Peter Pettigrew

[wxrmtxil]

Pinned Intro Post

I've got a link to Peter's bio HERE for folks to use :D

Or have a look below the cut for a full intro! :D

IC INFO:

Character name: Peter Pettigrew Age & Birthday: Age 21, Birthday August 12th  Gender & Pronouns: CisMale, He/Him Occupation: Clerk, Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Law Enforcement Blood status: Half-Blood (Raised Muggleborn) Previous house: Gryffindor Previous Affiliation: Order Face claim: Dylan Minnette

Traits:  Positive: Intelligent, Humble, Caring

Intelligent: Despite first appearances, Peter is surprisingly smart though he rarely bothers to put ideas forward, talking himself out of them having any worth. So often when he actually does speak up people are surprised by his ideas.

                  Humble: To the point of it being bad for him. Peter Pettigrew cannot take a compliment and will always find a way to bounce it back or deflect it from himself. However, it makes him likeable since he’ll never take credit for anything and works best in teams.

                  Caring: Peter knew centre stage was never for him, so instead he made a skill out of lifting others up, always being a shoulder to lean on or just someone to talk to when it feels like the walls are closing in and, again, people like talking to him. 

Negative: Cowardly, Withdrawn, Dependant

Cowardly: Peter jumps at his own shadow and while it was funny to his friends and others age eleven, now his fear has him all but trembling near-constantly; when you’re paralysed by fear the battles already lost.

Withdrawn: Peter’s always seen himself as a burden to everyone who bothers with him and out of desperation to be a little better has started keeping a great deal to himself, if he doesn’t speak the problem aloud maybe people won’t see it.

Dependant: Working well in teams is fine but take them away and Peter crumbles. He can’t be left alone to do anything important since his greatest enemy is his own lack of belief in himself.

CHARACTER SUMMARY:

TW: Death, TW: Injury, TW: Blood

Peter was born to a woefully unprepared teenaged couple in a small mining village in Wales. His father worked every day and his mother too as soon as she was able. They explained to Peter that they couldn’t be with him if they wanted food or even to live so Peter got very good at keeping quiet and keeping to himself. He also got very good at being scared; monsters under the bed, boogie-men in the wardrobe, demons in the woods… Every sound was something to be scared of. As worried as he was of all the creatures in his mind his blood ran cold and remained that way when his mother collapsed at work and was never the same again. A heart attack at twenty-four… apparently weak-hearts ran in the family.

His mother’s ill-health rendered her unable to work and his father was devastated, unable to cope with the change in his wife. Peter, aged six, became a caretaker of sorts. While his father, who grew less happy in himself, shuffled to work and back, Peter cooked simple food, cleaned the house, left his mother with all she needed and walked to school and back, always running past the scary parts. He and his father… They were never close to begin with but by this point? They just didn’t talk to one another; they didn’t know how to. So, Peter went into himself more and more and the world grew more frightening. His mother tried to bring him out of his shell but… She rarely had the strength to put in much effort.

At age eleven a woman in strange clothes came to the door with a letter in hand… Magic? Peter’s mother spoke in slow sentences, saying she’d confided to his father about herself, that she’d never had any talent for magic and had been left behind by her family for it, guessing Peter wouldn’t have the gift either and yet… there it was. His father scraped together what money he could and Peter ambled onto the Hogwarts Express in a uniform two sizes too big (he’d grow into it and it would last longer) expecting to have a heart attack himself before he even reached the school.

Then came the sorting. He stalled the process, cheeks bright red as the hat hmm’d and harr’d into his ear suggesting how he was a fit for all the houses and none at the same time. In the end the hat had simply asked him what he wanted and Peter had whispered, ‘I want to be brave.’ The hat yelled Gryffindor and he was pretty sure everyone in the Great Hall did a double take, himself included. But he trembled off to his table and off to his dorm soon after, not muttering a word to anyone.

He had a nightmare and woke up in cold sweat in his dorm. Some of the other boys were still awake and talking; they’d stared at him, he at them and somehow, they’d all ended up talking. From there he ended up finding three of the most talented people he’d ever met; ones he could never live up too yet they seemed to want him around anyway. So, he clung to their coat-tails and prayed to whoever would listen not to be left behind.

Slowly, he came out of himself and was able to joke and smile with them, he didn’t gain confidence in himself, not really, but with their relentless encouragement he surprised himself, and others, time and time again, even mastering a spell he’d nearly fainted at when James first suggested it. Being a rat had only made him feel awful at first, but once again his friends made it seem to have worth.

Then it was over, they left Hogwarts and Peter felt like any stability he had vanished from under him. With good grades he got a clerical position at the ministry, a job he hoped would leave him overlooked, and joined the Order mainly because he couldn’t bear to be without his friends. Missions were undertaken and again he clung to the backs of his friends and prayed. Eventually, his prayers failed him.

He didn’t know how the Death Eaters discovered his alliance; it didn’t matter. He came face to face with the Dark Lord himself and it barely took a few rounds of the cruciatus curse before he was ready to tell the man whatever he needed to know but- Dumbledore appears, Horcruxes destroyed, and the war came to an end. The Dark Lord ws dead, but he left Peter a parting gift, a vicious slash to his back from left shoulder to right hip. He’d been dumped, bleeding out with the bodies of a few other ministry workers; their dead faces the last thing he remembered…

Peter awoke in St. Mungos, lying on his front, his torso wrapped in bandages and was hailed the miraculous survivor of a vicious attack. From there, it was as though he was trying to rebuild his life anew, the trauma of the encounter a hunting spectre enough to have him regressing to the stuttering, semi-mute boy he’d been in Hogwarts. The war was over, but for Peter, the journey to rebuild himself was still ongoing. 

[r-lestrxnge]

Rabastan, meanwhile, downed the rest of his drink and motioned for the bartender to send over another. He could see Peter's attempt to remain engaged. It was a noble effort. Rabastan admired it in a peculiar way. He valued courage and acknowledged it when recognition was deserved. As Pettigrew spoke, he listened attentively, storing the smallest details like an obsessive would hoard seemingly worthless tokens. What appeared irrelevant now might prove useful in the future.

As a waitress brought over his drink, he turned away momentarily to thank her. She was a pretty sort of thing. If he didn't have more important things on his mind, he might have taken more of an interest. But as it stood, he simply gripped the glass and did not notice the warmth in her expression. Instead, he considered how to proceed with Peter.

"Did you say you work alone?" he tested, opting for a personal touch as he continued. "I also much prefer it. I work for Gringotts. The goblins allow me a freedom for which I am grateful. It surprises me that the Ministry would give its staff similar privacy. I had assumed there would be many rules and procedures to limit things." He paused, taking a sip and looking away towards the bar as though he were not entirely focussed on the other man. His attention remained astute. "Keeping busy is a good thing. The devil makes work for idle hands, after all." His hands, these days, would dearly love to wrap themselves around a mudblood or two's neck. "Everything has a place, indeed. I believe that, too." He did, wholeheartedly and immovably.

[wxrmtxil]

Oh, he’d be the last to think of himself as courageous in any fashion- no one had been more surprised than him when the Sorting Hat had yelled out Gryffindor! Even half the faculty had been taken aback. For Peter though, he wanted to be brave, and (he supposed) that must’ve counted some to the hat. Everyone in St. Mungo’s kept telling him how brave he was in recovery but that wasn’t courage, not really; that was just powering through something when you didn’t have any other choice.

He looked away when the waitress came over, his cheeks still flushing slightly. For something to do, he raised the glass to his lips and forced another small portion of whiskey down his tight throat- he hated when his nerves made him feel like he couldn’t eat or drink; he’d used to love meals when he was younger.

“Y-yes,” he nodded, placing the drink down and curling both hands together on the table, “I g-got my own office l-last month.” It was the smallest one, right in the back of the department and, truthfully, Peter couldn’t have been happier with it; people rarely came to talk to him unless they needed something for work and he could handle those requests- handle them well even! “G-goblins must be t-tricky to work with.” He knew enough of their attitude and lack of fond feeling for Wixen to make that conclusion. “Well I’m r-right at the b-back. Most people d-d-don’t come see me unless they need t-to.” He cocked his head slightly, still looking more at Rabastan’s chest rather than his eyes, “The wo-world works better that way.” Though he and Rabastan had very different ideas on what (or who) should be placed where.   

[m-macdonaldx]

Mary nods her head at her friend, very prepared to start get Peter drunk phase. "Then we shall get more!" She exclaimed, taking the shots placed in front of them, she didn't hesitate to shoot it back, reaching forward to grab the first bottle she could, which happened to be sour peach vodka. "This sounds interesting." She fills up their glasses again with the clear vodka. "How many do you reckon we need before you are ready to sing with me?" She raises a brow at him.

[wxrmtxil]

“That d-doesn’t sound promising.” Peter said, grimacing as he saw the bottle that Mary reached for, “I d-didn’t even know that was a f-flavour.” How did that even go about making a drink like that? He sighed as the shot glass was filled and curled his fingers around it, fortifying himself, Peter threw the liquid back and made a face, coughing slightly from the strange-tasting burn, “M-Merlin.” He licked his lips, “M-maybe only a few more of those.” They certainly tasted strong enough.     

[daisyjhookum]

"It's because I stole it," Daisy giggled, not missing a beat in joking around with her answer. She handed the bottle back to him, "but i've had a change of heart, so i'm giving it back. Do you think you could ever forgive me?" She set her wide brown eyes on him and pouted her lips in exaggeration. "Please?" "Well, why not-? He does look good," Daisy picked Sirius out amongst her guests and gave him a little once over, though she'd already seen what he was wearing when he'd come in earlier. "Have you seen Marlene?" She made a sound, tipping her back wearily. "She's tempting in anything she puts on."

[wxrmtxil]

“Noooo!” He moaned, though the whining stopped immediately once he got his bottle back, and he happily took another swig. “Thank you!” He blinked at her slowly, his mind taking a few moments to catch up with the rest of the sentence before he nodded so vigorously that he lent dangerously forward in the chair, “Wh-Whoops! Yup, all forgiven, yes yes.”

“Cause we’re like brothers,” he said, “And Sirius needs to know his value goes beyond his looks, he’s also loyal and kind and makes me feel safe and I’m very happy he’s alive,” he spoke slowly, determined to get all the syllables out correctly, and then hiccoughed, “S’cuse me.” He cocked his head a little, “I guess… I’ve not had the sex so I don’t really know…”

[mckns]

Marlene could probably count the amount of times she’d seen Peter drunk on one hand. It was a rarity, like seeing a unicorn, but it was an incredible sight to behold when the opportunity arose. She could hear him singing all the way in the kitchen, his voice was unusually good for someone who could barely speak on a good day. Marlene smiled to herself as she swallowed the shot that had been handed to her. It was such a genuinely good night and she was so happy to see all of her friends letting loose and having fun. They all deserved it.

She heard Peter before she saw him, calling out to her as he was slunk back into the sofa. She laughed, “I was coming to find you, Petey!” Marlene climbed on to the couch, her boots on the cushion as she sat on the back. It wasn’t very good for the furniture, but it didn’t seem as though Daisy would mind too much. “I could hear you singing while I was in the kitchen! D’you have a duet we can do together?”

[wxrmtxil]

He didn’t drink often- on principle, and not just because he didn’t like hangovers, it was usually the fear of what he might do when inebriated that kept him out of it. Still, this was a nice place, with friends, and a fridge he could go sleep under, it would all be fine… So fine! “Me?” he asked, blinking slowly at Marlene, taking a moment to focus on her, “What’re you looking for me for?” he thought he was speaking pretty well, only he was just a little bit too loud.

“Oh, the singing! Yea I like this song, I like singing, it’s sooo…” he trailed off, sniffed and took another large swig of his wine, “Uhh… I can’t think of a song but if you can I can do it! There’s some fun Welsh songs my Mam taught me when I was a kid, they’re fun to sing.” He grinned, Peter didn’t usually talk about his family, but he was pretty sure that remark was harmless enough.    

[daisyjhookum]

"Peter! I thought I heard your voice-!" Daisy came bounding over with a bounce in her step and a bright smile on her face. Laughing with it, she let Peter grab her up and pull her down to the couch with him, glad to see that he was having a good time. "Hmm," she glanced up to the ceiling a moment as if seriously considering what she might ask. After a moment, smiling mischievously she asked, "who do you think is the hottest person at the party?" Without asking or any hesitation, she stole the bottle from Peter's hands and knocked back a deep swig for herself, giggling when she handed it back. The back of her other hand hovered over her mouth.

[wxrmtxil]

“Daaaaaaisy,” Peter grinned up at her, squinting his eyes only slightly, “When did you get here?” He asked, forgetting in his happy hazy that it was her house party. Cocking his he head at the question, Peter thought hard and didn’t even notice the other nabbing the bottle from his hands for a swig of her own. “Sirius.” He eventually said with a nod, “But I would never sleep with him.”

“It’s be ince-,” he swallowed and licked his lips, trying again, “Incesty. Like sleeping with your brother,” he raised his hand and frowned, “Where’d my drink go…” Turning back to Daisy, he saw the bottle in her hand and gasped, “How did that get there!”

[m-macdonaldx]

It only took a second for drunk Mary to realise that Peter was sober. She took a step back, assessing the situation, and then shook her head at him. "This will not do, Peter." Her hands falling on her hip, jutting the right side out. "This calls for shots, tequila. That will solve this problem." Her head nods, satisfied with this assessment. A hand reaches for his, leading him towards where the bar was set up. "Get a few shots in you and then we can sing."

[wxrmtxil]

“M’still not s-sure this is a good idea..” Peter said, licking his lips and looking around at the man, many drunk people already having fun. The livelier the place was, the less he was convinced he’d have any fun there. “Gonna need more than a f-fe-few shots.” She might as well get him the bottle and have at it. A shot of an absurd colour was placed before him and, with a slight tremble to his fingers, Peter grabbed it and threw it back, wrinkling his nose at the burn as he reached for another once, “These are horrible.”   

[rosmertaofthethreebroomsticks]

Rosmerta chuckled at Peter's antics, appreciating his newfound ease. She approached him with a warm smile, carrying a similar bottle of firewhiskey.

"Looks like the wine has unleashed your inner performer." she remarked as she gently sat down next to him. "Seems like the wine's done you some good."

She settled comfortably beside him, her posture relaxed and inviting. "Hopefully they play a song we both know next," she said as she laughed.

[wxrmtxil]

“Noooo,” He slurred, shaking his head a little to tipping to one side before righting himself on the sofa, “M’not a performer, just like ta sing.” He added with a loose smile. 

“S’fun noise to make.” He liked nice noises, ones that didn’t make him jump or want to hide under the fridge- though it was very nice and warm under there. 

“You,” he turned and and gestured a little unsteadily at Rosmerta, “You run the pub! Know lots of students who had crushes on you.” 

[wxrmtxil]

When: Hookum House Party Where: Kitchen With: Open to all house party attendees

After getting his hands on a bottle of wine and the better half of a second one, Peter had finally sunk into the blissful state of alcohol induced relaxation. His shoulder's were slumped as he relaxed against the back of a sofa loudly singing along to the song playing with a damn good voice- completely free of his usual stutter.

"Heyyyyy, come and sit with me!" He called out, making grabby hands at a passerby, trying to get them onto the sofa with him, "I can talk now! Ask me annnnnnnything!" he sang the last word and laughed, taking another swing of wine straight from the bottle.

[m-macdonaldx]

where: daisy & tilden's house party who: @wxrmtxil

"PETER!" She screams, the best she can over the crowd of people and music, weaving through the crowd until she was standing in front of him. It was clear that she was drunk and without a though, she flings her arms around him in a hug. "I'm so happy you came. That means I didn't have to drag you out. I would have." She whisper yells in his ear before pulling back. "We must do shots and sing! I saw karaoke."

[wxrmtxil]

He winced¸ oh this was a bad idea. Peter had said he wasn’t going to come, he’d told himself that all day and refused to budge on it… Only to then feel guilty that several people, including Mary, had told him they’d love to see him there. In the end the guilt had gotten to him and here he was- surrounded by partying people, stone cold sober in jeans, a t-shirt and a hoodie… He didn’t think he even owned any slutty clothes.

“H-hello Mary.” He stuttered, flinching a little at the very exuberant hug, “I’m not r-really set up for that.” He said, unsure if she’d even hear him given how loud it was.   

[r-lestrxnge]

This unexpected interaction improved by the moment. Rabastan could see why others had chosen Pettigrew during the war. His trembling and stuttering were quite the inducement, though he mildly wondered whether Peter had been this way before his ordeal. It would not have surprised him if he had been more forthright beforehand. The Dark Lord's methods had broken far stronger men. As he slid his glass back onto the table, he listened to Peter with unwavering attention. A smile remained etched over his expression, chiselled lips curved gently with fictitious amiability and genuine mirth.

"Then perhaps our paths have crossed." They hadn't. In truth, Rabastan was excited to learn what Pettigrew for the Ministry. Dealing with records was extremely valuable. "I have been in and out of that department, lately. That is a very responsible job. I imagine your work must be cut out for you, with so many entering Azkaban - and leaving it, apparently - at present."

It was a bold statement. But he was not one to beat around the bush, not even when there were high stakes at risk. He did not fear this man. He thought, already, that if he could not manipulate him now, it did not matter; when the war resumed, he could be exploited by force, instead.

[wxrmtxil]

Peter found it difficult (nigh impossible some days) to hold another’s gaze, but he also knew it was dangerous not to keep potential threats in view- not to say the man was a threat, but he was an unknown… which might as well have been. So, his gaze kept flicking back and forth, seeing nothing but that same, surprisingly nice, smile, while the waited for him to keep talking. “M-maybe,” he shrugged a shoulder, fingers curled around the drink he’d still not taken a sip of, “I k-keep to myself m-mostly.” He added- the best part about his (very) recent promotion was his own little office, right at the back of the department; few people bothered him and with the door shut he got about as close to relaxing as he was capable of theese days. 

He blinked as the other changed the topic to the Azkaban releases- he did know a little about it (others had been glad to offhand such complex paperwork) “B-busy but I don’t mind.” He said, finally raising the glass to his lips and taking the smallest sip, not even enough for the firewhiskey to burn going down his throat. 

“Paperwork makes s-s-sense,” he stuttered out, “Everything has a p-place.” And (it turned out) he was pretty good at finding all those places.     

[wxrmtxil]

Weekly Report || Alastor & Peter

When: Present Day (Game Time) Where: Ministry of Magic (Floor Two: Alastor Moody's Office) With: Alastor Moody @amoody

He’d been psyching himself up for the past fifteen minutes and still not left his office… One of his newer responsibilities as a full clerk to the Auror case files was needing to deliver weekly reports to the head of the department about the state of progress on the clerical side of trials, investigations and (sometimes) even accompany them to trials or house calls; luckily, Peter had managed to avoid the rota for that particular duty. But, he did need to visit one Alastor Moody and updated him on the week’s progress. Trouble was, he’d been putting it off the last quarter of an hour, terrified of seeing the man again. 

It wasn’t Moody himself, more what he’d represented, the Constant Vigilance he’d so utterly failed in, getting himself kidnapped and nearly, nearly spilling all his guts to save himself. He’d never told anyone, but Peter knew in his heart of heart’s they’d have broken him- and that just made him feel guiltier about seeing the man. Closing his eyes, and knowing he couldn’t be late, Peter wiped his sweaty palms on his robes, picked up the expertly organised files and left his new office.   

It was a short walk to Moody’s office and he shuffled slightly outside before raising a trembling hand and knocking the door quietly- too quietly, but the man inside must’ve heard as he was called to enter. Swallowing, Peter opened the door and stepped inside, keeping his gaze on Moody’s desk rather than the man himself, clutching the files to his chest. “P-P-Peter P-Pettigrew to s-s-s-see you, S-Sir, for the weekly R-r-r-r-“ Peter’s stutter was always worse when he was nervous. His grip was white knuckled on the files and his scrunched his face up, unable to get the damn word out, “Update.” He eventually managed, still not lifting his gaze up.   

[siriblk]

The worst thing any of his friends had done, was to give Sirius Black a key to their home. Did Sirius have boundaries? Yes. Were they the same as what others might deem appropriate? Debatable. For emergencies only is what he had been warned when Peter had handed it over - well, this was an emergency.

He made no attempt to be quiet as he entered, and quickly found his friend on the couch, seemingly relaxing after his now very long work day. "Come on!" He chided, coming to stand right in front of the other, and held out his hand. "We're pre-gaming. Don't make me pick you up."

@wxrmtxil

[wxrmtxil]

Sadly, the fear of being targeted again had outweighed the fear of Sirius abusing the key he’d given him; it was only because he’d had the house warded to alert him if anyone he didn’t know was approaching that the other appearing unnannounced didn’t set him fleeing in a panic. 

Instead, he was sat on the sofa, knitting needles in hand and a half-finished scarf resting over his knees, “Sirius I haven’t pre-ga-ga,” he swallowed, “Drunk a lot in a long time. It’s n-not a good idea. Besides, I’m t-too heavy to pick up.” Despite the weight his attack and recovery had him lose and the muscle his anxiety driving workouts had helped him put on, Peter struggled a little to see himself as anything but the ‘little lump’ he’d been in school. “You d-didn’t bring the others did you?”

[rblcck]

Before Peter even responded, Regulus had requested an extra plate so he could split his meal. It was a lie, he usually did finish his meal, but he felt incredibly rude to be eating in front of Peter without at least offering to share. Also, he was a bit concerned about whether or not he ate enough when he was on his own. Regulus had noticed that Peter was looking quite thin lately, which he always claimed was from running in his wheel as a rat, but he couldn't help but worry about him.

"Nah, I usually only eat half, food here is quite filling." Regulus gave Peter a smile as the waitress reappeared with a spare plate. "Hope you like bangers and mash." He scooped half of his meal on to the spare plate before sliding the plate across the table. Usually Kreacher prepared quite elaborate meals for him, it was nice to have something quite simple for a change. "Gravy here is the best in town, I swear. Not even Kreacher's comes close."

[wxrmtxil]

Letting out a breath, he looked down at the table and swallowed, usually he didn’t eat out- turns out another manifestation of his anxiety had been an inability to eat in public. He’d been told the feelings of nausea and panic weren’t uncommon since the ‘primal’ brain would feel vulnerable when eating; it was one more thing he’d gotten better at with time, drinking first, eating next. He’d be able to pick at some bits here and it’d just be one more thing to be proud of today. 

“If you say so.” He said quietly, “I h-haven’t eaten h-here in a long time.” He said, watching as the other divided up the meal and handed his portion over. He took a spoon and, with a fortifying breath, popped a small amount of gravy soaked mash into his mouth- it was tasty, and the world didn’t end, a win! “You better hope he doesn’t h-hear that.” Peter said, “He’d be li-livid.” And the House-Elf was frightening enough at the best of times.  

[ofmollyw]

Molly's heart went out to Peter as she watched him fidget nervously. She offered him a gentle, reassuring smile, hoping to ease his anxiety. "I'm sorry, love," she said softly, her voice warm and understanding.

She glanced at the brown paper bag he clutched tightly. "I can go in with you, if you want?" she suggested, her tone kind and encouraging.

With everything she had gotten at the store nestled securely in her arms, Molly took a step towards the shop, ready to accompany Peter back inside. "We'll get this sorted quickly, and then you can head home with the right potions," she added, her maternal instincts kicking in as she tried to comfort and support him through this small but significant challenge.

[wxrmtxil]

He couldn’t help but dip his head at the look, despite how pathetic he often was, he wished he didn’t inspire so much pity in others. People walked on eggshells around him and well… It was his own fault, but it still sucked. 

“S’okay.” He mumbled, licking his lips. Her request to help- well it wasn’t expected, he figured Molly was too busy with her kids to have the time for him, “O-oh,” he blinked, glazing up briefly, “A-are you sure?” She could actually talk to the owner, he’d just wait awkwardly till they spoke to him. 

“If umm, if you have t-time?” He asked, given his recent promotion causing as much stress as it was quiet pride, he really got the feeling he’d be needed those potions over the next couple of days- either that or alcohol and that was a far too slippery slope. Stepping back into the shop he finally managed to look Molly in the eye, “Thank you.” And then looked back at the floor to be sure he didn’t trip over his own feet on the way in.   

[mr-potter]

James: Just because we're doing new things doesn't mean we're moving on from you, Pete. James: And you know what I've just realised? James: We've known each other for literally half of our lives. James: That's more important than being able to get rid of Boggarts and stuff.

[wxrmtxil]

James ⮂ Peter

Peter: Not moving on more… being left behind. Peter: Well, when you say id like that it sounds silly.  Peter: I’m sorry, this stupid thing’s got me wound up. Even more than usual. Peter: Don’t tell the other’s I’m worrying. They’ve got enough on their plate. Peter: Remus especially, I’m worried about him.  

[r-lestrxnge]

Pettigrew's nerves were practically tangible. It was unfortunate, for Rabastan enjoyed drawing such dire emotions from others. He was not intrinsically sadistic. He did not need to cause harm to get his thrills. But that didn't mean he disliked the effect when it arose, particularly if there was a finer purpose to his endeavours. This trembling man set a spark alight within him. He had remained largely idle for far too long; the spark yearned to burn like a wildfire, his self-restraint hanging on by a hair's breadth. The sight of Peter's discomfort called to him, enticing and correct.

"It's for you," he affirmed, observing how the other man did not meet his eyes. "I could not very well invite myself to sit here and talk to you, without providing a drink in recompense." Raising his own glass, Rabastan took a large drink of much needed refreshment. Though he'd been here with his father for some time already, he still required a drink. Without his brothers, his parents' attention had fallen onto him. Their increased presence in his life was growing too much for his liking. It was irking, after a lifetime spent largely unattended. So the alcohol pleasantly burned, and he mulled happily on the fact that this day seemed to be improving. "Yes, I am sure I've seen you there. Which department do you work for?" He already knew, of course. But it was necessary to make the other man divulge it himself.

[wxrmtxil]

Peter blinked up at the man as though he’d spoken an entirely different language- to be giving a drink, a gift, to him? The only people who did that regularly were his school friends, and even then he still felt guilty for accepting, for intruding on their resources. But for a stranger to offer him something, something small and friendly, it made him nervous, but for a different reason; the fear of ruining whatever goodwill he’d (somehow) managed to accrue. “O-oh, thank you. That’s v-v-very kind.” The stuttered out, moving his crossword book to the size and gingerly pulling the drink closer. 

Given the amount of effort he’d put into pulling that simple action of with some success, it took a moment or two for the man’s follow-up words to permeate his mind- sit and talk you!? Again he was struck with confusion, unable to infer what a, clearly, confident man would want (or could get) from him. Curling both hands around the glass, Peter brought it to his lips and took the smallest of sips possible, the burn of the fire whiskey didn’t cause a flinch- he’d turned to drink more than once to get through an evening, though was careful never to let it become too fond a habit. “I-I’m in the Law department, Sir, j-just in the back, I handle the r-records.” He’d made senior clerk not a month ago, something he still hadn’t told many people, if only to avoid the attention of praise.