Mar 1, 2025
That rat dance thing
seen from United States
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seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
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seen from South Korea
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from South Korea
seen from China
seen from Germany
seen from Netherlands
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Germany
That rat dance thing
slow┊april 21 ┊@taylorswiftmicrofic ┊carrat┊wc: circa 1600┊tw: none
Peter careened down another hallway. Feet hitting the stone floor being a dead give-away, he winced at every deafening slap of his worn-down shoes, surely directing the professor’s attention towards them. She’d be steaming mad by now! He knew better than to look back and check, though.
A head of mousy blonde hair? Could be anyone, really, especially if he bat his lashes and emphasised the part of the innocent lamb being led astray by his devilish friends.
His face, though? Sirius would have a laugh witnessing Peter try to lie his way out of that one.
Snapping out, his hand caught Remus’ arm when his co-conspirator almost turned. Chiding burst through chapped lips, “Don’t slow down! You’ve long enough legs-“ Widened eyes met wider eyes and Peter propelled Remus forward.
Quickly, Remus made use of his average height, his back disappearing as they split off. Peter, shorter, did glance this time whilst he turned a sharp corner. Alone now. What’s he going to-
Slam!
He skidded into a body. Rearing back, his breath battered his chest as it came surging back. He choked.
The body - fire haired, sharp browed, pencil lipped - raised her chin. Oh. Alecto Carrow. Oh no.
Yelling, in the cursive of Scottish, neared. His peer fixed her beady blue scrutiny on him, with precision as if pinning a butterfly’s wings. Peter wasn’t sure which was more terrifying.
Torn between two evils, he defaulted to… well, to freezing.
No James to back him up and make him feel on top of the world, to infect Peter with his careless smirk. No Sirius to deal out a cruelty Peter hasn’t the imagination to create, dismissing anyone and everyone’s ability to harm him. No Remus to drag him away and save him from the impossibility that is decision making.
“I- Funny seeing… So… Yeah,” he managed lamely. Hell. It’s Alecto bloody Carrow. His fingers shook at his sides, adrenaline only spiking in the presence of the unforgiving beautiful heiress.
Think. Think.
Just when something to salvage this disaster comes to mind, the shrieking of “Young sirs!” becomes apparently clearer. Like the professor has chanced upon the adjacent hall. Like Peter is well and truly screwed.
Alecto’s nose creased, as if the ruckus personally offended her. It did him too, to be honest, but after their prank, he could admit when he didn’t have the right to protest.
Broken out from where he’d stalled, Peter yelped, and then quietened himself to soft panting, as he suddenly found himself being moved. A thin hand encircled his wrist. He was pulled ferociously. A few moments and his feet caught up with Alecto’s pace.
No time to question. Only to run. Rookie mistake. He’d let the professor get far too close whilst he had fumbled.
Hallways blurred. He shifted to the balls of his feet, steps silencing themselves to a degree. They could be heard just slightly above the pounding of hers. From the corner of his eye, she’s flushed as red as his House’s banner.
Peter knew her grip like ice - and not the soothing kind - would have consequence. But he was running again. He had company. He couldn’t quite care.
He’d laugh. If he didn’t know better.
As soon as they fell into a rhythm, a discordant key was struck. Alecto halted herself, him almost toppling beside her. The broom closet beside them swiftly found itself homing two breathless teenagers.
Wrangling his excitement, Peter slumped against the wall of the cupboard. He screwed his eyes shut, acutely aware of her stare, and peeled them open again only when footsteps had come and went.
At least now what to say was simple.
”Thanks,” Peter craned his head to meet that unflinching gaze. His mind scrambled for the manners his Mam instilled. What else? Sweet talk.
”I’d be in for a week-load of detention otherwise.” It was true, too.
”You’re welcome,” Alecto sniffed. Their tight confines caused her no such qualms as him, considering how she stood on her toes to even their height, bringing their faces closer.
It was intimidating. One, because she was gorgeous in the manner of sunrises, like a new day banging at the door, bright glow refusing to allow you to close your eyes and return to peace. Two, because her and her brother were the type of deranged to decapitate birds they found with broken wings as children.
She knew it too.
He wasn’t that naïve. Clearly, Peter had ran into another crazy strong person, who probably wanted something he probably could not provide.
He was also not dumb. He was not going to ask. Not until she said.
A minute passed in an absolute silence disobeyed only by their shallow breaths, as they gathered themselves. Not that she needed any more gathering. Even red as her hair, she looked every inch of power to him, from her unmarred temple to the impassive slant of her lips, like nothing about this proximity phased her. She was the one at his neck.
The mirage only wavered when she realised he would stand there without speaking for a long while, dedicated to his guarded watch and wary to misspeak.
Alecto cleared her throat. Like Peter sometimes did when throwing his thoughts into their Marauder’s collective heap. Like she wasn’t used to speaking first. By Sirius’ recount of knowing the twins as a youth, maybe Amycus took over the talking for her.
She preened, puffing herself up, “So what did you do then? I ought to know,” her tone dripped with something that slithered over his skin like oil.
Peter, entrenched in her cold aura as their breaths mingled and frosted him numb gradually, did not shudder. He let it settle on him, like a cloak. The sensation of his skin being pricked was almostaddictive. He’d been chosen to play this game.
Maybe because he was the scrawniest of the lot. The weak link. Still, it was almost nice to meet this familiarity once again except opposing a player calculated in her approach. She didn’t want to ravage him. Not yet. She wanted some measly information.
Peter couldn’t see what she gained from this. The hair on his arms tingled, and he realised his wrist was still in her bruising grip. Oh well. More important matters to pay attention to and that.
This was scouting. Reconnaissance. Yeah. Yeah.
”Depending on who you ask: Nothing,” his eyes dropped to her lips. They were pursed, like she wanted to huff and puff and blow fire at him if she could.
“I’m asking you, Pet-“ she slowed like she struggled to remember how his name went.
”Pettigrew,” and then, “Are you now?”
“I saved you, you know. I did that,” Alecto drew his wrist further to her side. Their noses almost knocked. His lips ghosted her cheek and he tensed, ready to be hexed for having a half-blood’s presumption.
Nothing came. Nothing needed to. Peter could be dense, both inside classrooms and out. But, as most people were unaware, he had eyes and ears and a mouth to be spoken with.
“You did.”
Staring into her keen eyes showed him everything he needed. They darted across his face, searching, searching. They cut themselves on his every angle, framed by furrowed brows, painted with a blue in the shade of pursuit.
She wasn’t angry, too aristocratic for it. She still raked over him in want of something. That scared him marginally less this time.
“Why’d you do it?” He finally asked the dreaded question.
”…Because I wanted to,” she settled on spitefully.
”Did you now?” Peter murmured. Their close confines pricked her ears up with it nevertheless.
”I did.”
”My turn,” she determined. Her body leaned forwards and he didn’t lean back, like she had him strapped to a chair for interrogation, “Why won’t you tell me?”
Million-pound question, that. Answer truthfully: look guilty. Lie: it wouldn’t be the worst he’s done, as evidenced by the exploit that had crammed him here with this stubborn witch, but he’d feel queasy about it.
There was a flatness to her eyes that laid her bare. A hungry patch of blue that threatened to swallow him whole for answers. Like how he looked whenever James or Sirius spelled out another of their prank ideas to him. Maybe she just wanted to be in the know.
Bless Remus, but sometimes it’s more claustrophobic than their broom closet to be tucked safe at someone’s elbow, kept from what the world offered. It was a rare day to see her without Amycus casting a shadow on her pale face. Peter didn’t want to waste it for her.
Against all odds, Alecto Carrow didn’t appear to actually want to pin his limbs down like butterfly wings and make him suffer grievous harm. She just had that effect, naturally. Rich people shite. Like Sirius and James.
There was a beautiful girl a hairs breadth from him. Wanting him, or at the least something from him. He’d made her smile, and he didn’t know how except that maybe she was a little more like him than outward appearance would suggest.
The smirk on her face that grew each time they exchanged barbs, sister to malice, made his heart flutter - fear? admiration? Either way, Peter found he really, really wanted to give her a chance.
Oh Agrippa.
This was just… recruitment. Course. Not that she’d join them. But… it stood. Yeah. Shucks. Yeah.
His eyes shifted across her. One last breath. And then with the solemnity of a war-time general whispering secrets heavy as syrup into his enemy’s ear, he told her, “We-“
posting more dst art every day until ive posted everything ive drawn
anyway carrats are the best creatures ever shoutout to my friend who has the carrat backpack skin
here, have a carrat. for your mental health
[hands you a rat] [hands you a rat] [hands you a rat] [hands you a rat] [hands you a rat] [hands you a rat] [hands you a rat] [hands you a rat]
yeAR OF THE RAT YEAR OF THE RAT YEAR OF THE RAT
https://www.deviantart.com/kannatc/art/DST-Carrat-Race-839232697
All originals with my description I have only on my DeviantArt page!!! Please check them out. Also you can find a lot more of my arts there.
I drew maxwell and his pet Carrat “Da-Vincy”
...because yknow a man needs his rat