typically atypical || [OPEN]

Peter had managed to get his hands on the Marauder's Map today. It was one of the rare times he had been permitted to take it. The other creators seemed to think (with some justification) that he would end up losing or ruining it, and consequentially he almost never got the ingenious map to himself. He had sworn to be absolutely careful with it, but if neither James nor Sirius were going to entertain him, Peter had argued that he should at least be able to find his own amusement. What he had been loathe to admit was that without the Map's help, he would have been unable to find his way anywhere worth visiting. He'd explored the castle from top to bottom and back again with his friends, but it didn't mean he knew how to return to any of the cool places on his own. For now, he fancied starting at the kitchens, seeing what he could drum up for a snack, and decide to where to go from there. He traced the floor plan, noting the location of several people to avoid and scanning for any rooms or passages that might catch his interest.

As he scurried towards the Great Hall, en route to the kitchens, a peculiar name jumped out at him. Magnolia Dupree. He giggled to himself at its strangeness. What sort of a name was that? It struck him as comical, almost like a fake, but the Map never lied. It wasn't a pseudonym. Furthermore, he saw the little dot labeled 'Peter Pettigrew' moving straight towards her. He couldn't let anyone see the map! Pulling out his wand, he quickly wiped it blank and stuffed it into a back pocket, just as he turned the corner and found the girl whose name seemed so humorous. But she was not funny at all. She was beautiful! The moment his wavering eyes landed on her, he felt himself become immediately agitated. Peter had never been able to compose himself around pretty girls. He had none of James' self-assurance, nor Sirius' confidence – not even Remus' cool collectedness. He was awkward, uncomfortable, and weird.

Magnolia was no exception. In fact, she was one of the prettiest girls he had seen. His skin blanched; his watery eyes stared at her unblinkingly. Peter could feel sweat beading on his brow. He did not know what to do with himself, so he merely gaped at her like a total creep. She had an unearthly quality about her, which held him in a trance. Normally he would have turned tail by now. When he came face-to-face with girls, Wormtail simply ran away rather than confront his own gawkiness or ineffectuality. But Magnolia was not like most girls. She had some power to turn his feet to lead. Peter swallowed, anxiously. His fingers tapped nervously together. "Er," his voice squeaked forth uncertainly. His eyes darted to the suitcase at her feet, then quickly back to her face. "Are you new here?" It was a stupid question, he thought disparagingly. A frown twitched on his lips and he lowered his eyes. Now she would think him stupid, too... just like everyone else.

The girl's voice was high and flowery. She also had a strong American twang, softened by a slow drawl. So she was foreign. That made sense, he guessed, since she had arrived so suddenly. Maybe her name was more normal in the American South, too; Peter had no way to be sure. What he did know, was that her country of origin only made her more exotic. (That was a good word for her, he decided.) Unfortunately, it made him feel even more self-conscious than he already was, like he had absolutely nothing in common with her. She was beautiful, he was ungainly; she was a Southern belle, he was a middle-class boy from Manchester. And she seemed only too aware of their differences in both grace and class. Magnolia called him out on his staring, so Peter ashamedly dropped his gaze to the floor. His eyes were never able to lie still. They chased the lines in the stonework beneath her feet. He had nothing else to say to her – no clever witticism to impress her or compliment to make her swoon. He ought to have learned the art of one or the other, given his best friends' skills for such things... But maybe it wasn't the kind of thing you could pick up. Maybe you either had charm or you never would.

She ducked her head to catch him with a smile and playful words. Daring to look back at her face, he swallowed again. Her attention afflicted him with doubt. Was she taking pity on him – was that why she was being so nice? – or was she having a joke at his expense? She wouldn't be the first to make fun of him by pretending to be kind. Then she held out her hand. He couldn't refuse that, no matter what her intentions were for him. He was halfway through reaching to shake, when he came to an abrupt halt. His fingers curled closed, as though cringing. His palm was sweaty, he realized. Thank Merlin he'd caught it. Better for her to see him make the effort to dry his hand, than to let her discover its clamminess on contact. He wiped the sweat off on his robes, before re-extending his arm and finally taking her hand. Her skin, unlike his, was cold to the touch and somehow electrifying. Peter let go quickly, almost as if burned and faster than was really polite. His eyes darted away from her, and he swallowed a third time.

"I'm W–" he only just caught himself from using his nickname. That wasn't the way to make a good first impression, particularly to a pretty girl. (Although, he was sure he'd already ruined the chance of getting a favorable opinion from her.) Continuing to avoid her eyes, he corrected himself, speaking fast and nervously. "Er, Peter. Peter Pettigrew. I wasn't sent here for you or anything. I guess someone will be. You're not even Sorted, are you? I was on my way to the kitchens, actually. So if you don't have to wait for someone to find you... I mean, you can come with me if you like – or, rather, if you're hungry. The Elves can take care of your bags. And the ones in the kitchens can get you about anything you like to eat. But, er, if you want to... stay here. That's okay, too."

Whatever he seemed, however people thought of him, Peter was actually very observant of his surroundings. His darting eyes betrayed a wandering attention, but his mind picked up more than people gave him credit for. For example, he noticed how Magnolia hesitated before speaking to him. He saw how closely she watched him. She was clearly sizing him up, but to what end, he couldn't say. It could be anything. For, while he might note many things, his brain wasn't great at reading into or quantifying them. Thoughts came and went too sporadically, too rapid to grasp onto any single idea for long. In Magnolia's case, he was left with the uncomfortable impression that he was being judged. That never ended favorably. He was always 'wanting' for something – bravery, manners, intelligence. Whatever she was looking to find, he was sure to not to have it. He continued to fidget in uncomfortable anticipation of her disappointment.

Peter found himself wishing James was here, to swoop in with a smirk and redirect the focus off of him. As it was, he could only offer a watery smile to Magnolia for the unprecedented kindness she was showing. He was nothing short of astonished that she agreed to accompany him to the kitchens – particularly if she wasn't hungry. That meant she was going for his company? It was hard to believe, so Peter rationalized her decision as false modesty. Girls often said things like that they weren't hungry, so people didn't think them gluttons. He'd heard from Prongs about chicks ordering salads on dates to look like they watched their weight. Wormtail didn't understand it, but it made more sense than a pretty girl choosing to spend time with him because of his personality.

"R-right..." he stammered as he struggled to picture the way down to the kitchens. He had just been looking at the Map. He started off, a little hesitantly. There was no doubt that he was leading her on a roundabout path, but he'd get them there in the end. As they wandered through the lower corridors, taking a few superfluous turns here and there, he began to feel a little more at ease. He ventured a little conversation. "Exploring Hogwarts is really fun. There's all sorts of secret passages and hidden rooms. The kitchen's supposed to be hidden, too, although pretty much everyone knows about it... Not like some of the other secrets I know. Did – did your previous school have things like that? It was in America, right? It can't have been as old as this castle, then. So what brought you to England; your parents move here or something?"

They passed by a large set of barrels. The kitchens were just ahead, Peter thought with some relief. "That's the entrance to the Hufflepuff Common Room. Nobody in a different House is supposed to know where the others are, but some of us have figured it out. And the kitchen's just behind this painting, up ahead. Er..." he paused briefly before the still life. He knew that the door opened when you tickled one of the pieces of fruit, but for all the world, he couldn't remember which. He reached out and scratched gently at the grapes. Nothing happened. His eyes darted to Magnolia in embarrassment. On his third attempt to open the door, he finally got it right. It was the pear – he could've kicked himself. It squirmed and laughed at his touch, before changing into a doorknob. Peter pulled open the painting, revealing the enormous kitchen where the House Elves were busy at work.