In another corner of the grounds, a family of four can be seen setting up a worn green tent. A medium-sized boy with mousy brown hair and chocolate-colored eyes wipes the sweat off his face in the warm morning sun. Peter Pettigrew had lost his plumpness and gained muscles after playing Quidditch. He now looked like nothing he did before. Freckled and tan from his summer job working in the gardens, he looked ruggedly handsome.
"Thanks for having me, Mr. and Mrs. Lupin," Pettigrew gratefully said.
"It was no trouble at all, dear," Hope Howell replied with a warm smile. "It's the least bit we could do after all the herbal homemade remedies your mother sends my way."
Pettigrew flushes with pride at the praise. "It's no trouble at all, Mrs. Lupin. Mum just likes to help where she can."
"Indeed, Mrs. Pettigrew is a fine woman," the voice of Lyall Lupin can be heard commenting from behind them. "It's a shame that mother's friend is ill, and she wasn't able to make it."
Pettigrew nods his head in agreement as he grabs his things off the ground and steps into the tent. Pettigrew openly gapes at seeing a small kitchen inside with a fridge, a tiny living room, and what looked like two bedrooms. "Wow," Pettigrew said in awe.
"Wow indeed," Remus Lupin echoed from behind him.
Hope steps into the tent and says, "You, two boys in the bedroom to the left, while we take the right bedroom."
The two boys excitedly rush towards the bedroom as Lyall wraps an arm around his wife and presses a kiss to her cheek. "Clever wench," Lyall whispered. "Now we at least have one bedroom to ourselves."
Hope swats her husband's wandering hand and says, "I'll have you know that I'm proud to say that I am of Welsh blood, and we are never wenches!"
Lyall chuckles as his wife teasingly skips to the bedroom with him willingly following after. The door firmly closes shut behind them as Lupin knowingly says, "We should take a look around." He knew his parents rather well and they would want their privacy for a bit.
Peter Pettigrew and Remus Lupin scurry out as the sunlight hits the russet hair of Remus. Ever since the cure not only was Remus that much less tired, but healthier too. His complexation was bright and healthy, and though still slender, he had sprouted several inches over the summer.
Peter and Remus excitably point out the magical tents they spot as they walk around. They spot a wizard that was playing some sort of a flute in front of a runespoor snake with its three heads bobbing to the beat. Further ahead is some sort of Mayan-like temple with a tropical rainforest surrounding the tent which was rather out of place considering the climate.
After some time of wandering around, Remus says, "I bet that James and Sirius are together," he pointed in emphasis to the sea of tents.
Pettigrew shrugs, "Yea, but I'd rather stick with you, Remy. No offense, but sometimes the two of them simply won't shut up. At times like that, I actually find myself missing Rowan's silence."
Remus chortles with glee, "If Rowan heard you, she'd just stare at you in disbelief."
Peter sniffs and ruefully admits, "Weirdly enough, she's grown on me after all these years. And she's not that bad for a girl or for that matter a Slytherin. She's rather nice when she wants to be. But above all, whether she admits it or not, she is a good friend. And I am glad to count her as one," he flashed a genuine grin in added emphasis.
Remus solemnly shakes his head in agreement. "Mm, Rowan would pretend otherwise if she heard you. She's finicky like that."
"Girls," Pettigrew instantly responded as if that explained everything.
"Definitely," Remus assented in agreement.
Glancing up at the noonday sun, Remus says, "Well, we better head back. Mums probably already started to fix us up lunch."
Peter glances around and says, "I'd like to just look around for a bit more. I'll catch up to you in a bit."
"Alright," Remus said with a shrug, before turning back.
Peter hadn't wandered for long when he saw several boys gathered around a girl. Wanting to mind his own business, but a bit worried for the girl, he wandered a bit closer with the intent to overhear what was going on.
A familiar somewhat nasally voice says, "Leave me alone, you, cretins!"
A nasty laugh can be heard from one of the heavier-set boys. "I heard from my grandfather Quyen Crowley that your parents are offering a ridiculously large dowry to marry you off. Must be because your mug's so darn ugly, but that's not a problem in the dark with enough drink in one's system."
The other boys chortle at the mocking words as Quyen Crowley flushes in anger and utter humiliation. Lips twitched in a snarl, Quyen hissed, "What about the four of you? All I see is third-rate purebloods with no money to speak of who are idly living off the crumbs of the main family branches."
"You b*tch!" The heavy-sized boy roared as he lifted his ham-sized fist into the air.
Quyen pales with dread and closes her eyes expecting the blow to connect. A loud cry of pain causes her to peek out from under her eyelashes to only see someone kicking her attackers away. Her tormentors had been kicked away in a surprise attack.
Gawking Quyen suddenly finds her would-be rescuer dragging her by the and. "Come on, run!" Her unknown rescuer shouted.
Quyen hurriedly fled with her rescuer as her heart pounded in her ears and a faint flush rose in her face, but not from the heat of the sun. Glancing down shyly at the tanned, calloused hand that was holding her own caused her to blush even fiercer. She'd never been this close to a boy of her own age and much less held a boy's hand in this type of manner.
"Phew, I think we lost them," her heroic rescuer wheezed.
"Thank you," Quyen shyly stammered.
"Er, no problem, Crowley," her heroic rescuer awkwardly stammered.
Gingerly taking her hand back, Quyen gets a good look at her rescuer's face and turned a splotchy red in mortification. "Pettigrew?" Quyen whispered aghast.
"Is that problem?" Peter frowned and furrowed his brows.
"No, no!" Quyen cried out in panic. "I just hadn't gotten a good look at your face until now."
"Oh,' Peter sheepishly murmured as he scratched his chin. "Well, I best be going now, the Lupin's are waiting for me."
"Oh," Quyen numbly said as she somewhat anxiously glanced around. Were those wastrels still looking for her? And if so, who could she ask for aid?
Seeing the sudden downcast expression on the usually arrogant face of the Slytherin girl, Peter hesitantly says, "Er, well, you can join us if you'd like. I don't think Mr. nor Mrs. Lupin would really mind. But Mrs. Lupin's a muggle, and I rather she wasn't offended. She's been nothing but kind to me and I won't have you insulting her."
Quyen's cheeks flush darkly, but she'd rather not be left alone right now. Trying to draw on her usual arrogant poise, Quyen stiffly says, "I'll mind my manners, Pettigrew, I am a pureblood after all."
Seeing Peter's somewhat unconvinced expression, Quyen's face darkens into a scowl. "I promise," Quyen somewhat mutinously said, before unconsciously biting her lip. "But are you certain that the Lupin family truly won't mind?"
"They're really nice," Peter sincerely defended them, before offering her the crook of his arm. He'd been taught by his mum to always be polite to girls even to someone like Crowley. Though he wondered what he had been thinking when he opened his big fat mouth? Must be what Rowan was always constantly muttering under her breath about their foolish Gryffindor tendencies.