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

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

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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Peter frowned when he saw Sirius pull down his shirt, lips parting to say something, but he didn't. Instead he ducked his head and kept moving until he hands were empty. At that point he just fidgeted. Awkward in this moment alone with Sirius, not sure about what he should do.

"Nothing just... Felt like an early shower, and then... just..." he motioned about the room uselessly. After another moment he moved back toward his bed and was going to sit down, except the salve jaw was still on his nightstand and caught his eyes. After a moment he picked it up and moved toward the other boy. "Ummm... this is for healing," he said, head ducked as he held it out to Sirius. "You can put it on your bruises... if you want to. You don't have to. I just thought... you might..."

Edited 2016-10-03 23:06 (UTC)

He shifts carefully to go sit carefully on his bed while Peter shuffles around cleaning. He blinks in obvious surprise at the offered jar, eyes flickering just a hint nervously up to his friend.

"...Oh." He's not prying. He's not fussing worriedly or judging him for how many bruises there are. That makes it a little easier to take it. "Thanks."

It takes him a moment of just holding it, unscrewing the cap open and shut again before he offers a small truth out of gratitude for the salve.

"They-- hid the bruise cream while I was home," he says, a little abruptly, gaze dropping away, "'s why it-- looks like this."

It's not a confession, exactly, but it's a start.

Peter was about to move away when Sirius reclosed the lid of the jar, making him pause. Then Sirius spoke up making his eyes widen again briefly before a sad, understanding look appears. Peter was then left to fidget a moment.

He didn't know what to do. Hug Sirius? He always wished for embraces in moments of vulnerability, wanting the love and affection he'd never received at home. But what if Sirius didn't want it? Then there was the fact his friend was hurt, and Peter didn't want to make him hurt more. So instead Peter moved to sit next to Sirius and laid his head to rest on the other boy's shoulder, his abused hand raising up to lightly touch and rest against the other boy's arm; thinking nothing about his own hurts. They were so common to him, he never thought of hiding them. They just were.

"There's no healing slaves and cream at home," he said in a small voice, voicing his own. "So Pomfrey gave me this, like when I first got here. I'm sure she'd give you some too, but you can share mine when you need it." He paused a moment before continuing. "I can help you put it on the ones you can't reach?"

His breath catches just slightly as Peter moves to settle his head against his shoulder. He relaxes after a moment, though he does frown just a bit down at the injuries on the back of his friend's hand. He's seen them before, but in the context of the words his attention is all the more drawn to them.

"--It won't hurt your hand?"

At Sirius' concern Peter glances up and blinks in an owlish fashion, surprised and confused by the concern. Pompfrey had also been concerned over it, but the woman could only lecture softly at him as it was all his own doing. Nothing inflicted on him by others. At least, she didn't know all his cleaning was on orders at home.

"Hmm? No. Well, it might ache or itch a little, but that's alright." He said, shrugging as he sat up and shifted on the bed. Ready to help his friend. "Take off your shirt? I'll try to be quick and not hurt you."

The surprise hurts a little. Peter is a good kid. He doesn't deserve to be confused by concern.
He's not Sirius, after all.

"Are you sure? I don't want to make you hurt worse. I can do it myself."

He certainly has before. He rarely lets Regulus help with this, after all.

Peter smiles the first truly real smile since returning to school, and it's a thankful one. Thankful for his friend who cares, though Peter thinks it isn't needed. He then holds out his hand for the salve, shaking his head.

"No, it's alright. Let me help you. Please? You're... you're my friend, right? Friends... they help each other. I want to help you." Peter then licked his dry lip, looking a little like a lost puppy, hoping he's not doing something wrong. He'd always watched friends before, he'd never actually been a friend.

Well. That's sweet, and that lost puppy look is definitely irresistible. That's got him smiling with a bit of surprise on his own face.

"...Yeah, Pete. We're friends." That feels important to assure him of, first, "'nd I guess if you-- want to help. There's a few on my back that're hard to reach."

So he'll unscrew the cap and offer the jar back to Peter so he can take off his shirt. Shifting so he can offer his back a little better to his friend comes after a tentative moment.

It's a little better on his back. The bruises here look a little older, like they'd come first. There's still plenty of large, ugly splotches, but they're not as fresh. The worse ones are spread across his torso, not as big as the ones on his back but vividly purple, obviously newer. Sirius will be taking care of those himself.

He manages a tentative smile over his shoulder at Peter, after a breath.

"....Thanks, by the way. You're the best."

Peter's smile blossomed more at that and he shyly ducked his head, so very happy to hear those words. It was one thing to assume and have it said casually, but to have it said to him with such purpose? It made his day. It made him so very happy. "I do want to help," he reaffirmed.

Taking the jar he sat and waited as Sirius took off his shirt, concerned anew at the number of them, but making no comment. He'd help Sirius heal them up. He scooped up a bit of the ointment and warmed it with his fingers before he started to apply it. His touch was light and gentle, rubbing it into his bruises. Trying to cause the least bit of discomfort possible.

"No need to thank me, really," he said, though he was pleased and happy. "Whenever this happens... you can come to me. I promise, I'll always help you." he said as he sat back after rubbing the ointment in.

"Thanks, Pete," he repeats in response to the words, "'s not gonna be that often after this, since we're at school."

This doesn't happen when he's away, after all. The only bruises he gains are usually because of pranks, and those are usually gained with one of the others there.

Although he does have to wonder.

"--Can I ask about your hand?"

"My hands?" Peter blinks owlishly again, having the conversation drawn back to them. He looked down at his chapped hands, still looking on the verge of cracking tot he point of bleeding. So rough looking... normal to Peter. It was when they healed over that his hands looked strange.

"I clean. We're always cleaning. I..." he almost said he was dirty, but he kept that back, brows furrowing. "I can't become ...." Again he paused, as he was about to say almost the same thing. His dried lips pursed as he continued to look down at his hands. What was the right thing to say? To explain so it would be understood?

"Magic... Magic is sinful in my house. I must stay clean." He set the jar aside and started to wring his hands.

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."

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

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