Running Tortoise, Flying Squirrel
The man huddled down, his black coat hiding the mess that lay underneath. He knocked thrice on the door, paused, and then knocked again. The cat flap opened up and a face peeked up at him. “Who is it?”
Peter hunched down, frowned, and said quietly, “It’s Peter Pettigrew.” The door opened slowly, creaking in the mysterious, scary ways doors creak. The effect was, however, ruined when the door decided to get stuck halfway. The man behind the door cursed, and waddled around on short, squat legs until he could heave the door back. Peter moved forward, patting the dwarf-wizard on the head. The dwarf spat up at him. Peter quickly moved out of reach, and made his way into the cold, drafty dining room of the Riddle House.
“Peter,” Voldemort hissed, “Is that you?”
“Yes, my lord, it is I.” Peter hurried over to where Voldemort was seated, kneeling quietly.
“Have you completed the task I set you?”
“No, my lord, I have not,” He said hurriedly. “I…have encountered a problem.” He shifted restlessly, eye twitching in the way that Peter Pettigrew’s eyes are always twitching.
“What is your problem, Peter?”
“Well, my lord, I have two problems. My first problem, Voldemort, is that there is an Author writing a Riddukulus fic, and I am being written as a cross dresser!” Voldemort’s eyes widened as Peter went on. “What’s more,” Peter wailed as he swept off his cloak, “this dress makes my bum look big, doesn’t it?”
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