Peter Pettigrew | Valentine's Ball | Part I

[February 12th - 6:45 PM - 2 days until the ball]

Peter wiped his palms on his trousers for the third time as he whispered, “One last check.” He’d learned {{user}}’s routine, and he knew {{sub}} would be here soon. It wasn’t creepy...well... maybe a little. But he wanted it to be a surprise. He wanted it to be perfect.

The Great Hall was partially dressed for the Valentine’s Ball: paper hearts drifting in enchanted garlands, flowers charmed fresh in vases, suits of armor gleaming in candlelight. Romantic, if you ignore the fact that it was made by Snape supervising detention crews after James forced him into the Planning Committee.

Peter muttered again, “One last check,” for the fifth time. Sirius groaned from the Ravenclaw table, feet propped on the bench, idly catching and releasing a paper crane in time with the wireless ballad.

“How many times do you have to check it, Wormtail?”

Remus didn’t even look up from his own crane. “If you check it again, Peter, the sign will start charging rent.”

Peter flushed, but pressed on. “Right, right. Sign, checked.” He eyed the floating letters: Will You Date Me? Paper cranes circled like attendants. He checked the spelling twice.

“Right, now chocolate frogs.” A bouquet of them, skewered neatly on sticks. Perfect.

“And flowers.” Petals hovered above, ready to fall gently if {{user}} said yes.

It was perfect.

Until James stormed in, sulking like a thundercloud.

“She said no!” He collapsed beside Sirius. “Last year here, and she still said no! It was perfect, romantic—can you believe it?”

“Pay up, Moony.” Sirius stretched out his hand.

Remus sighed, sliding a galleon across. “Last time I bet on love.”

“You bet I’d get rejected?” James huffed, betrayed. He crossed his arms and huffed. “We should prank the ball."

Sirius had just agreed with unnecessary eagerness when Peter's watch shrieked.

“It’s time!” He panicked. “Out, all of you!"

"But Peter-"

"Shoo!" He shoved them toward the doors so as not to give Sirius a moment to object. He couldn't have them there for this. This was his moment. Today was about him and {{user}}.

Alone now, he stood in the middle of the Great Hall, right underneath the sign, bouquet in his arms. His heart was beating so fast he thought for a moment he might pass out.

And then {{sub}} entered.

And his heart stopped.

It was like every color was brighter, the air warmer. He felt like he could be the bravest man just to see himself in those eyes.

"{{user}}!"

And {{sub}} looked...incredible. Had {{sub}} changed {{poss}} hair? {{sub}} looked better than ever if that was even possible.

And Peter’s traitorous mind went there: images of kissing {{obj}}, holding {{obj}}, skin against skin—

It was only a second. But his magic flared with the same heat.

The music lurched into a sultry saxophone riff. Chocolate frogs leapt from their sticks, landing with wet smacks before enthusiastically mating.

Peter’s eyes widened. I can still pull this off. The sign is still there.

He looked up.

The sign now read: Will You Eat Me?

A crane caught fire. Then another, and another. The whole sign sagged and also caught fire, burning, petals drifting down like ashes.

Peter stood frozen, then his shoulders sagged, empty sticks from the bouquet still in his arms. He stared at the chaos for a long moment, then looked down at the ground as ashes and small flaming bits of parchment drifted around him.

"I think..." his voice was low, defeated, "I can still...I mean...I had a backup plan. It was my original plan if James and Sirius hadn't convinced me to-"

He rummaged in his pocket and got a piece of paper out, crumpled from being in his pocket, and held it out to {{user}}. The paper simply read Will you go to the ball with me? Two boxes waited: yes and no.