marauderstower | a crack in the ice | post-christmas break, first year

He's obviously subdued when he comes back from Christmas break. He smiles at his friends, but he manages to ward off any hugs by clinging tight to his trunk so that he doesn't leave any arms free. There's something off about the way that he holds himself, but he manages to laugh with the rest of them and listen to stories of the holiday break with cheer.

If anyone notices that he keeps his own stories to himself, or that his laugh dies almost the instant it seems right to, it's likely the merry band of friends who've begun to call themselves the Marauders.

It isn't until they make their way up the stairs to the Tower that it becomes clear the silence is hinting at an unspoken problem. It is until they're all changing for bed that he realizes there's no way to hide the bruises from the other boys sharing the room.

Shrugging his shirt off is a quick thing, done when he hopes no one notices. He's not fast enough. Eventually, someone's going to notice. Eventually, someone's going to say something.

But until then, Sirius is going to keep to himself just how terrible of a person he is. Maybe if he keeps it secret long enough, they'll still think he deserves to be their friend.

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That earns a quiet little frown from Sirius, a hand reaching out for one of his friend's hands so he can study them.

"...Looks pretty-- clean t'me," he says after a moment sounding earnest, "You always do."

He's not sure if that helps. He's not sure what to say, to the concept of magic being sinful. It's hard to wrap his mind around.

The words are strange, and would sound weird and off to an outsider perhaps. But they and the meaning behind them make Peter smile, thankful all over again for his friend. So while it aches a little, his hands curl around the ones holding his and gave a squeeze.

"Thank you." Peter understands enough to know Sirius is trying. How could someone raised in magic and a pureblood understand the thoughts and opinions of a muggle man who thinks magic is bad?

A shrug that makes him wince just slightly.

"'s just the truth."

Peter smiled more and handed the jar over to Sirius so the other boy could apply it to the other bruises. "Can it not, like, be mentioned to the other boys? I know its strange to others. I mean, it was strange to Muggles even." A fact he'd know from the endless teasing he'd endured. It was less here, but still present. At least he now had friends.

"Can I ask how you got the bruises?" He was curious, and if Sirius asked him about his hands, couldn't Peter ask about the bruises?

He takes the jar gratefully, rubbing the bruise cream on his injuries with a practiced ease.

"'Course, Pete. But don't feel like you have t'-- hide it, nn? At least not with me, and probably James and Remus, too."

Sirius for certain, at least, understands an aspect of it.

The question does getting him halting a moment, a brief flicker of shame crossing his expression that he ducks his head to hide; pretending to focus on his injuries.

"Well, y'know me," he says after a moment, "Bit of a tosser. Sometimes I'm not polite enough and have to-- be reminded."

Peter pulls up his feet as he listens and watches Sirius, heels perched on the edge of the bed. Wrapping his arms around his knees, Peter then rests his cheek on his knees. Curling up into a small ball with all of his attention on Sirius. there is a slight frown to Peter's lips as he nods, understanding. Peter wasn't hit often. Being so sensitive to pain he tended to go out of his way to avoid being punished. That didn't mean he did not understand.

"You're not a tosser. Not bad at all. I mean, you like me and you don't make fun of me. And you're pretty wicked, you know?" He said, tryign to return the encouragement he'd been given. "I'm sorry you get hurt, though."

It's nice to hear the reassurance, even if he doesn't quite believe him. It's got him looking up again and smiling gratefully at his friend.

"You're too sweet t'make fun of, Pete. It'd be like kicking a puppy." He doesn't say it like it's a bad thing.

The next words earn a slight shrug, "'s my own fault for forgetting how to behave appropriately around Mum and Dad. You lot are a bad influence on me. I don't have t'be so-- formal around you."

Peter gave a shake of his head, still smiling though. "I'm not. I'm... strange and different." he said, thinking of all the things he'd been called before by other kids. All those times he'd been a target. Unable to defend himself or speak back. Because if he did the hell he would catch at home would be worse.

"You know, it's the same for me. I mean... I'm not even suppose to have friends." In fact, he was trying hard to keep the fact he had friends from his mom and grandfather. they were his lone secret.

"Everyone's strange and different t'everyone else," he says, thinking mostly of himself and the two other boys they call friends, "'s not-- necessarily a bad thing."

At least when you like the person. It's going to take him time for him to expand that thought to people he doesn't like.

(If he ever gets there, really.)

The statement can't help but earn a thoughtful nose wrinkle.

"You guys are my first friends," he tells him, "Dunno what I would've done, without you lot. Seems-- silly, to me, for people not to think you need some."

Sirius is so nice, and Peter really can't understand how people would think he ever wasn't. After all, Sirius was friends with a strange and sinful creature like Peter, which automatically made Sirius among the kindest people he knew. A number chiefly populated by Sirius, James and Remus. Madam Pompfrey, too.

Peter ducked his head and gave a little shrug. "When you're bad and full of sin you shouldn't, because you could spread your taint to others," he said in a small voice, twitching slightly in his hands. Hearing his grandfather's voice preaching in his mind. "But you guys are safe, right? You already have magic, so my sins can't rub off on you?" Peter got up, absently, moving to straighten around his bed needlessly.

That's got a confused frown at the words. He's never really heard much about 'sin,' after all. It's not something that's particularly familiar to him.

"I mean, I suppose so. And I can't say much about sin, but you don't seem-- bad, Pete."

Sirius is-- has been, always will be-- so much worse.

"That's good," he says with a smile, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. It will take a long time before he's able to hear such things and believe them.

"Do you want to do something until James and Remus get back? Play exploding Snap or chess?"Yes, because what they just talked about seemed so normal and ok that moving on to talk about playing a game seemed alright and logical.

Well, Sirius will do his best to remind him. Not that it isn't just a little bit of the pot calling the kettle black.

He's grateful for the offered subject change. He doesn't know either, after all, that these topics aren't at all good. All he knows for certain is that they make them both feel bad. So he'll force a little brightness to his smile as he nods.

"Yeah. Lets do it. Exploding Snap ought to be good for a laugh."

a crack in the ice | post-christmas break, first year | tw: child abuse

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