You’re Not A Squib : 7spells [G: Peter Pettigrew]
Title: You’re Not A Squib.
Character(s): Peter Pettigrew, Mitchell Pettigrew [Peter’s Father]
Prompt: did you see what I did?
Rating: G
Word Count: 485
Summary: Peter wants ‘ttention.
Author's Notes: Yes, Mitchell would be another semi-OC. Gryffindor Alumni, hit wizard, stickler for raw talent over hardwork, and regular hard-ass. Most of the time. >> Un-betaed.
“Daddy, did you see?! Did you? Did you?!” The little blond toddler exclaimed as he latched onto his father’s arm, trying to drag his attention away from the newspaper. “Daaaaddddddyyyyyyy!”
“Peter Patrick Pettigrew, I am TRYING to read!” Mitchell snapped, shaking his arm violently and knocking the toddler onto his rear. “Go...bug your mother or something.”
“But I want to talk to you...” Peter said softly, blinking the tears out of his eyes rapidly, his lip sticking out in an unconscious pout. He was a big boy now. He couldn’t cry. He wouldn’t. But he hated it when his father was like this.
He always seemed to be in the evenings. The rare time he saw his father in the morning, he was always a fun guy, laughing and joking with Mommy, picking him up and tickling him before he left for work. But when he got home...he’d just sit in the same chair and ignore him.
“Daddy?”
Mitchell sighed in exasperation before closing his eyes and silently counting to ten, “What, Peter?”
“Do you hate me?”
Mitchell was stunted, folding his paper shut as he looked down at his three year old son. A mirror image of his mother, watery blue eyes stared up into his own hazel brown. His son’s lip was quivering. He was trying his best not to cry, but considering the question that had just come out of his mouth, Mitchell felt he must have given him a good reason to.
“Peter... I don’t hate you,” Mitchell sighed, settling the paper down on the table beside his chair as he reached out, scooping up his son and lifting him into his lap. “I just... When I have a hard day at work, I just want to sit back and read, to try and relax my nerves.”
“But you’re ALWAYS reading,” Peter sighed, flopping back against his dad’s chest. “Either a newspaper or a book or a report or a...um... affie david.”
“Affidavit, Peter,” Mitchell said, smiling softly.
“Yeah, that thingie. You never seem to want to pay attention to me...” Peter sighed, tilting his head back to look at his father, even if all he could see was his chin. “Is it cause you think I’m a squid?”
“Squib, Peter... And you’re not a squib.”
“Uh-huh! You said! I heard you talking to Mommy about it.”
“You’re only three, Peter... You’ve got plenty of time to show magical ability,” Mitchell sighed, gently hugging his son.
“You mean like this?” Peter asked, closing his eyes and puffing out his cheeks, his face turning red as one of his toys rocketed of the floor, flipped in the air, and then came crashing back to the floor.
“How...? When...?!”
“A little while ago...” Peter said, pouting. “You didn’t see...”
Mitchell just laughed, leaping to his feet and spinning his son around before hugging him tightly, “I did, Peter. I did see.”