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The owl arrives, three days after the Karaoke Catastrophe, Musical Madness, Sing-Around and Find Out? He is still workshopping the name. An invitation to tea, from Minerva McGonagall.
He should politely decline. On the other hand—Minerva had been at The Night of Musical Mayhem, Proposal Pandemonium? and he needs to talk to someone.
Just once, he will go and get it out of his system. It is really none of his business? His convictions are wavering. Peter hurriedly scrawls his reply.
Saturday, Peter enters the backroom of The Three Broomsticks and stumbles over his feet at the sight. Professor Mcgonagall is sipping whiskey on the rocks while Madam Pomfrey drinks red wine. Pomfrey is telling a story using wildly inappropriate hand gestures. At least Flitwick got the message that this was a tea party. Wait, is that a flask? Well—there is still some tea in his cup.
"Where's Arabella? I thought she was coming today?"
"No, she is busy, but I think we should be expecting Molly, and probably at least two of the Slytherin delegation."
"Albus!" yelled McGonagall excitedly past Peter. "You owe me 10 galleons!"
"Mm, which one will this be for then?"
"Black finally connected the dots. He knows about Potter and Little Black."
"Ah yes, I did hear about that. I believe he was quite creative with his use of expletives," the headmaster chuckles. “Brotherfucker,” he mumbles with a smile. “Lovely.”
Dumbledore retrieves coins from the pocket of his chartreuse robes, and passes them to McGonagall.
She turns to Peter, “Pettigrew, don't just stand there."
He scurries to the table and takes the first available seat. He's back in Transfiguration… cowed by the stern woman.
"I believe you know most of us, though please, feel free to drop the formalities we are no longer your teachers: Minerva, Poppy, Filius, and Albus will do."
Peter nods hesitantly, scanning the room.
"Don't worry about feeling out of place. Several of your old classmates have been known to drop in from time to time. Yes, here they are, I believe you remember Mr. Crouch and Mr. Rosier?”
The two Slytherins join the group. Peter thinks they were a year below him at Hogwarts. Evan Rosier leans over and kisses Madam Pomfrey's cheek. Barty slaps Professor Flitwick—Filius, on the back and tells a joke about an unconventional use for Wingardium Leviosoa.
Rosier sidles up next to Peter.
"So, you've joined The Order of the Phoenix, have you?"
"Huh?"
The other man continues, "Minnie recruited you I bet. She's always looking for more Gryffindors." He shakes his head.
"Oi! I didn't agree to that name. I voted on Spill the Tea' Party." Crouch plops himself on Rosier's lap.
"I was partial to Saturday Shenanigans" squeaks Flitwick.
"Nah, definitely Order of the Phoenix, sounds like we are in some kind of underground rebel group."
"I have to agree with Evan," Pomfrey smiles. "It lends to the mystique."
Yup, Peter is asleep; this is a nightmare. He is going to get detention for showing up to Transfiguration in his underwear. He looks over his shoulder, where are James and Sirius in their ball gowns? Remus will be telling he's slept through NEWTs at any moment.
Crouch pinches him in the shoulder. Fuck, that hurts.
"What was that for?"
"You looked like you needed it," he says with a smirk.
McGonagall claps her hands to bring everyone to attention. "I think we can get started. First off, who placed bets on when, who, or how Wolfstar would propose?"
Half the hands in the room shoot up.
"Let's see," McGonagall pulls out a clipboard.
"Yes, Flitwick thought Sirius would propose first, but Remus would decline. So, that's two Galleons for you."
Oh, so Wolfstar was Remus and Sirius, cute.
"Actually," Peter chimes in. His cheeks flush when all heads turn to him. "I'm pretty sure Remus said yes two of the three times, but thought it was a joke,” he says in a rush.
"Ha!" Shouts Rosier, making Peter jump.
"I believe that's me then. For multiple proposals. "
The group argues a bit over the details of the various bets they've all apparently made before splitting up the coins.
"Now," says Pomfrey, "did anyone have anything on Potter becoming a father?"
"Remind me to retire in 11 years,” McGonagall mutters.
"You never know Minerva, Regulus was always studious and quiet, maybe his influence will cancel out the Potter,” Flitwick interjects, ever the optimist.
She raises an eyebrow "You are aware who the child's uncle will be? Not to mention…” she waves in the direction of Crouch and Rosier.
“Gasp!” Crouch clutches a hand to his chest. “I resent that. We are the pinnacles of proper.”
Evan's eyeroll can be heard ‘round the world.
"You're right we should retire, probably prepare a rebuilding fund, and Pomfrey do you think that's enough time to stock the hospital wing with the necessities—hair-growth serum, migraine tonic, bandages—so many bandages…" he fades off gazing contemplatively at the wall.
“Don't forget,” Pomfrey smiles, “Lily Evans contributed to the mix as well.”
“If nothing else it will be a very adorable—”
“And well dressed, if Reggie has anything to say about it,” Barty interrupts.
“—baby.”
Evan sighs, "Can we talk new business? I need to hear news on Jegulus."
"I'm sorry Evan, what was that? I know you didn't just call them Jegulus. I will only hear news about Sunseeker."
"Oh yay, Dorcas is here," Barty snarks.
"I believe the word you were looking for was Starchaser."
Peter thinks she's the Prewitt sister, Weasley now? She drags a matching set of small redheaded toddlers behind her.
"Gross," Barty feigns gagging. "I love it! All in favor of Starchaser?"
Evan slaps the back of his head. "Shut up.”
"Oo, you know I love it when you're rough with me." Barty flutters his eyelashes.
"Idiot," he says with obvious affection.
Peter sits, soaking in the chaos, still unsure how this is all transpiring.
Apparently Starchaser and Jegulus are ‘ship’ names—Dorcas let him know they are all referring to James and Regulus. He's unsure how sea transport is involved with any of this but is too afraid to ask.
He learns a lot over the course of the afternoon—more than he wants to.
Madam Hooch was having a fling with Professor Vector, but it fizzled out over the holidays. Filch and Madam Pince, who had been on-again off-again for years, are supposedly on-again.
Peter cringes, as far as he's concerned teachers are all monastic and not allowed to do things like date or ‘hook up’. Yuck.
Molly Weasley squeals at the revelation, as it wins her the biggest payout of the day.
"I have it on good authority that Slughorn dipped a biscuit in hair-growth solution instead of tea."
Madam Pomfrey laughs, "I can confirm, and since it was a topical he had a hairy tongue for three days."
Crouch starts cackling, "I knew I saw him cough up a hairball,” he whispers to Rosier.
As discussion devolves, McGonagall closes the meeting. "I look forward to seeing you all next month. Same time and place."
As Peter leaves he is still wondering what he's witnessed, but he will definitely be making his friends' drama his business so he is prepared for next time.
***
By the third Saturday meeting Peter is living for the ‘tea’ as McGonagall calls it.
"Fellow Order members, I come bearing news."
Barty leaps into the backroom, nearly skipping with enthusiasm. Evan follows behind carrying two Butterbeers.
"Hello, Mr. Crouch, Mr. Rosier."
Evan inclines his head, "Good afternoon, Professor."
"Drumroll please, thank you, Albus. Today, dear Order of the Phoenix members, we learn the sex of the beloved Messrs Black and Potter's baby."
Barty takes an exaggerated breath, "Rosie, where are the trumpets, I need my heralding trumpets."
"Get on with it Mr. Crouch."
"Fine, no sense of showmanship. The baby Black-Potter, Potter-Black?" He shrugs, "Is—a—boy!"
Dumbledore stops drumming his fingers on the table, and claps. “How wonderful. I believe that is mine."
"Not so fast sir, I believe all bets were contingent on the correct gender and being born closest to the chosen sure date."
"I stand corrected Molly." His eyes twinkle. "We will have to wait until our September meeting."
"In other news," McGonagall clears her throat. "I have settled the Jegulus, Starchaser debate. I went right to the source."
Barty interrupts, "they shall henceforth be known as Starchaser. Reggie agrees,” he leans to Peter, “He just doesn't know to what."
Peter hesitantly raises his hand.
“Mr. Pettigrew?” Minerva calls, “you do not need to ask permission to speak, this isn't class.”
“Yes. Yes, well… James proposed over the weekend.”
Dumbledore smiles, eyes twinkling more than ever as he releases a quiet chuckle. "And a beautiful speech it was too. 'My heart is a snitch and you are its seeker.' Aah, to be young and in love." Dumbledore stares wistfully into the distance. "There was also something about being hit by a bludger that I found profoundly insightful. Although, I've always been partial to the idea that love is like a box of Every Flavor Beans, wonderful at times and full of surprises, good and bad, and even though we should know better we always go back for more."
Flitwick nods and hums in agreement. “To young love.” He raises a glass in toast.
Evan and Barty share a look and kiss on the cheek before drinking from their Butterbeers.
Dorcas slings an arm over Marlene's shoulder, holding her a little closer, as Arabella Figg wipes a tear from her eye.
“Yes, yes, lovely.” Molly leans in. “Did you all hear about Walburga and Orion?” she says in hushed tones.
Peter takes a hefty sip of his Butterbeer, what a day to be alive. The din of overlapping voices surrounding him music to his ears.