Peter Pettigrew (messr_wormtail) wrote in primus_aetas,
Peter Pettigrew

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He had a scroll open on his lap, gaping blank page staring up at him. In the library, Peter sat with knees curled in on a plush blue sofa in one of the secluded little study rooms. Unable to bear the expanse of homework ahead of him, he turned his attention to the rich color beneath his hands and the feel of the fabric there. Such a strong blue, it reminded him of Ravenclaw, and he mused what it would be like to be so brilliant.

As he smoothed his hand over the velvety surface, the light shifted behind him, the low slung sun dipping behind a cloud. When he turned his head this way, the color turned a deep green. His forefinger arched, nail digging into the fibers, and sketched out a swirling 'S'. As the sun reappeared, the unintentional marking twitched and tugged a gasp from Peter, who dropped his quill into his lap, spilling the small ink bottle. The blackness seeped over the 'S' and drowned whatever had been there.

When Peter finally tore his eyes away from it, someone was in the room and he cried out before realizing that it was just another student, and felt the familiar heat of embarassment coating his skin.
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