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He looked ill? He didn’t think he did, but he didn’t doubt it. He was probably pale, and looked like a nervous wreck. Then again, when didn’t he? For some reason, Peter Pettigrew always had a nervous look about him, as though expecting someone to jump out behind him every second of the day. It was rare, for him to be calm when he wasn’t surrounded by the rest of the marauders. They were kind of like his bodyguards, even though he wouldn’t ever admit to it. There was no doubt that his 3 best friends were stronger, and smarter than he was when it came to certain things…like, dueling for example.

“What?” He repeated, looking over at the elevator before turning back to Eliza, nodding his head frantically. “Y-yeah, I’m fine, just…just fine, thanks. Feeling quite well, actually. I’m just b-busy…don’t really have time to t-talk, have th-…” he looked over his shoulder watching as the elevator went down to level one. He mentally cursed at himself and then turned back to Eliza. “…I’m fine.” He repeated, even though his shoulders had dropped a bit. He couldn’t fail at his one job, or else The Order was going to kill him.