Disclaimer: I don't own anything Harry Potter.
One could hardly describe the state of things as a fairytale.
But he tried.
In his stories, the ones he told on the common room floor, fire-breathing dragons roamed the skies and if you looked hard enough from the astronomy tower you might catch a glimpse of one in the distance. There was a smile in his voice when he talked of the unicorns that trounced about the forest, only seen by the innocent and pure of heart. He warned them never to go looking for the unicorns because the forest was, of course, forbidden and being the dedicated student he was he had never dreamed of stepping a toe out of line.
The first years surrounded him in a semi-circle in front of the fire, drinking in his every word. He articulated his tales with grand hand gestures and flailing arms, sword-fighting with centaurs and charging hippogriffs before they took flight.
Maybe it was only for a moment, one they would probably come to forget in a few months time but for those select minutes sprawled on the red and gold carpet, they would be unawares. A war wasn't brewing outside the stone walls, a dark lord wasn't rising, and if he—the boy with the messy hair and perpetually askew glasses—had anything to do with it: he never would.
A girl paused mid-step on her descent from the dormitories, eyes locked on the scene before her. Her appraisal began with narrowed eyes, the Gryffindor boy emanating suspicion wherever he went. Her green eyes slowly but surely expand back to their normal state upon realization that, for once, he might not be amidst executing yet another irritating prank.
In her experience, people didn't change for the better. She knew that changes didn't happen overnight, in fact, they were so slow they were almost unnoticeable until they were finally thrown in your face. At that point it becomes laughable that you were so blindsided, laughable to everyone except yourself.
That's why when Lily Evans' gaze fell on James Potter, regaling new students with hopeful and gallantly untrue stories, she was suspicious. It could be part of a plan, a great and clever ruse to bring everyone's guard down just enough to make a fool of them. The suspicious side of her, however, is extinguished when she noticed the way his eyes shined with a fierce protectiveness for the younger students. He wanted to shield them from the harsh realities that threatened their innocence and their future.
Maybe people did change for the better and if they did, she wanted to be around to witness it so instead of breaking up the group of students she turned around, as quietly as she could manage and made her way back up the stairs with a small, virtually imperceptible smile hinted at the corner of her lips.
James Potter had three close friends who could easily be identified by both their appearances and behavior alike. The mousy one sat on a window seat that overlooked the rain-soaked grounds, alternating his nibbling between a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans and his fingernails. The second friend had a particular affinity for smirking at any female student who was unlucky enough to walk by, declaring his appreciation for her outfit loudly so that the entire room would be privy to the offensive comment. Beside him sat the third friend, face buried in a textbook to conceal each and every eye roll as they struck him.
It was their sixth year, they were not yet adults but not quite children either which was news to their professors and fellow classmates seeing as their entire experience with the four boys was centralized around their immaturity. They weren't prepared for that to change but, of course, like all change it happened so slowly most did not take notice until it was thrown in their face.
Later, some would ask what brought about such a change in them. If you asked Sirius Black he would say it was 'none of your bloody business'. If you asked Peter Pettigrew you would hear a nervous jumble of vowels and consonants that failed to form an intelligible set of words. If you asked James Potter he would offer a sly smile and witty comment that did not answer the question in any way. If you asked Remus Lupin, he might actually tell you the truth.
What was the truth?
It was the June after their fifth year at Hogwarts, James Potter was sitting at the desk in his father's study drafting his third apology letter to Lily Evans which was, as one might expect, riddled with suggestive undertones and warranted no reply. He was just about to sign his name when Sirius appeared over his shoulder, laughing at the contents of his letter. He hurried to roll up the parchment and tie it onto the family's owl before Sirius's taunting hands could intercept it. In his haste, he had almost missed the letter already attached to the leg of the owl.
He knew he shouldn't open it, it wasn't addressed to him. Something was telling him not to, a feeling he normally welcomed. The script reading his father's name seemed rushed, written by a shaky hand. The paper was crumpled slightly like the sender gripped it too tightly while they wrote it.
Things began to happen very quickly after that. The house elf could be heard downstairs shrieking for 'Master James', heavy footfalls rattling the wood as she clambered up the stairs. James grabbed the letter immediately, almost detaching the poor owl's leg in his haste.
Peter, who had been lounging on a nearby armchair, isolated from Sirius and James' exchange shrank into his animagus form in fright when a loud bang erupted below. It sounded as though someone had forced themselves inside. James ripped open the letter as he sprinted to his room, Sirius hot on his trail and Peter scampering behind them.
"What does it say?" Sirius hissed as James fished something out of his trunk. The invisibility cloak. "They're after my dad's stores." Sirius didn't have the opportunity to be confused for long as he was rushed under the cloak and hurried down to Mr. Potter's brewing chambers below floor level.
The room is adorned with expensive glassware and hundreds of vials were lined along one of the tables which they approached swiftly. The potion in the vials was a glossy black color unlike anything they had ever seen before. Sirius skimmed over an open journal page beside a cauldron caked in the same offending onyx mixture, eyes bulging as he did so. Muffled voices were approaching from the other side of the door.
"Who's coming, Prongs?" Sirius asked urgently. He opened his mouth to say something else but the door began to open and the pair shuffled to the edge of the room.
Four cloaked figures made their way inside, eyes immediately landing on the potions before them. James watched the foursome in horror, Sirius frantically shaking his head at him and trying to convey a message through an impromptu game of charades beneath the cloak.
"Put those in the case and grab anything else you can find." One of the men barked, pointing at the vials. His sleeve fell away from his forearm just slightly to reveal a snakelike marking. Before James could think he pulled his wand from his pocket and whispered, "Bombarda Maxima."
The room exploded, flames igniting from the potions but extinguishing themselves almost as soon as they came. Ingredients simmer violently for a moment until the room is smoking and eerily silent. The four Death Eaters were sprawled on the floor unconscious.
"What do we do?" Sirius emerged from the cloak and looked around wildly. James thought for a moment which was exceedingly difficult in his state of panic.
"We'll obliviate them." He decided, brandishing his wand again.
Sirius caught his arm. "And then do what with them? We can't leave them here."
James ran his hands over his eyes in frustration. "We'll have Mippa apparate them away." The house elf appeared shakily once James called her, having seen the intruders just before they entered and being unable to find James.
James and Sirius obliviated the Death Eaters one-by-one and instructed Mippa where to take them, Peter observing silently from one of the nearby shelves as the others scrambled fearfully about the room.
So if you asked Remus what the truth was, why Sirius stopped sneaking into Hagrid's hut that year for a spot of brandy or why James stopped writing to Lily over the summer or why Peter became gradually more isolated from the group, he might tell you what they told him when they arrived covered in soot on his mother's doorstep that afternoon. Then again, he might not.
When the clock reached ten, he cut James off and corralled the young students up to their dormitories.
"Things are going to be different this year aren't they?" Remus bumped shoulders with James, who looked straight ahead, not in disregard but in thought.
"Yeah, they will be."
Thank you so much for reading, let me know in a review whether you like it and if you think I should continue! If it wasn't clear this was September 1st of their sixth year after the feast. Thanks again!