She remembers the boy with the hazel eyes and messy hair and the boy with cold grey eyes and jet-black silky hair. Never are they apart. They appear in her dreams, unexpected as always, for they were mischief makers and had to live up to their name, the Marauders. She remembers how they used to care for each other as though they were brothers and one's burden was the other's, one's happiness was the other's and one's heartbreak was the other's. And although they put up facades and barriers around themselves, the other half would always be welcomed into the other's soul. This would remain until the death of the hazel-eyed boy, which ruined and crushed the spirit of his grey-eyed brother.
Yes, she thought, reaching for a Ginger Newt. She remembers her Lions.
He can recall, with uncanny clarity, the brilliant flash of emerald green and the deep magnetic amber orbs. He remembers his two favourites, although they were not from his house. He would feel suddenly nostalgic as he remembers the two bickering over who got the highest marks in the latest Charms test, and how they ended up being close friends: the two of them, rejected by the society because of who they were. The girl was a muggleborn, the boy was a werewolf. Outcasts of the world they could- no, should- belong to. And when the girl was rejected by her so-called best friend (who called her a mudblood, of all things!), the boy comforted her and became her best friend to the day she died. It undid the werewolf, it did.
Yes, he thought, stretching his tiny frame in his couch by the fire. He remembers his pet Ravens.
She drifts off into scenarios of 'what-should-have-been's and 'what-could-have-been's. The unassuming pudgy boy, Frank, and the vivacious bouncy girl with a halo of curls, Alice, haunt her dreams. Their son, who looks like both his parents, weaves in and out, his big brown eyes that he has inherited from his mother blinks confusedly, full of uncertainty. With only his nightmarish grandmother to guide him, it is no surprise. Her heart swells with sympathy, pride and a hundred of other emotions when she remembers that Frank and Alice are heroes, and they had been awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class, shortly before their… tragedy. Now, she visits them in St. Mungo's once every month, hoping against hope that they will recover.
Yes, she thought, sighing as she repots some herbs. She remembers her Badgers.
He remembers the skulking, sallow-faced boy at the back of his class and the slight, cold grey-eyed boy who resembled his brother so much. They struck him as slightly odd students, but he knew that they both had important connections. The sallow-faced boy was related to powerful pure-blooded family and the grey-eyed boy was the heir to the Black family, after his brother had been disinherited. And although he, Horace Slughorn, never really paid attention to anyone but himself, he noticed that the Black heir was thoroughly depressed over the disinheritance of his brother. Through the Hogwarts' rumour mill, he learned that the eldest Black boy loved his younger brother dearly, although he did not tolerate the rest of his family's actions.
Yes, he thought, reaching for some crystallized pineapple. He remembered his Serpents.
A/N: Hope you like it! It's my first fic for this site, although I've posted a couple of other fics like this in my wattpad account.
Reviews, please?