Chapter 505 - Mrs. Pettigrew (1/2)

Needless to say, it was a terrible weekend for Peter Pettigrew. Every time Pettigrew tried or attempted to be nice to James, he would be coldly rebuffed. He finally just gave up and quietly sat down to read in a corner of the Potter home. Pettigrew was never quite so grateful when the weekend ended, and it was time to go home and see his mother.

His mother was a mousy looking woman with mousy brown hair and chocolate colored eyes. Mrs. Pettigrew happily greeted her son with open arms in her ample bosom. She was quite plump, but not overly plumb. It was like hugging a warm marshmallow that smelled of perpetual sweetness. For Mrs. Pettigrew did indeed have a rather vigorous sweet tooth.

Mrs. Pettigrew instantly noticed her son's downtrodden face and said, ”What's wrong, my little bon-bon?”

”Mum,” Pettigrew whined at being still called that pet name.

”Come inside and tell mum all about it,” Mrs. Pettigrew said as she pulled her son inside their rickety old home. Her husband, Mr. Pettigrew had been a muggleborn wizard. He had been a good man, but he had died rather young from the dragon pox. He had left her and their three-year-old son all alone in the world.

A single mother all by herself, Mrs. Pettigrew took all the small odd jobs that she could in order to provide for herself and her son. She finally had her own little business of preparing herbal remedies and selling them to the public. Some of them were for muggle use and other's for magical folks. Either way, her tiny herbal shop catered two both sides of the general masses.

Mrs. Pettigrew instantly serves her son a cup of lemonade and pulls out a tray of freshly baked sweets out of the oven. Pulling out her wand, she instantly cools one of the tarts and places it before her son. ”Now, my little bon-bon, tell me, what is ever the matter?”

”James doesn't remember me,” Pettigrew croaked.

”Bonbon, you'll have to be clearer than that,” Mrs. Pettigrew murmured.

”James hit his head during the summer, and it cracked his brains,” Pettigrew huffed. ”And now, he remembers everyone else except me!”

”Oh, I'm so sorry, Bonbon,” Mrs. Pettigrew softly said. ”But surely, you can still be friends?”

”Well, James doesn't like me!” Pettigrew sniffed. ”He coldly looks at me like he hates me!” Ironically, that was not far from the truth.

Mrs. Pettigrew slowly nods her head and says, ”Well, bon-bon, I don't know what to say. But even if James does not want to be your friend anymore, you still have plenty of friends. And sometimes that happens, my bon-bon. As we grow older for one reason or another, we lose friends.

Either we change or they change. Some friends will move away or simply the fact that our lives get so much more complicated and busier that we lose all contact. It is bound to happen in your lifetime, Bonbon, but for you it just started a bit earlier rather than later.”

”But I don't want things to change,” Pettigrew whined.

”Oh, Bonbon, don't we all wish that?” Mrs. Pettigrew lamented. ”I too wish your father were still here with us, but he is not. And we cannot change that which is out of our control. We must simply live on and move on to better things in life.”

”Better?”