greenhouse pass?”

Gilderoy gasped, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Peterkins, you wound me. No, I struck a deal. I help tend to some of the more temperamental plants—you know, making sure they get the right care, trimming the leaves, repotting when needed.” He gestured vaguely around them. “And in return, I get access to certain ingredients.”

Peter narrowed his eyes. “Certain ingredients? For what?”

Gilderoy’s smile widened as he leaned in slightly, voice dropping as if revealing a great secret. “I’ve developed my own cologne. Completely original recipe. No one else has anything like it.”

Before he could stop himself, Peter blurted out, “Oh—that’s why you smell so good.”

The words hung between them, Peter immediately wishing he could claw them back. Gilderoy’s eyebrows lifted, and then—because of course—his smile turned downright delighted. “Oh?” he said, tilting his head playfully. “You think I smell good?”

Peter’s face instantly went hot.

You smell incredible, actually. I’m pretty sure I could pick up on your scent from a mile away.

But of course, he didn’t say that. He couldn’t say that. It would be weird. Instead, he cleared his throat, dropped his gaze to the dirt-covered floor, and shrugged. “Yeah. You’re alright.”

Gilderoy’s lips twitched, like he was holding back a laugh, but he didn’t press. Instead, with an almost offhanded ease, he added, “I think you do too.”

Peter’s stomach did something strange, a little flip that felt both pleasant and alarming. He coughed lightly. “Yeah?”

Gilderoy nodded, thoughtful now, as he tapped his fingers against the edge of a wooden shelf. “Mhm. There’s something… warm about it. Like sun-dried linen, but not in an artificial way. It’s real. There’s a bit of pine, too—clean, sharp, like the woods just after a storm. And something else, something sweeter. Not overwhelming, just—familiar.” He turned to glance at Peter, a smile dancing on his lips. “Comforting.”

Peter stared, momentarily stunned into silence. His heart had started beating too fast, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. He had no idea what to say to that.

But before he had to, Gilderoy turned away, scanning the greenhouse as he clasped his hands together. “Right, then! Let’s get to work. We need asphodel, wormwood, a bit of sopophorous bean…” He trailed off, already moving toward the shelves, and just like that, the moment passed.

Peter let out a slow breath and followed, still feeling a little lightheaded.

***

Gilderoy, as it turned out, wasn’t just good at potions—he was unnervingly, effortlessly brilliant at them. He rattled off ingredients and their effects with the ease of someone listing their favorite sweets, recalling obscure brewing techniques like they were common knowledge. But it wasn’t the usual stuff, not the textbook potions Slughorn made them practice in class. No, Gilderoy didn’t care much for Pepperup or Draughts of Peace or even Felix Felicis. Those were practical. Useful. The kinds of potions wizards studied to gain power, secure careers, or—at worst—control others.

Gilderoy’s interest was different. The more Peter listened, the more he realized that every single potion Gilderoy had an interest in, every obscure bit of knowledge he had stored away, all seemed to boil down to the same purpose: making things beautiful.

He had, apparently, spent months perfecting a potion that gave hair the perfect glossy shine. “Because standard Sleekeazy’s is so last century, don’t you think?” he had said, tossing his golden curls. Another potion of his own design could brighten eye color ever so slightly, making the blue just a touch more vivid, the green a little more striking. Then there was the cologne—his special cologne, the one he had mentioned earlier, the one Peter still felt weirdly flustered about.

It wasn’t just potions, though. Peter had been paying attention—really paying attention—and he was starting to see it everywhere. Where most wizards learned magic for power, for protection, for efficiency, Gilderoy seemed to be learning for the simple joy of making the world around him prettier.

There was the charm he’d used on his schoolbooks, transfiguring their covers into elegant leather-bound designs, engraved with his initials in gold. The way he could mend a tear in fabric so seamlessly it looked as if it had never existed. He even had a habit of subtly enhancing his own handwriting, making each loop and flourish of his letters more aesthetically pleasing.

And it wasn’t just himself—Peter had watched him, once, fix a wilted flower in a windowsill, giving it the faintest shimmer so it caught the light just so. Another time, he had lightly tapped a girl’s quill during class, and suddenly, the ink it produced had a delicate, pearlescent sheen. She had barely noticed, but Gilderoy had smiled to himself, pleased.

It was like he saw the world as something unfinished, something that could always be more—more charming, more elegant, more dazzling. And he was determined to make it so.

***

They ended up brewing the potion on the spot, given that Peter already had all of the necessary supplies on him anyway.

It turned out perfectly.

It shimmered in the dim light of the greenhouse, its color exactly the shade it was meant to be, glowing faintly in the cauldron like bottled moonlight. When Peter leaned in to inspect it, he caught the faintest whiff of something herbal, fresh, just slightly sweet—not like a potion at all, really, but something pleasant. Maybe that was just Gilderoy’s influence.

He filled a small vial, carefully corking it before tucking it into his pocket. “This is incredible,” he said, still a little in awe. “Thank you so much, Gild. You make it look so easy.”

Gilderoy only shrugged, lazily pleased, and said, "L’art est de cacher l’art.”

Peter blinked. “What?”

“A French saying,” Gilderoy said, twirling his wand between his fingers. “The art is to hide the art. Meaning, if something looks effortless, then the person doing it must be exceptionally skilled.” He flashed Peter a grin. “Which, of course, I am.”

Peter snorted, but before he could respond, Gilderoy was already standing, brushing imaginary dust from his robes. “I still need to grab one last thing before we go,” he said, turning toward one of the higher shelves.

Peter watched as Gilderoy scanned the rows of jars, his expression focused, lips pursed just slightly. He tilted his head, scanning the labels, before making a soft aha sound under his breath. Rising onto his toes, he reached for the jar, stretching his arm as far as it would go, fingers just barely brushing against the glass.

He tried again, adjusting his footing, shifting his weight forward—

And then, his balance wavered.

Peter barely had time to think. One second, the boy was reaching, and the next, he was tipping backward, his robes flaring slightly with the movement, his hand swiping the air for something to hold onto.

Without thinking, Peter lunged forward and caught him—his arms wrapping securely around Gilderoy’s waist, pulling him in before he could stumble back any further.

Gilderoy froze.

His back was pressed against Peter’s chest, their bodies close—too close. Peter could feel the warmth of him, the shape of his waist beneath his hands, the way Gilderoy instinctively tensed before gradually relaxing into the hold. His scent— that goddamn scent—filled Peter’s nose, and suddenly, the world felt very small.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Peter’s pulse roared in his ears, his fingers flexing slightly against the fabric of Gilderoy’s robes before he realized—shit, he was still holding him.

He let go, stepping back so fast it was almost clumsy, his face burning.

Gilderoy turned to face him, blinking, startled, before an amused smile curled at his lips. “Well,” he murmured, brushing down his sleeves, “you surely are stronger than you look.”

Peter swallowed, clearing his throat. “Uh—yeah. Guess so.”

He couldn’t look at him. Not properly. Not when his hands still tingled with warmth, not when his heart was still pounding like he’d just run across the castle.

Gilderoy didn’t say anything else—just shot him a knowing look before picking up his basket of ingredients. “Come on,” he said, tone light, easy. “Let’s not miss supper.”

***

Peter wasn’t expecting anything when he climbed the stairs to his dorm that evening. He had spent most of the day keeping his head down, avoiding unnecessary conversation, and trying not to think too much about anything.

But the moment he pushed open the door, he stopped short.

On his bed, there was a neat little pile: a familiar-looking comic book, its cover slightly bent at the edges, and a bag of sweets. And sitting beside it, looking uncharacteristically solemn, were James and Remus.

Peter frowned, tilting his head. “Trying to buy me off?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Then, with a small smirk, he added, “Because you’re at least two bags short of a proper bribe.”

James huffed a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. We were on a budget.”

Peter snorted but didn’t move toward them just yet. He crossed his arms, waiting.

Remus, who had been quiet up until now, sighed. “We’ve been talking,” he said.

“And?” Peter prompted, keeping his voice even.

James leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “And… we wanted to say that you were right,” he admitted. “About everything.”

Peter blinked.

James wasn’t looking at him, which was rare. Instead, he was staring at his hands, twisting a loose thread on his sleeve. “I didn’t realize how much I’d been… neglecting things. Neglecting you,” he said. “I thought that because we’d always been best mates, it didn’t matter if I got a little caught up in other things, because we’d just… go back to normal. But that’s not how it works, is it?”

Peter swallowed, unsure what to say.

James finally looked up, his expression earnest. “I don’t want you to feel left out. Not ever. You’re one of us, Pete. You’re a Marauder.”

There was something about the way he said it—so simply, so certainly—that made Peter’s throat feel tight.

“We don’t want you to think you have to fight for a place here,” Remus added. “You already have one. Always have.”

Peter shifted uncomfortably, glancing toward the floor. It was strange, hearing it said so plainly. You’re one of us. Like it was obvious. Like it was something he should have known.

Remus hesitated, then sighed. “I also talked to Sirius,” he admitted, quieter now.

Peter’s head snapped up.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to forgive him just yet,” Remus continued. “But I miss him.” His fingers curled slightly against his knee. “So I told him… if he wants to come back, he can.”

That, more than anything, made something in Peter’s chest loosen.

It wasn’t a perfect fix. There were still things that stung, still bruises left behind. But for the first time in a while, Peter felt something settle inside him.

He felt important.

And that, maybe, was enough.

Peter exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Merlin, you two are pathetic,” he muttered, but there was no real bite to it. Actually, he could feel a smile creeping to his lips as he’d said it.

James gave him a hopeful look. “So… you forgive us?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Alright, come here, you idiots.”

Before he could even properly brace himself, James had already launched forward, practically knocking him off his feet as he pulled him into a tight hug. Remus followed with slightly more restraint, but Peter felt the firm squeeze of his hand on his shoulder before he joined in.

They stood there for a long moment, a tangle of limbs and half-muttered apologies, before Peter finally groaned. “Alright, alright, that’s enough—get off me before I start thinking you lot actually like me.”

James only squeezed him tighter. “Too late, mate.”

And despite himself, Peter let out a small, breathless laugh.

***

For the first time in what felt like forever, they were four at breakfast.

Sirius had approached cautiously, hands stuffed into his pockets, and asked, almost sheepishly, if he could join them. Remus had given him a small smile, the kind that was more in his eyes than on his lips, and said, “Only if you don’t talk with your mouth full.”

It was easy enough after that. Even though Sirius was careful, tentative with his words, what mattered was that he was there. They talked and they ate, quickly falling back on the dynamics that they had been used to. Peter could tell that Remus was still guarded, but he tried his best. It would take time, but it would eventually soften. He knew it.

Then James, grinning over a mouthful of toast, clapped his hands together. “Alright, lads. I think it’s time.”

Peter arched a brow. “Time for what?”

James shot him an incredulous look. “Obviously, we need to plan a prank to celebrate the Marauders’ return. People need to know. Gotta make it official.”

Remus groaned. “Merlin help us.”

Sirius smirked. “Now this is the James Potter I’ve been missing.”

They laughed, the idea already taking shape, and decided to meet up Friday night to finalize the details. As they made their way out of the Great Hall, still tossing ideas back and forth, Peter felt lighter than he had in weeks.

Then—

“Hey, Pete! Wait up.”

He turned to see Marlene and Lily catching up to him, looking almost—sheepish.

Lily tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Can we talk?”

Peter hesitated, but nodded.

Marlene sighed, crossing her arms. “We wanted to apologize. For Hogsmeade.”

Lily nodded. “You were right. We don’t know anything about Gilderoy. And even if we did…”

“We were being bitches.” Marlene completed.

Peter blinked. He had expected them to just brush it off, maybe pretend it had never happened, but there was something surprisingly earnest in their expressions.

He exhaled. “Alright,” he said. “I appreciate that.”

Lily smiled, then, almost as if in afterthought, said, “You know, I actually talked to him in Transfiguration the other day.”

Peter’s stomach did something complicated. “Oh?”

“Yeah. He had some…weirdly good input.”

Peter couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. “He’s full of surprises.”

The girls exchanged a look, one of those quick, knowing glances, before Marlene nudged Lily. “Well, anyway,” she said. “See you around, Pete.”

“Yeah. See you,” he replied, watching them go.

The day only kept getting better.

Slughorn stopped him after class, beaming, and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Peter, my boy! Simply exemplary work on that potion assignment. Flawless execution, truly. Top marks!”

Peter blinked. “Oh. Really?”

“Indeed! Keep this up, and you might just find yourself on the receiving end of an invitation to one of my little gatherings—”

But Peter had already tuned out, because top marks. He had never gotten top marks on a potion before.

By the time he left the classroom, parchment tucked under his arm as though it might disappear if he let it go, he was practically floating.

Everything was—good. No, not just good. Brilliant.

He had his friends back. He had a prank to plan. He had just aced an assignment he’d been dreading. And when he thought about it, really let himself sit in this strange, unfamiliar feeling of warmth and contentment, he realized that the common denominator in all these wonderful things was—

Gilderoy.

For the potion, obviously. But more than that. Gilderoy had been the reason he finally snapped, finally stood up for himself—which, in a way, had led to everything else falling into place. His friends making up with him. Sirius coming back. The Marauders being whole again. All of this somehow lead back to the boy with the golden locks, the one with an aura so bright he could light up an entire quidditch field.

Yes. Gilderoy was magical in every sense of the word.

He really did make the world prettier, even when he didn’t intend to.

And he sure as hell made Peter’s better.

Peter barely had time to process the thought before he spotted him, just ahead in the corridor, chatting animatedly to someone.

He didn’t think twice.

Didn’t even think once, really.

Before he knew it, he was running, parchment and books momentarily forgotten.

Gilderoy barely had time to turn before Peter barreled into him, arms wrapping tight around his middle.

There was a brief moment of imbalance, a startled laugh—then warm hands bracing against Peter’s back as Gilderoy caught him, steadying them both. The person that had been talking to him quickly walked away, visibly overwhelmed by Pete’s intervention. Not that he gave a single shit about it.

“Well, hello to you too,” Gilderoy said, amused, the lilt of his laughter still caught in his voice.

Peter could barely contain himself.

“I got the highest mark!” he burst out, words tumbling over each other in his rush to get them all out. “Slughorn even said something about inviting me to one of his stupid little dinners—which, I mean, I don’t care, because he’s honestly a bit of a creep, but oh my god! I’ve never done that well in Potions before. Even with Remus! But don’t tell him, he’d be so mad.”

Gilderoy blinked at him, then let out a startled laugh as Peter continued, practically breathless.

“Oh! And speaking of, Remus is talking to Sirius again! Well—not like before, but it’s something, you know? And everyone is. And Lily and Marlene apologized —they said they were being bitches, their words, not mine, and I just—I don’t know, everything is—fuck, Gild, I’m just so glad.”

Peter barely noticed the way they were still touching, his hands still curled into the fabric of the boy’s robes from where he had thrown himself at him. Gilderoy didn’t seem to mind either. He was just looking at him, cheeks a little flushed, his smile bright and warm.

“That’s a lot of great news, Peterkins,” he said, soft and teasing. “I’m happy for you.”

Peter shook his head, almost fiercely. “It’s all thanks to you.” He exhaled, taking a step back at last. “I swear you’re… magical.”

Gilderoy’s smile turned amused. “Well, I should hope so, considering I study at a school for magic.”

“No, I mean you really are,” Peter insisted. “More than just wizarding shit. You—” He trailed off, suddenly self-conscious.

There was a beat.

Gilderoy huffed a small laugh, tilting his head. “Well, it’s good that I have you here,” he said, voice light, but something in his gaze lingered. “I wanted to ask you something anyway.”

“Oh. Sure. Ask away.”

Gilderoy rocked back on his heels slightly, glancing at Peter with an almost shy smile. "So, Friday," he started. "It’s my birthday."

Peter blinked. "Oh."

"And I was wondering," Gilderoy continued, "if you wanted to hang out with me."

Peter tilted his head. "Oh," he repeated. Then, after a beat, "Don’t you want to throw, like, a big party? That seems more your style."

Gilderoy laughed, but there was something softer about it this time. "The thought did cross my mind," he admitted, then shook his head. "But I’d rather just... stay with you. Do something small. Maybe convince the elves to throw together a cake."

Peter felt his heart stutter.

Just stay with you.

It echoed in his head, looping over and over like a stuck record.

He swallowed. "Well, sure," he said, nodding a little too quickly. "I’d like that."

Gilderoy beamed, looking genuinely pleased in a way that made Peter’s chest feel warm. But then, just as quickly, realization crashed into him like a tidal wave.

Oh. Friday night.

Shit.

His stomach twisted. "Oh," he said again, this time with a different weight behind it. "Shit. That’s—" He hesitated. "I’m supposed to hang out with James and the gang on Friday."

Gilderoy's face faltered just slightly, but he covered it up well, his smile slipping into something a little more practiced. "Oh," he echoed, nodding. "Okay. I mean, I could ask them to reschedule," Peter added quickly, "but it’s just… we’ve just gotten back, and—"

Gilderoy shook his head, already stepping back. "No, it’s okay," he said, forcing brightness into his voice. "Don’t worry. I get it."

"But we can do something another day, yeah?" Peter said, suddenly desperate to make up for whatever this sinking feeling was inside him.

"Yeah. Of course."

There was a pause, a strange quiet stretching between them.

"Well," Gilderoy said, the lightness still in his tone, but not quite reaching his eyes. "I should go. See you, Peter."

Peter watched him turn and walk away, the sound of his footsteps soft against the stone.

It shouldn’t be that big of a deal, right? Gilderoy had said it was okay. He understood.

So why did it feel so wrong?

***

Friday night                  

The dormitory was warm, golden candlelight flickering against the deep red of their bed curtains, casting soft shadows across the room. Bags of sweets were sprawled open across the floor, their contents in varying states of demolition. A few chocolate frogs had escaped their boxes and were now mid-hop across Remus’ four-poster, which he was halfheartedly trying to catch without moving too much. Sirius was sprawled on his back at the foot of James’ bed, his legs draped over the side and one arm resting dramatically over his forehead, like he was posing for a particularly tragic portrait. Remus was sitting cross-legged on the rug, rolling a chocolate frog box between his fingers while he watched the latest escapee attempt to make a break for the door. James had his back against his pillows, propped up lazily, his tie still half on, like he had meant to change but never gotten around to it.

Peter had his own spot on the floor, comfortably wedged between James’ bed and his own, picking at the corner of a licorice wand as he listened to the banter around him. He had missed this so much. The banter, the camaraderie—it felt like things were back to the way they were, and for a moment, he could almost forget how complicated everything had gotten before that.

“It’s a momentous occasion,” Sirius was saying, waving a hand in the air. “The Marauders, restored to full glory. Naturally, we need to mark it with something spectacular.”

James grinned. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“Ideas?” Remus prompted, finally snatching up the rogue frog and flicking it back into its box.

“We could stick Filch’s shoes to the floor again,” Peter suggested, mostly to be involved, though he knew that wasn’t nearly ambitious enough for what James and Sirius had in mind.

Sirius scoffed. “Underwhelming.”

“Though hilarious,” James admitted. “Remember when he had to shuffle to McGonagall’s office because he couldn’t lift his feet?”

Peter grinned at the memory, but James was already shaking his head. “No, we need something bigger. Flashier.” He sat up a little, his expression shifting into that particular brand of mischief that meant he was about to suggest something ridiculous. “We hex the suits of armor in the corridor outside Slughorn’s office so that every time someone walks past, they start loudly declaring his personal opinions.”

Peter snorted. “What personal opinions?”

“Oh, you know,” James smirked. “About how much he adores certain students. ‘Ah, Mr. Potter, my favorite pupil!’” he said in an uncanny impression of Slughorn’s voice.

“Or ‘Miss Evans, your essay was simply exquisite—a true talent!’” Sirius added dramatically, clasping his hands to his chest.

Remus chuckled. “So basically, just reinforcing what we all already know?”

“Yes, but obnoxiously,” James said. “And publically. Can you imagine the poor bastard who has to walk past them while they’re all shouting in unison?”

Peter could. It was actually pretty brilliant.

“All in favor?” James asked, already knowing the answer.

A chorus of agreement followed, and Sirius clapped his hands together. “Excellent. We’ll do it tomorrow night.”

Just as they were about to go back to discussing the specifics, James leaned back against the headboard, suddenly thoughtful. His fingers drummed idly against his knee, and Peter noticed that little hesitation, the same kind James always had before he was about to say something big.

“Well, now that this is settled,” James started, clearing his throat. “Since we’re all here, I figured it was about time I be honest about something.”

Remus and Peter exchanged a glance, while Sirius immediately leaned in, blissfully unaware.

“I think you’ve probably noticed that I’ve been sneaking out a bit more lately…” James started, casually, as if it were just a mundane confession. “Well, safe from Sirius, but whatever. Anyway,” he cleared his throat again, his tone suddenly shifting, becoming more grounded, “I’m seeing someone,” He continued, his grin returning as he glanced around the group. “It’s… it’s been going on for a while now, and I figured, well, even if you suspected it already, you should know.”

Sirius blinked, eyeing Remus and Peter with a frown. “Suspected it?”

“Obviously,” Remus said. “James here wasn’t exactly being subtle, coming back with hickeys and disheveled hair every morning.”

“Hick—?” Sirius exclaimed; eyes wide. “Prongs, you cheeky bastard!”

James sighed, shaking his head with a grin. “Alright, alright. You caught me. But that’s not all of it.” His fingers tapped restlessly against his knee before he looked at them, more serious now. “Like you said, Peter, I shouldn’t have to hide things from you lot. But I was a bit apprehensive because… it’s a boy.”

The words settled between them. Not heavy, exactly, but enough that there was a pause before Remus gave a small nod, like he had already known. Sirius, eyebrows raised, took a second longer, then smirked.

“Prongs,” he said, shaking his head fondly. “Always full of surprises.”

“We’re happy for you,” Remus simply replied, his gaze warm and comforting. “Really.”

Peter didn’t know what to say at first. It wasn’t that he had a problem with it—of course not—but something about James saying it so plainly, so freely, made his stomach twist in a way he didn’t quite understand.

James rubbed the back of his neck. “I won’t say who, because—well, he’s not ready for that. But, yeah. It’s real. Proper real. I think I—” He cut himself off, like he wasn’t quite ready to say it, but they all knew where it was going. “I’m in deep.”

Something shifted in Peter then. Maybe it was the way James said it, like there wasn’t even a question in his mind, like it was simple. Or maybe it was the way Remus and Sirius took it in stride, no hesitation, no ridicule, just understanding.

Or maybe—maybe it was the way Peter’s thoughts immediately drifted to someone.

He swallowed hard, suddenly restless.

“Well,” Sirius said, grinning as he clapped James on the back. “No wonder you’ve been sneaking out so much. You sappy bastard.”

Peter glanced at James, his throat suddenly dry. He wanted to say something, but his mind was too tangled. “That’s… that’s great, mate,” Peter said after a beat, forcing a smile. “Really great.”

“It’s mad, yeah,” James added suddenly, the words slipping out without hesitation. “Like, I think about him all the time, and I just… I want him around. I want to be with him. I don’t know what the future holds, but I’m willing to figure it out with him.”

Sirius chuckled, nudging James in the shoulder. “Look at you, Prongs. You really are in love, huh?”

James chuckled, his usual cocky smile now softened, genuine. “Yeah, might be.”

Peter had been listening up until now, but something about those words made him straighten up.

“How would you know?” he asked before he could think better of it.

James turned to him, blinking. “What?”

“How do you know you like someone?” Peter clarified, tugging at a loose thread on his sleeve. “Like, properly. How do you even tell?”

James tilted his head, considering. Remus and Sirius had both gone quiet, either interested in the answer themselves or just sensing something in Peter’s voice that he hadn’t even noticed.

“I dunno,” James admitted at first. Then, after a moment: “I guess it’s—it’s like there’s this part of your brain that just tunes in to them. Like, you could be doing anything, thinking about anything, and then something happens—someone says their name, or you see something they’d like, or—whatever—and suddenly, there they are, right at the front of your head.” He paused, gaze distant for a second before he grinned, a little sheepish. “And then there’s the other part. The part where you’d do something stupid just to see them smile. Where you notice things no one else does, like the way they wrinkle their nose when they think, or the weird way they hold a quill.”

Peter swallowed.

James kept going, like he was figuring it out as he spoke. “And it’s not just that, either. It’s the way it feels, yeah? Like being around them makes things better. Even the dumb, pointless stuff. It’s not about what you’re doing—it’s about them being there while you’re doing it.”

Peter’s fingers had gone still on his sleeve.

A part of his brain was scrambling.

Because he was remembering things now, things he hadn’t thought twice about before.

Like how he always seemed to spot Gilderoy in a crowd, even when he wasn’t looking for him. How sometimes, in the middle of class, he’d think of something Gilderoy had said earlier and smile to himself before realizing he was doing it. How he found himself repeating things he’d said to him, rolling them over in his head like he wanted to keep them there.

And the other things, too. The way Gilderoy’s hair caught the light, almost too bright, almost shiny. The way he chewed his quill when he was thinking and how it drove Peter mad because who did that? The way he spoke in that exaggerated, dramatic way, like he was always halfway through telling some grand story—but sometimes, just sometimes, when he was tired or off-guard, his voice was softer, lower, and it made all the difference.

The nights spent in the kitchen, whispering over pastries, The way Gilderoy always leaned too close, with his mesmerizing scent, the greenhouse, the soft oof when Peter had caught him mid-stumble, his hands gripping Gilderoy’s waist, feeling the warmth of him through his robes, the startled blue of his eyes before he’d laughed and said, You surely are stronger than you look.

The stupid notes, slipped between pages of his textbooks, each one scribbled with some ridiculous quote, signed with an exaggerated flourish.

The way Peter had never minded. The way he had kept them all.

James must have seen something shift in his expression because he raised an eyebrow. “Pete?”

Because the thing was—he hadn’t thought he liked Gilderoy like that. He hadn’t let himself think it, hadn’t even considered it a possibility. Gilderoy was just—Gilderoy. Annoying, theatrical, golden Gilderoy. A mess of hair and confidence, of absurdity and charm, of ridiculous quirks that should be irritating but weren’t.

He’d never thought about it in those terms before.

But God, did it make sense.

He shot up from his seat so suddenly that the others startled, looking at him in alarm.

“I—I gotta go.”

James blinked. “What?”

“You okay, Pete?” Remus asked, brow furrowing.

Peter let out an absurd little laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just—” He felt his face heating up, but he forced himself to say it, voice breathless and rushed. “I need to go find someone.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Sirius’ mouth curled into a knowing smirk.

Peter felt himself go even redder. “Sorry, guys—do you mind?”

Remus, still watching him with quiet amusement, simply reached into his bag and tossed him the Marauder’s Map. His lips twitched. “Go, Peter.”

He didn’t waste another second.

***

Peter had expected to found him in the kitchens. It made the most sense—after all, that was their spot.

But when Peter checked the map, his heart stuttered.

The prefect’s bathroom.

He ran the whole way, his pulse hammering in his ears, the realization still settling over him like something fragile but certain. He barely hesitated before pushing open the door, and—

Oh.

The scent hit him first, warm and sweet, something floral, something golden. Then, the sight.

Peter almost laughed. Because of course, of course Gilderoy would insist on making his own birthday feel like a grand event, even if he was celebrating alone.

The boy stood by the enormous bath, a bottle poised in his hand as he poured something shimmering into the already-steaming water. The tub was practically overflowing with bubbles, faintly glowing under the candlelight that flickered all around the room. A slice of cake sat untouched on a silver tray nearby, a fork balanced delicately on the edge.

And Gilderoy—Gilderoy—was draped in what might have been the most ridiculous bathrobe Peter had ever seen. It was deep purple and embroidered with gold thread, but it hung loose around him, barely tied, revealing smooth skin and the glisten of steam catching on his collarbones, his chest. His hair was slightly damp at the ends, curling where it met his skin, and when he turned at the sound of the door slamming open, his brows lifted in surprise.

“Peter?” He blinked. “What are you doing here?”

Peter opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

Because—God, look at him.

He had always known Gilderoy was beautiful, of course. But right now, standing in the golden glow of candlelight, soft steam curling around him, the lines of his throat and shoulders catching the light just so—he looked unreal. Breathtaking.

Perfect.

Gilderoy’s brows furrowed slightly, the surprise giving way to confusion. “Peter?” he prompted again, because Peter still hadn’t said anything.

Peter swallowed. He let his gaze fall on Gilderoy, really fall on him. The warmth in his cheeks spread lower, deeper, through his chest, through his ribs, through every part of him.

“I’m making you my first choice,” he said.

Gilderoy blinked, eyes wide with confusion. “What?”

Peter didn’t answer—not with words, at least. Instead, he closed the distance between them in two quick strides, his heart pounding like mad. His hands found their place—one curling around Gilderoy’s waist, the other lifting to cradle his jaw, thumb brushing against the curve of his cheek.

Gilderoy’s eyes widened, lips parting in surprise just as Peter leaned in.

Their mouths met softly at first—a tentative, gentle press of lips—but then, something shifted. Peter’s fingers tightened against the plush fabric of the bathrobe, pulling Gilderoy closer, and the kiss deepened. Peter could feel the softness of Gilderoy’s lips, the warmth radiating from his skin. There was a hint of sweetness—maybe from the steam or from the potions mingling in the air, but it didn’t matter. For a moment, Gilderoy was completely still, stunned into immobility. Then, slowly, his hands lifted, sliding up Peter’s arms until they settled against his shoulders, gripping just hard enough to anchor them both. He let out a soft sigh against Peter’s mouth, his body relaxing, leaning into the kiss as if surrendering. Peter pressed closer, feeling the rapid beat of Gilderoy’s heart beneath his palm, the slight tremble in his breath. His fingers slid upward, threading through damp golden curls, tilting Gilderoy’s head to deepen the kiss even further. Their breaths mingled, warm and quick, as they explored each other with mouths that were both eager and uncertain, tasting, learning, memorizing.

When they finally broke apart, gasping softly for air, their foreheads rested together, eyes still closed. Gilderoy’s lips were flushed, slightly swollen, and Peter couldn’t help but brush his thumb over them gently, like he was reassuring himself that this had just happened.

The boy let out a soft, breathy laugh, his eyes fluttering open, bright and dazed. “That’s one dazzling way to wish someone happy birthday,” he murmured.

Peter laughed too, breathless and exhilarated. “What can I say?” he rasped, his voice shaky with a mixture of nerves and joy. “I can resist anything except temptation.” He pulled back slightly, letting his gaze trail over Gilderoy—the disheveled hair, the slightly open robe, the way his chest rose and fell with each rapid breath. Peter bit his lip, his cheeks flaming red.

Gilderoy raised an amused eyebrow. “Peter Pettigrew, are you using Oscar Wilde to flirt with me?”

Peter shrugged, though his heart was racing. “Is it working?”

His lips curved into a slow, lazy smile. “Immensely.”

Peter swallowed hard, trying to steady himself as he took a long look around him. “I hope I didn’t ruin your plans.”

“Oh no, that’s quite alright.” Gilderoy’s hands slid from Peter’s shoulders to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer once more. “Funnily enough,” he murmured, voice low and teasing, “I could tell something was missing from this bath, but I couldn’t quite place what. But now that you’re here…”

Peter barely had time to process the way Gilderoy looked at him—like he was something rare, something worth looking at—before he was being kissed again, warm and slow and deliberate. He let himself sink into the warmth of it all—the scent of lavender and vanilla in the air, the steady press of Gilderoy’s hands against him, the feeling of being wanted, chosen by a boy so beautiful he barely felt real.

For once, he wasn’t the one chasing after scraps of attention or settling for a place at the edge of things. He was here, at the center of it, and Gilderoy was looking at him like he belonged there.

Perhaps that’s what magic was all about—to find someone who made you feel like you were.