Disclaimer: I don't own anything or anyone; they are all JK Rowling's property.

AN: Written for "The First Day of School" challenge. I never do challenges, so this is a first. Still - I had fun! I just hope I got the characters' personalities right.

You'll have a lot of fun, his mother tells him the first time he receives his Hogwarts letter. She smiles and kisses him on the cheek, looking so much more excited than he remembers seeing her. You'll see, she says and envelops him in a lung-shattering embrace.

You'll learn so many things, she gushes after they get his wand from Diagon Alley. They're heading towards Madam Malkin's as she says this, and he feels her hand squeeze his a little tighter, and he squeezes back just to shake off his anxiety at the very thought.

You'll become an excellent wizard, she says proudly, sizing him up as he stands in the threshold of their living room, his clothes feeling unbearably tight and small against his heated skin, his expression that of a helpless and embarrassed and confused and nervous deer. He swallows down hard, only to realise that the lump in his throat is still there, so he swallows again and smiles at his mother.

Mrs. Pettigrew gets up from her chair where she'd been reading the newspaper and rushes over to him, kneeling down to hug him tightly against her. Peter Pettigrew squeaks at the unexpected contact and then buries his face in the crook of her shoulder, breathing in her scent (she smells of lavender and warmth and sunshine and everything good in this world), holding onto her, relishing in the feeling of the brown locks of her soft hair brushing against his cheek when he lifts his head to smile at her reassuringly.

She smiles back, her eyes already shedding tears and lays a big, wet kiss on his cheek.

"Mum," he protests, but doesn't pull back. She laughs and whispers, "You'll be one of the greatest wizards ever. I know it. I can feel it. You'll make me proud," in his ear, and he shivers against the words. Not because he thinks he won't, but because of the sudden rush of thrill he can feel in his veins. It's the first sign of actually wanting to go emerging in his body and his now ear-wide grin, but he deems his mother at fault. Her excitement is highly contagious and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he might actually succeed in pleasing her.

On the way to King's Cross, he asks her what house he should be sorted into and she tells him not to worry, because it doesn't matter to her and it's all the same. She seems to think highly of Gryffindor, however and, thinking that yes, he has to make her proud no matter what, he will be sorted there, no matter how tentative he is of even stepping in that castle.

When they reach King's Cross, he takes a deep breath and practically sprints through the wall towards Platform 9 ¾, with his trunk in tow, stumbling and almost falling on top of a tawny-haired boy in the process.

Cheeks flaring, he pulls back and squeaks out an apology, almost jumping out of his skin when he feels a hand on his shoulder a second later. When he looks up and sees his mother, her bright, smiling face, her luscious brown hair, he sighs in relief and glances towards the boy he nearly squashed.

"I'm – I'm sorry," he says quickly, again. He feels his neck burning and doesn't doubt that his entire face is tomato-red.

The boy's face eases into a smile and Peter realises with a jolt that he's the same age as he is.

"Not a problem," says the boy. Then he turns to Mrs. Pettigrew and smiles uncertainly. "Hullo, ma'am."

Peter's mother beams down at the boy and greets him, then looks at her son. "What are apologising for?"

"Um...w-well, I—"

"Nearly crushed me, but it's not a problem," the boy says helpfully and Peter's face takes on a beam similar to the one his mother is wearing.

"Oh, Peter," Mrs. Pettigrew admonishes, cuffing his head lightly. "Learn to walk, would you?" Her tone is light and warm and her smile is so gentle, so loving it dawns on Peter that he's leaving her and won't see her for the next few months and the thought pains him.

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he nods automatically, his body stiffening at the thought of living away from home.

"What's your name, then?" she says to the tawny-haired boy, who'd been looking around as though searching for something.

He jumps, and looks back, the uncertain smile back on his lips, although not quite meeting his weary eyes. "Sorry?"

"Your name. What is it?"

"Oh. Um...Remus Lupin, ma'am."

"I'm Hilda Pettigrew and from what you probably made out, this is my son, Peter."

Peter peeps out a, "Hi," and suddenly feels the need to hide behind his mother's leg but he remembers that he's not a little boy anymore and he's going to be a wizard and the realisation is almost too overwhelming and painful so he takes a deep breath and swallows and smiles tightlyat the thought.

Remus Lupin smiles at him again and asks, quite tentatively, "We could sit in the same compartment, if you'd like?"

Peter, beyond relieved that he doesn't have to search for hours for a compartment alone, where it's likely he might meet older boys, nods vigorously and grins at Remus.

"Already made a friend? That's excellent, Petey!" his mother exclaims and leans down to kiss him.

He flinches, embarrassed. "Mum!"

He hears Remus laugh at the expression on his face.

"Yes, dear?" She's smirking now and Peter can't help but smile back at her.

"I think we have to leave, then," Remus says, an oddly wary look shadowing his face as he looks at the people embarking on the train.

Peter says nothing. He just nods and then winces when his mother squeezes his shoulder. He looks up at her and, sure enough, tears are spilling from her face.

"Mu-um," he squeaks out, blowing out through his nose as she hugs him, sobbing quietly into his shoulder. "Mum..." he says weakly, awkwardly patting her back, all the while grimacing at Remus who smiles sympathetically. "Mum...I have to-to leave."

"It's just...I'm going to miss you...so, so much," she sobs. She pulls back and her cheeks are flushed, but her eyes are dead serious, boring into Peter's. "Promise me you'll write every day. Promise me."

"Yes, Mum."

"Promise, Peter." Her voice cracks and her face crumples.

He gulps. "I promise, Mum."

She kneels back up and pats his head. She draws in a deep breath and then seems to compose herself.

"All right, then. Off you go, Peter. It was nice meeting you, Remus."

Remus nods and says, "Likewise, Mrs. Pettigrew."

As they walk towards the train, Peter looking around nervously to check that there are more people who aren't yet on, he hears Remus say, "She seems nice."

Peter, drawn out of his reverie, is temporarily confused. "Who?"

Remus looks at him, bemused. "Your mother. She seems nice."

"Oh." Peter clears his throat loudly, then almost chokes on his own saliva. Remus pats his back helpfully, laughing, and Peter smiles back when he can finally breathe.

Together, they search for a compartment and find one empty already, the door sliding shut almost violently after Peter. He's relieved there's no one there, especially no third-years and upwards. He's already seen two tall seventh years, smirking and laughing, and just the sound made him cower in fear.

Silence falls in the compartment. Peter watches Remus take a book out of his trunk and begin to read it, and the brown-haired boy squints to see what's written. It's a textbook, he realises, and shudders at the thought of having to read during this year. He's never enjoyed reading but Remus, with quite an enthusiastic look plastered on his face, seems to want to do nothing more than just that.

"So...er...w-what house d-do you want to be sorted in?" Peter asks timidly.

Remus's head jerks up. He looks surprised at the question, and only now does Peter see the nervousness lurking behind his dark, wide eyes. He's faintly relieved, because Remus had seemed so calm and collected up until then and it's comforting to know he's not the only one worried.

"Erm...whichever. I don't really have a preference."

Peter coughs. "Oh."

"How about you?"

"Gryffindor," he says quickly.

Remus looks amused and he drops the book, which had been practically stuck to his face.

"You didn't stutter when you said that," he observes.

Peter blinks. "Sorry?"

"When you said Gryffindor. You didn't stutter like before. And you sounded really convinced. That's the house of the brave, isn't it?" He looks uncertain, biting his bottom lip.

Peter, shocked that the boy doesn't know about Gryffindor, gawks at him. "Of-of course!" he says, recovering. "You didn't know?"

Remus shrugs a shoulder. "Well, I knew the moment I asked you, right? I just wasn't, you know, sure."

"Are you muggle-born?" Peter demands immediately, narrowing his eyes.

The boy's shoulders seem to stiffen. "No."

Peter, oblivious to the sudden change in body language, asks, "Then what? A half-blood?"

"Uh – yeah. But my, um, father died when I was young so I don't know much about magic. My mum's a muggle."

Peter tilts his head sideways and echoes, "Your father died?"

Remus nods, his cheeks turning faintly red. "Yeah."

"So did mine!" Peter says loudly, and then proceeds to tell himself that it's not something to be proud of. He clears his throat and says in a more solemn voice, "I mean, he died when I was eight years old, but I didn't see much of him anyway so..."

Remus looks faintly surprised. "Really? You too?"

Peter nods his head, looking a bit sheepish. "Yeah. I still don't know why he died."

Remus averts his gaze as he says, "Yeah. No one knows why mine died either."

"Well, at least we have something in common," Peter says, face brightening. "Doesn't matter what though, right?"

Remus's smile doesn't meet his eyes. "Yeah. Definitely."

-p-

"Are you all right? You look like you might faint."

Remus's voice echoes faintly through the blood rushing in Peter's ears. The boy's voice sounds muffled and low compared to the loud thundering of the blood just pouring and pouring in Peter's head.

Peter feels his stomach lurch forward and he clutches at his abdomen absently. "Yeah," he wheezes. "I'm fine."

Sirius Black looks him over incredulously, a dark eyebrow sliding up smoothly. "Mate. He's right. You look like you just swallowed a dead Hippogriff whole."

"And raw," adds James Potter.

"I'm – I'm fine," Peter stammers out, then jumps when he hears the first name being called out.

"Mate, relax," laughs James. "It's just McGonagall."

He feels Remus's warm hand on his shoulder and looks up to see the boy smiling at him.

"It's all right to be nervous, Peter," he says in a low voice.

"Yeah, Remmy's totally right," Sirius grins. "I mean, look at Snivellus! He probably wet himself." He gestures towards the tall, greasy-haired boy Peter remembers the two boys he and Remus met on the boat talking about.

"You sure you're okay, Peter?" James asks, poking his shoulder. "You really look like you're sick."

"I think I'm going to puke," Peter splutters, clutching even harder.

"Uh oh," Sirius says loudly, making a few other nervous first-years look back. "Looks like we have a puker here! Help! The kid's gonna die!"

A few of the kids snicker, some of the green faces Peter can see hazily gaining a more normal colour at Sirius's rather un-funny quip.

"I think you're up next, Sirius," Remus mutters.

Peter's gaze drifts up from its position on the ground and he looks at Sirius's suddenly still face. He almost laughs at the way his mouth is parted in surprise.

"Wh-what?" he manages.

James nods and smacks him on the back. "He's right. They're at B now."

Sirius swallows down visibly. "What?"

James grins at him and nudges Peter. "See? Even Sirius over here is seriously scared. You aren't alone, my friend. Some Gryffindor you're going to be, snake boy," he hisses lowly to Sirius, his grin turning wider when Sirius kicks him on the shin.

"Shut it, Potter," he says, and then he freezes all over again when they all hear the name "Black" being called out.

Peter reaches out to pat Sirius's shoulder as the boy stands rigid, mouth half-open. He smiles weakly and says, "Good luck."

Sirius walks towards the stool and sits on it, the hat remaining only a few seconds on his head before declaring, "GRYFFINDOR" in what seems to be such a loud voice, Peter nearly tips over.

The whole Hall falls silent and Peter, not really understanding why, looks to Remus for an answer, but the boy just shakes his head and shrugs a shoulder in confusion.

Soon enough, James, in spite of his earlier words, puts his index finger and thumb around his mouth and begins whistling and cheering.

"Whoo, Sirius!" he shouts.

Before long, the Gryffindors follow his example, and Sirius looks mightily relieved as he saunters to the red-and-gold side of the Hall.

Peter sees a couple of people patting him on the back and would have smiled for his new friend had he not been overcome by another wave of nausea.

"Look at the git," James says, smirking. "So freaking smug. We'll see who's better, though."

Remus smiles across at Peter. "See? If Sirius can make it, I'm sure you can too."

Peter nods, grateful. "Thanks. I bet you're gonna be in Gryffindor too."

"How much d'you two wanna bet Snivellus's gonna be in Slytherin?" James mutters, eyeing Severus Snape with another, wider smirk.

Peter snorts and Remus says, "No way. We all know he will."

"Yeah. After all, all the cowards end up in dumb Slytherin, eh?" James says loud enough for the greasy-haired boy to hear.

Peter sees the boy's shoulders hunch in embarrassment and none of them misses the sideways sneer he sends in their direction. His redhead companion then leans towards Severus and whispers something in his ear, her narrowed eyes fixed on them in a silent threat.

"Loser," James snickers and Peter follows his example, letting out a weak laugh.

The three continue to talk as various names are being called; meaning Peter and James do most of the talking while Remus remains silent, watching every student called upon, his narrowed eyes scrutinising everyone like he's trying to read them.

"They're at L," Remus announces at some point, blowing out some air through his mouth. James and Peter stop.

James pats his shoulder sympathetically. "Don't worry, Remmy. You'll be fine."

Remus closes his eyes. "I won't be if you continue calling me that."

James cackles, then his eyes widen when they hear "Lupin".

"Well. This is it, mate. The moment of truth. We shall see your true nature," says the bespectacled boy solemnly, putting his hand over his heart. He straightens his back and shuts his eyes, his face turning so serious and unmoving, both of his companions laugh.

"Good luck," Peter squeaks out, growing all the more nervous as he realises that they're only two letters away from his name.

Remus walks hesitantly to the stool and, to Peter's odd combination of relief and an unwanted twinge of jealousy (which he immediately brushes off), the tawny-haired boy is sorted in Gryffindor. James begins cheering again, not as loudly as for Sirius, and this time Peter joins in, finding that yelling out while being drowned out in the rest of the Hall is an excellent way to cure some of his anxiety.

"Still nervous, Petey?" James asks him. "Don't be. You and I will be sorted in Gryffindor, and together with those two losers over there, we'll rule the school, all right? We'll be so epic even Snivellus will bow down to us. You'll see."

Peter vaguely recalls his mother saying something along the lines of, "you'll be an excellent wizard", resembling James's own words, but at the moment, he can barely even think. He just draws a sharp breath inward and secures his fingers around the wand lost in his robes when McGonagall calls out "Parkinson".

When she calls out "Pettigrew" he's pretty sure he's going to faint, because his stomach feels like it's doing somersaults over and over and over and over again, and it's making him sick.

"Good luck, Pete," James whispers, then pushes him forward.

Peter stumbles towards the stool, not able to see, not able to even think. The only words which echo in his mind are, "make" and "proud" and "mother" and "Gryffindor". He's so lost in those words, trying to form normal sentences with them, that he doesn't even get scared when the brim of the Sorting Hat falls in front of his eyes, obscuring his sight. Heck, he doesn't even jump when a voice speaks in his mind and he's pretty sure that's usually a sign of insanity.

Well, well. What an interesting mind we have here, indeed, says the voice that Peter supposes belongs to the Hat. Although not exceedingly bright, you seem to possess quite an interesting and unique ability.

Peter perks up at the thought. Really? What?

The Hat ignores him, continuing its musing. You're loyal, I see, very loyal. Just made some friends and you're already planning out the rest of years here with them, eh? Yes, loyal. You would do well in Hufflepuff.

Peter almost whimpers. No. No. No. Please, no, not Hufflepuff.

No? The Hat sounds surprised. Ah, I see. You want to make your mother proud of you by being sorted into Gryffindor. But in all honesty, my boy, Hufflepuff would be just as good a house for you.

Peter's fingers dig into the wood of the stool and he's not too far from begging. Please, Sorting Hat. Gryffindor. I need to do at least that much to please Mum. Please.

Very well, then.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Peter doesn't think he could have been more relieved and he practically scrambles off the tool, rushing through the applauses and cheers (mainly from James, Sirius and Remus) to the Gryffindor table. He feels an odd rush of warmth and pride when Sirius wraps an arm around his shoulders and grins at him, while older Gryffindors send him smiles and welcome him warmly.

Peter grins at Remus faintly when the boy smiles at him genuinely for what seems to be the first time in the last few hours Peter's known him.

"Congratulations, Petey," Sirius drawls happily. "You made it. Never thought you had it in you. Now let's see if Mr. Potter will succeed as well."

Sure enough, James joins Gryffindor and both Sirius and Peter jump up to smack him on the back. Remus just smiles at the scene of James half-glaring, half-grinning at the pair of them as he rubs his shoulder-blades vigorously.

"We made it, guys," Sirius exclaims happily, his left arm now around Peter and James's shoulders, while the right rests on Remus's. "We're here, in the House of Gryffindor, together."

"Won't your parents be mad?" James asks, shaking his arm off. "I mean, your whole family has been in Slytherin for generations, you said."

Sirius shrugs nonchalantly. "I couldn't care less about those wankers, really."

When a first-year girl turns around to send him a glare, he just smirks at her and raises his eyebrows.

"When's the food going to appear?" Peter asks, looking around uneasily. "I'm hungry."

"Hungry? You should be careful, Pete." James reaches out and pats his stomach. "Any more food and you'll explode!"

Sirius snickers and even Remus smiles. Peter blushes and brushes James's hand away, though he beams at the three of them.

They spend the rest of the night talking and laughing, their chatter expanding well into the early hours when they reach their new dorm.

When Remus, who read all awhile through their chatting with a wide smile plastered on his face, puts his book down and says, "All right, then! Bed, people. We have classes tomorrow," Sirius snorts and James snickers.

"Wow!" says Sirius in mock surprise. "The boy put the book down! James, quick! Grab a camera."

Remus glares at him half-heartedly, the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and Peter slips into his pyjamas with no complaint.

The first second his head makes contact with the pillow, he immediately shuts his eyes, his body curling inwards as he rests on his side, and sighs through his nose, filled with warmth and happiness and thoughts of lions and Quidditch and Hogwarts.

For once, ever since his father died, Peter feels happy. For once, he knows he will be a part of something – something big and, even though he's half-asleep, even though he's apprehensive about the rest of the student body of Hogwarts as well as teachers and classes, he smiles and opens his eyes just enough to see the curtains covering his bed.

Rolling over, the smile still etched stubbornly on his lips, he doesn't think of one thing though and soon he falls asleep with another satisfied sigh, oblivious as is his nature.

It's almost too good to be true.

It always is.