Feuds
by Morgan D.
~*~
This story was written before the publication of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Notes at the end.
~*~
It was common knowledge among the students of Hogwarts that the school gamekeeper had slightly eccentric tastes when it came to pets. Oh, nothing wrong with the faithful--if not particularly brave--dogs he would keep in his hut and take along in his strolls into the Forbidden Forest; they were poor excuses for guard dogs, but what would a colossus like Hagrid need protection from anyway? The problem was... the other animals he would keep around. Any student who didn't consider himself above chatting with servants had at least once heard Hagrid talk affectionately about the creatures he had befriended since his childhood: beasts that the books would describe as ferocious, poisonous, predatory or deadly, the gamekeeper would describe as cute, and name them with cute names. The students who did consider themselves above chatting with servants would hear those tales second-hand, and apply their snobbish sense of humour to the dubious task of making up jokes about Hagrid's peculiar attachment to peculiar creatures, therefore expanding the legend.
James Potter wasn't above chatting with anyone, was famous for not sparing anyone from his antics, and Hagrid wasn't an exception. The lively boy with untameable black hair, small round glasses and funny smile saved some of his best pranks to tease the gamekeeper with. Not because James disliked him. Quite the contrary, actually. Hagrid was one of those rare people who recognised a good prank even when it fell on his head, and would immediately join the prankster in a good, loud laugh.
However, James would never mock the man's love for dangerous creatures. He couldn't. It would be like the pot calling the kettle black. Hagrid had his hazardous pets. James had his hazardous friends.
Yes, friends, plural. James knew that if he were to state that thought in the presence of his closer mates, one of them--a frail-looking, bright-eyed, ever-pleasant kid named Remus Lupin--would frown at James' use of the plural. Remus had this crazy idea that, just because he was a werewolf, everyone would consider him the most dangerous child to ever be admitted to Hogwarts.
James hadn't wanted to deprive his new friend of his illusions of grandeur. But of course, he knew better. Sure, Remus turned into a man-eating monster once a month. Tough, no doubt about it. On the other hand, James' other hazardous friend could turn into a savage all-annihilating beast at any given time, without any prior notice, and God be merciful to whoever crossed his path then.
Of course, James had never really seen Remus during a full moon night. But he sincerely doubted a werewolf could be more frightening than Sirius Black in a really bad mood.
Not that it happened all that often. That was why Remus still thought he was the scariest one around--he had never seen Sirius mad for real.
Angry? Sure.
Gloomy? Definitely.
Restless? Gosh, almost all the time.
But really, really mad?
Well, if James knew his best friend well, and if what Professor McGonagall had told him was true, today Hogwarts would have the first real glimpse of Sirius' dreadful temper.
And as James ran towards the Quidditch field, knowing he would find his friend there, he wondered if he shouldn't be running in the opposite direction, as the tiny voice of common sense which spoke inside his head demanded. Leave him alone. Leave him to let some steam off on a pair of helpless Bludgers. Don't give a human target to his wrath.
James wouldn't listen to that annoying voice though. Sirius shouldn't be left alone with his thoughts when he was like that. Besides, James was sure his friend wouldn't turn his rage against him, no matter what.
Furthermore, even from quite a distance he had managed to see there was more than only one pair of Bludgers in the air.
"Damn you, Sirius, why can't you just break a vase against the wall, or something simple like that?" James moaned, rushing into the pitch as if there were wings on his feet.
The loud clang of steel thundered over the field, echoing on the surrounding stands, as a frantically swinging bat thrashed the black rebellious balls into a crazy dance. The lonely Beater hovered forty-five feet over the ground, spinning rabidly on his SparkTyphoon 73, looking pretty much like a miniature dark cyclone himself.
Worried, James looked up and quickly counted the Bludgers.
Eight.
"Okay," he sighed in relief. So Sirius wasn't letting off steam. He was just showing off.
Because he knew Sirius like the palm of his hand. If Sirius were venting his anger on the aggressive balls, there would be at least a dozen of them soaring and trying to smash his head.
That's why he doesn't break vases against the wall to calm down. It's just not life-threatening enough for him.
Keeping a wary eye on his friend, James made his way to the centre of the pitch, where four Quidditch crates were scattered open and Sirius' overcoat and necktie lay in a messy pile. He opened his mouth to call the Beater down, but bit his lip before uttering any sound. What if Sirius lost concentration? That was rule number one for Beaters: don't get hit. If one Bludger hits you, it means you'll be vulnerable when the other one comes your way. And with eight of those nasty things up loose... Breaking Sirius' concentration could result in several broken bones.
Three of them rocketed simultaneously toward the floating boy, clearly targeting his skull. James covered his mouth with sweaty hands to keep himself from screaming. The bat hit the first, the broom spun to hit the second, and looped to avoid the third Bludger, which began a sudden plunge down...
...right to where James was standing.
"JAMES!"
"Fuck!"
James Potter wasn't a Keeper. In truth, he was a terrible Keeper. The few times he had been, for one reason or another, assigned the position, he had proved to be a major disaster to his own team. But with no more than half a second to think, he found himself moving before common sense's tiny voice managed to shriek about the recklessness of what he was doing.
He jumped. And dived. And caught the Bludger in a clumsy embrace.
And the next second he crashed on the ground, the jet black sphere kicking his ribs and chin in vain attempts to get free.
"Damnit, Potter!" he heard the half-angry, half-relieved shout from the boy above his head. "That's not the Snitch!"
"And only now you tell me?" James mock-moaned, creeping towards the nearest crate.
"I'd think Gryffindor's marvellous super-Seeker would be able to tell the difference by himself."
Locking the Bludger inside the crate was no mean feat. James had a reply ready even before Sirius had finished his sentence, but was unable to utter it until the ball was safely chained in place. "I've been practising Engorgio Charms on a couple of Snitches. I thought this was one of mine."
Sirius, on the other hand, had no trouble chatting while pirouetting in the air and defending his life from seven Bludgers. "What would you want a Bludger-sized Snitch for?"
"What do you mean, why? Tactics, of course!"
"You can't charm the balls during the game, you nitwit!"
"Not game tactics, airhead! Pay-back tactics."
"What?"
"For when the opposing Seeker catches the Snitch before me. Imagine the look on his face when he raises the Snitch over his head, invokes the applause of the public, and then suddenly, ZAP! It turns into a big, heavy Bludger, slipping from his grasp and falling on his skull."
Sirius snorted. "No one can catch the Snitch before you, Potter."
James' mood for bantering died away. Usually it was nice to hear compliments, especially from Sirius. Today...
Today Sirius' compliment was not a compliment. Today James' skill at Quidditch wasn't a good thing at all.
"I'm sorry," he said in a low voice, possibly too low for his friend to hear him from up there.
But then, Sirius had astonishing hearing. When the next Bludger was hit and driven straight to the vacant space inside the crate beside him, James started suspecting he had been heard after all. "Lock it in!" yelled the Beater.
"Blimey!" James had to nearly plunge onto the box to fasten the clasp around the ball. Were his reflexes any slower, he'd have missed it. "Couldn't you warn me first?"
"I'm warning you now! Next crate, the one to your right!"
James ran to the appointed crate and stood behind it, holding the straps that chained the Bludgers in. "All set, bring them down!"
Maybe I should have said "one at a time"?
Potter thought wryly when Sirius batted two balls into the box while the words were still leaving his lips. "How in hell were you going to lock them in if I weren't here?" he yelled as the clasps clicked in place."I'd have thought of something. Now, the one behind you."
Feeling very happy for having come down to the pitch, James helped his imprudent, foolhardy, hot-headed mate to put away all the remaining Bludgers, until it was finally safe for him to come down.
Sirius didn't land though. He kept floating two feet over the ground, bat under his arm as he took off his gloves. "So... you've heard already." It wasn't a question.
James nodded. "So... it's true." Not a question either.
"Afraid so."
Potter's shoulders drooped. The savage all-annihilating beast he had expected to find seemed rather calm and sedated--for such a dangerous beast, that is--, so he had hoped that for once McGonagall would have been wrong. "I'm so sorry, Sirius."
But Sirius only shrugged, throwing his gloves on the pile of clothes on the ground. "Are they still watching?"
Only years of experience in their successful complicity kept James from looking around. "Where?"
"Behind the stands, Slytherin section, far left corner. Under the stairs."
Wearing glasses had its advantages. If you don't look straight to your target, people can't tell exactly what you're looking at, unless they're very close. "See 'em. Four of them."
"Four? There were only three when I started."
"I don't reckon they're all together. One of them is actually up in the Hufflepuff stands, writing on a notebook."
Black shifted position on the hovering SparkTyphoon, riding it side-saddle, his eyes still firmly on his friend. "Can you tell who they are?"
James pretended to casually scratch his forehead in order to conceal the frowning as he squeezed his eyes, trying to identify the partially hidden figures. "Mills, Chalford... Snape..."
Sirius smirked. "Snape. I should have imagined."
"They all look sore," James added. "And the one up the stands... Of course."
"Of course?"
"Hogwarts' unofficial social columnist, Bertha Jorkins."
The Beater rolled his eyes, pulling his hair away from his face. "She doesn't even like Quidditch."
James couldn't help but grin at the realisation that even now, fluffing his shoulder-length mane and sitting on that broom like a gown-wearing woman, his friend couldn't look less girlish. "And just how do you know about dear Miss Jorkins' tastes, Black?"
Sirius shrugged. "She told me so."
"She's a sixth-year! You're getting friendly with sixth-year girls?"
"I don't know what you mean by friendly," Sirius muttered, with an impish wink that told he knew exactly what James meant. "My relationship with dear Miss Jorkins is strictly business."
"Oh really?"
"Oh really."
"Let me guess. Trading sensitive information?" The three Slytherin boys were still there under the stairs, watching them attentively. James thought it was best to keep on with the small talk for the moment.
"Aren't you smart, Potter!" Sirius nodded. "Be careful, mate. McGonagall might make you Prefect one of these days."
"Shut up. What has Jorkins told you?"
"That she doesn't like Quidditch?" Sirius said, deadpan.
"She's a twit. No taste whatsoever. What else she's told you?"
"Let's see..." Sirius started ticking off items with his fingers. "Alan Schmidt broke up with Claire Holmes last week... Maggie Boot's baby brother has the Goblin Measles... Eugene Brocklehurst's parents are getting a divorce... Professor Vector's pet owl is called Skylar..."
"Speaking of lack of taste..." James moaned.
"Actually we're speaking of a big owl with a complete lack of sense of direction. Hence the name. Skylar... Scalar... Get it?"
Vectors, quantity with magnitude and direction. Scalars, magnitude but no direction. "Professor Vector has a sense of humour?!"
"We'd never have guessed, would we?"
By the corner of the eye James saw Snape whispering something in Chalford's ear, and Mills leaning over to listen. Damn, will those jerks never leave? "Hasn't Jorkins told you anything useful?"
"The location of the cabinet where Filch keeps all the Filibuster fireworks he has confiscated in the last decade?"
An ear-to-ear smile lit up James' face. "You're kidding."
Sirius feigned insult. "Would I joke about something as serious as that?"
"Ten years of Filibuster fireworks? Just waiting for us?"
"And since those beauties are guaranteed to work over twelve years after manufacture..."
"...we have a huge party to plan..."
"...too bad we didn't find them out in time for Hallowe'en..."
"...an early Christmas celebration, perhaps?..."
"...the night before we leave for the holidays..."
"...so we won't be here to get detention..."
"...only we have to keep Remus out of it."
James frowned. "Why?"
"He's staying at Hogwarts, remember? Christmas alone is bad enough without having to..."
"...scrub the toilets..."
"...with a toothbrush..."
"...in Filch's company..."
"...no one deserves that," Sirius concluded with a grunt.
"So it's just you, me and Peter?"
"And we make sure to find Remus a good alibi."
James had never looked forward to Christmas holidays so badly. "Do I want to know how you paid Jorkins for all this information?"
"Oh, you'll find out sooner or later."
That sounded somewhat ominous. "What have you told her?"
"Not much."
Definitely ominous. "What have you told her, Sirius?"
"Nothing important."
Positively, emphatically ominous. "Black? What. Have. You. Told. Her?"
"Just the name of your pet dog when you were five years old."
James froze. James' blood froze. James' entire universe froze. "You didn't."
Sirius held his hands up, defensively. "It was for a good cause!"
"How... how could you?!" The young Seeker felt truly sick. "Oh my God, how could you?"
"Opened my mouth, the words came out..."
"...and now every single person in Hogwarts--students, teachers, house-elves, everyone!--will know..."
"...that by the age of five you had a dog named Cerberus."
James' universe froze again, this time for entirely different reasons. "Cerberus?"
Black only smiled, enjoying his mate's reaction.
"Er... Sirius? She was called Fifi."
"Ssshhh!" Sirius playfully knocked the top of James's head with his Beater bat. "Shut up, will ya? You think I want Bertha telling the whole world I'm friends with a guy that names a dog Fifi? Please, I have a reputation to keep."
Potter made a big effort to suppress a smile. "A Norfolk Terrier named Cerberus?"
"Of course not. A Doberman Pinscher named Cerberus."
"A Doberman Pinscher?! When I was five? It would have eaten me alive!"
"Don't be daft. They're very obedient. You just have to train them well."
"Either that or I was a tougher kid than I thought," James murmured. He was probably safe though. No one would dispute Sirius' knowledge on dogs; he had had six of his own before entering Hogwarts--just two now, since his parents didn't have the time to take care of so many with their son away for most of the year--, and he was virtually a walking encyclopaedia on canines. If Jorkins spread that Sirius had said James had a Doberman Pinscher when he was five, people might doubt Jorkins, but they wouldn't doubt Sirius. I just hope she remembers to credit her sources...
A subtle movement behind the Slytherin stands caught Potter's attention. "Great. They're finally leaving."
"All of them?" asked Sirius.
"Well, Jorkins is still up there. Doesn't look like she's eager to be anywhere else."
"Doesn't matter. Snape, Chalford, Mills?"
"Already out of the pitch, all three of them." Why is Chalford limping? "Snape is practically dragging the other two away. I wonder what he's up to."
"Well, I'm sure I'll be hearing a lot from him later."
James watched them go, not bothering to pretend he was looking elsewhere anymore. It wasn't like any of them had eyes in the back of their heads anyway. "He sure doesn't like you."
"Nah, he sure doesn't like you," Sirius corrected him. "I'm just standing in the crossfire."
"But why?"
"Why I'm standing in the crossfire?"
Potter shook his head. "Why doesn't he like me?"
"Well, I expect him to come out and tell you one of these days. Then you can tell me."
"You mean you don't know?"
Sirius looked away. "Maybe I do, maybe I don't."
"Thanks," James muttered, letting out a sarcastic laugh. "That was very enlightening."
"For what it's worth, I probably don't know anything," Black sighed. "It's not like he tells me about his secret agenda. And he just loves looking all dark and mysterious."
The bitterness in Sirius' tone was loud and evident. The broom had descended a bit more, hovering closer to James, but the Beater still made no move to get down to solid ground yet. It was as if he didn't feel ready to come back to it yet.
Still, he was so much calmer than James had anticipated. It was quite puzzling. "Sirius, are you all right?"
"Don't I look all right?"
"You do. Perfectly all right. That's what's freaking me out." James pointed to the sky, where Sirius had been dancing with the Bludgers earlier. "That was pretty impressive, you know."
Sirius' lips twitched oddly. "Well, that was the idea. Let them know what they'll be missing." He nodded towards the Hufflepuff stands. "Even if Snape manages to keep Mills and Chalford from spreading the word, Bertha will make sure everyone hears about my little show."
Let them know what they'll be missing?
James' eyes widened. "Wait... McGonagall said... I thought you've only lost the captaincy.""Nah. The captaincy wasn't the real issue, was it?" Black gazed down at the bat in his hand. "The problem is, they think I'm not doing my job as a Beater."
Potter felt a heavy lump in his throat. It was rare for a fourth-year to be made Quidditch captain. Sirius had been so proud... and James had been so proud of him! When McGonagall dropped a cryptic comment about the match from the day before having been Sirius' last as team captain, James had felt devastated, as if he had been demoted himself. He had immediately rushed in search of his friend, fearing his reaction. But this... This! "They cut you out off the team? Entirely?"
Sirius sneered. "No, Jamie, just my head, arms and legs; they'll let me play as long as I only use my arse." At last he leaped off his broom. "Of course they cut me off entirely!"
"But they can't!"
"They've just proved they can, didn't they?"
It couldn't be. It just couldn't. They wouldn't have dared to cut Sirius. It was absurd! It was a joke, it had to be a joke.
But as the longhaired boy put down his dear SparkTyphoon with a downhearted expression tainting his sarcastic smirk, James realised that he had never seen his friend more serious. "They're insane!"
"I won't argue that," Black snorted.
"You're the best Beater Hogwarts has seen in ages! Even Dumbledore said that!"
Sirius shrugged, caressing his bat with a longing gaze. "They're not questioning my skills. Just my loyalties."
James paled. "What?"
"Rosier pulled me aside before the game yesterday. He politely reminded me that I'd failed to knock you out of your broom for the last two matches, and that the Head of our House was starting to wonder if I was trying hard enough."
"What?!"
Sirius moved to one of the crates and returned the bat to its place gravely, as if saying goodbye to a late friend. And he probably was. "He suggested a third blunder would be my last. 'Third time's the charm off the team', he said."
"WHAT?!!" James was livid.
Black sighed, reaching down to his piled clothes to pick up his green-silver striped necktie. "One thing the Sorting Hat keeps forgetting to mention about Slytherin in his start-of-the-year songs is the low acceptance of failure and strong aversion to double-crossers." He frowned, thoughtful. "Or at least to double-crossers that double-cross to the other side. Sort of paradoxical, if you really think about it."
It seemed to James the strangest moment Sirius could have ever picked to be philosophical. The savage all-annihilating bestial temper was nowhere in sight, and James almost missed it.
Philosophical Sirius was all too scary.
"Are you okay, Jamie? You look like you're about to have a seizure or something..."
James was not okay. "Those fucking... miserable... loathsome... despicable... Slytherins!"
Sirius grimaced. "Take it easy, Potter."
"Easy?! You're telling me to take it easy?"
"Yes, I am. Before you end up saying something that forces me to break your nose. Don't insult my House, okay?"
"Who the hell do they think they are? Have they even watched the game? Any of our games? Damnit, Sirius, I've risked betraying the celebrated Gryffindor bravery by crapping my pants every time the Snitch was released and I saw you swinging a bat on the other side of the field. God, I have nightmares about you chasing me through the streets of Hogsmeade with a set of Bludgers that look more like fire-spitting caltrops! And they say you weren't trying hard enough?" James kicked one of the wooden crates angrily. "If you weren't trying hard enough in those matches, I don't wanna be anywhere in the vicinity when you do!"
A faint but unmistakable grin appeared on his friend's face. "Do you really have nightmares like that?"
James eyed him sadly, his arms akimbo. "You have no idea how scary you are with that bat, do you?"
"As a matter of fact, I do," Sirius countered with his usual disdain for false modesty. "Just never thought it was enough to scare such a bold, dauntless Gryffindor like yourself."
"It is more than enough," James admitted in a low, confiding tone. And even without asking for secrecy, he was sure Sirius would never disclose that revelation for anyone.
Black hung the green-silver tie around his neck, not bothering to arrange the knot. "Anyway... no use throwing a tantrum about it."
"I can't believe you're taking this so well," James exclaimed, genuinely surprised.
"I'm not taking this well. I just know there's nothing to be done about it. It's not just the team that wants me out. It's the Head of Slytherin, the entire Slytherin student body, the Bloody Baron... even the paintings in the Slytherin common room have been whispering behind my back!" He pulled his cloak from the ground, shaking some leaves off. "I saw it coming, Jamie. And now it's official."
I
didn't see it coming, James realised grimly. He had heard the nasty gossip suggesting that the result of the games between Slytherin and Gryffindor were decided between the Beater of the former and the Seeker of the latter in conspiratorial meetings in the dead of night. But he had been also sure that only a complete idiot or someone who knew zero about Quidditch--was there a difference between one and the other?--would insist on that idea after watching Sirius play. Sure, the losing team would always try to find a scapegoat, and even Ayaka Seguchi, the exceptional Japanese Chaser that alone scored 420 points in the last match against England, was crucified by the Asian press as the one who caused Japan National Team's elimination just before the semi-finals of the last World Cup. All she did was to take a penalty that was skilfully saved by the opposing Keeper, and all of a sudden her successful career was down the drain. The world of professional Quidditch was ruthless, unforgiving.Maybe he hadn't expected the school championship to be as harsh. Maybe he had underestimated the viciousness of those gossipers. Maybe he simply had thought it wouldn't happened to him and Sirius. The fact was, he had not seen it coming. And now that the brutal reality was falling on their heads, he couldn't deal with it. "You're out, I'm out."
Sirius blinked, astounded. His cloak fell back to the ground. "What?"
"I'm gonna quit the Gryffindor team," James stated resolutely.
"No, you won't!"
Black's protest was so categorical, James felt his resolution fading instantly.
"But... Sirius..."
"No way, James! You quit and I'll set homing spells on all the Bludgers of Britain so they'll chase you day and night for the rest of your days."
James found himself speechless. He was used to his friend's hot temper. He was used to see him growling and snapping and glaring, he had been on the unlucky receiving end of those before. But this intensity now... was... unexpected. "Sirius, listen... they can't cut you like this. If they think you and I cheated..."
"You're not being accused here. I am."
"It's all the same to me."
"It's not."
"This is just unacceptable! I can't go on playing if..."
"But you will."
"Black..."
"Potter." Sirius put his hands firmly over James' shoulders and sat him on one of the Quidditch crates. "If you quit, people will say you chickened out. That once you couldn't be sure you had an ally in the opposing team anymore, you didn't have the guts to climb on your broom again."
What?!
"Codswallop!""It sure is," Sirius agreed. "That's why you're gonna prove them very, very wrong."
Amazed, James looked up at his friend's glinting eyes. This was not hot-tempered Sirius talking after all.
"You will catch the Snitch next game, against Ravenclaw," Sirius murmured passionately, as if stating something that had already happened. "And next year you will catch it in all the three Gryffindor games of the season. And the year after that, same thing. Nobody will beat you, Potter. Nobody. Because..."
"...there will be no Beater around here who is good enough to stop me..." James concluded happily.
"...since the only one who has a chance to do it--and that would be me--will be out of the team..."
"...due to ridiculous prejudices..."
"...and everyone will know it!" Black agreed effusively.
"You sure aren't modest, are you?" laughed James.
"And you are?"
The two boys smiled, enjoying their old complicity. They were the best. No one could beat them.
And it was true, that stupid prejudice was blinding the Slytherins to the obvious: Sirius was their best player. Someone else could be the captain, maybe--although Sirius had the command voice of a leader, he wasn't remarkably ingenious when it came to strategies. But the green-silver House definitely had no suitable replacements for him as a Beater. So unless some unknown, brand-new talent lived in secret amidst the first-years, Slytherin would be stuck with pitiful odds of victory for still a year and a half, at least.
"But..." James' smile faded. "You'll still be out."
"Well... yeah." Sirius pulled his wand and swished it distractedly, lining the other crates together. "That can't be helped, I guess."
There must be a way...
"Maybe... after a series of extremely humiliating defeats...""...they would admit they committed a mistake? Unlikely."
James sighed sadly. Slytherin pride, too big and hard to swallow.
"Besides," Sirius went on, "there will be no humiliating defeats for Slytherin."
"But without you..."
"...we'll still have better Chasers and Keeper," Sirius bragged, lying down on the improvised crate-bed.
We.
James shook his head disbelievingly. "Don't tell me you'll still be rooting for Slytherin!""It's my House, Jamie."
"After what they've just done to you...!"
"...it's still my House."
Slytherin pride, all right.
"They don't deserve you.""That's possible," Sirius chortled. "But then, who does?"
"If you were a Gryffindor..."
"Red is so not my colour..."
"...and I a Slytherin..."
"Now that's an earthshaking thought..."
"...you wouldn't have been kicked out."
"Oh come on, Jamie! Do you honestly think McGonagall would have acted any differently?"
"She would have tried to be fair!"
"Sure, but what would that mean? If you had lost three matches in a row against Slytherin... Gryffindor's eternal rival... the team on which your best friend just happens to be playing..."
"She wouldn't have cut me off the team without any evidence..."
"Three lost matches in a row! What more evidence would she need?"
"That's not evidence!"
"Will you tell me McGonagall has never lectured you on how friendship shouldn't interfere with Quidditch?"
James gulped. She had. Quite often.
"Will you tell me she's never politely reminded you that in the field I'm your adversary and nothing else?"
She had. Every morning before a match against Slytherin.
"Will you tell me she's never questioned you about whether or not you might be--unconsciously, perhaps--going easy on me, because I'm your friend?"
She had. Every evening after a match against Slytherin.
"Don't fool yourself thinking this is a one-sided thing," Sirius growled. "Gryffindors are just as dogmatic and prejudiced as Slytherins. The only reason you don't get kicked out is because you're the only decent player they have and, lucky for them, if you catch the Snitch fast enough you guarantee your team's victory even if the rest of the players never leave the ground. Or will you tell me your team-mates don't criticise you for your choice of friends?"
They did. A lot. All the bloody time. Whenever he and Sirius studied together in the library or walked side by side on the grounds or sought each other for partnership in Potions... no one dared to say a word, but the glares were powerful enough to be tangible. Especially on the days prior to a Slytherin versus Gryffindor game. And it wasn't just his team-mates.
But then, it wasn't the whole Gryffindor House either. Many students had siblings or had had parents in different Houses, therefore their sectionalism were somewhat toned down under the strength of family ties. Blood being thicker than water and all that stuff. However, if Sirius was a brother to him in all the senses that truly mattered, to everyone else it was the surname that counted.
Potter. Black. Not related, then.
If only had Sirius been sorted in any other House... Every wizard child would learn the song long before receiving their letters of admittance in Hogwarts... and the Muggle-borns would be singing them in the corridors before the first snow of their first year...
Red and blue, strangely cool,
Blue and green, strong and sheen,
Blue and yellow, jolly good fellow,
Yellow and green, almost a sin,
Green and red, as good as dead.
That was how things worked. Snake-lets and lion cubs: do not mix.
James' fists closed furiously against the wooden trunk. "You've been my best friend since before we could talk!" he protested. "Then this old battered hat says we'll be sleeping in different dorms and suddenly you're my enemy? Just like that?"
"That is the general idea, yes," Sirius yawned.
"Bloody hell..."
"That old battered hat also decreed that my roommates are my new best friends. It doesn't matter that they don't have any sense of humour whatsoever. It also doesn't matter if one of them feels he has to follow me around everywhere in order to make sure I don't do anything unbecoming of my House and lose Slytherin a few points. It still doesn't matter if said roommate tests his Potions homework by sneaking a few drops of it in my food and studying if I turn into a yellow-skinned zombie, a pink-furred cheetah or a purple-feathered crow."
James grinned in spite of everything else. "So said roommate of yours should know it won't matter if you demonstrate your deep affection for him by testing your Transfiguration homework on his clothes..."
"...or his hair..."
"...or his nose..."
"...or his knees..."
"Knees?" James frowned.
"Nah, forget it," Sirius huffed and waved his hand, dismissing the issue.
"What's with his knees?"
"They're just... well... knobbly."
"So are mine," James pointed out, staring at his own legs.
"I know."
"You have something against knobbly knees?"
Black seemed to consider the question for a moment. "No. But when you share a room for four years with someone you don't care so much about..." He shrugged. "He's so aggravating, Jamie. Every bone in his body and every cell of his brain seems to be there just to make sure life can be as exasperating as possible."
"That bad, huh?"
"It's getting that bad. It didn't use to be like this. When we were in first year I actually thought he and I had hit it off." Sirius bit his lip, pensive. "We exchanged Christmas gifts the first two years. And we used to study History of Magic together. We did get along at some point. We definitely don't now, but I really can't tell when things got this sore."
James thought about the confabulatory chatter between the three Slytherin boys behind the stands. "I suspect his hand was in your cutting from the team?"
"His hand was there, I'm sure," Sirius confirmed. "But I'm not so certain about the direction he was pushing things for. He keeps his cards very close to his chest, you know."
"But he's happy with you out? You said he'd try to keep Mills and Chalford from telling the others about your little show up there..."
"He's not as happy as I thought he'd be."
"Maybe because he knows Slytherin's chances of winning the Cup are dimmest ever now?"
Black didn't respond, neither to the personal compliment nor to the implication that the rest of his team sucked.
"Sirius?"
"I don't know, Jamie. I confess I haven't figured him out."
James sighed and forced the matter of Snape's agenda away from his mind. It was hardly relevant at this point anyway. "It won't be the same thing without you..."
The longhaired boy gave him a sly grin. "You mean you won't be having nightmares about fire-spitting caltrops chasing you through the streets of Hogsmeade anymore?"
"I mean playing Quidditch won't be nearly as bloodcurdling, hair-raising and spine-tingling anymore."
"You poor baby," Black let out a sarcastic laugh. "Will you join the pitiable faction of people who somehow manage to get bored with Quidditch?"
James shook his head. "I didn't say that. I'm only implying that life won't be as thrilling as before without the dreadful fears that I'll crap my pants in front of the whole school."
Sirius arched an eyebrow, eyeing him oddly. "Maybe you should thank my Slytherin chums for helping you to keep your Gryffindor reputation intact then."
"A reputation is not a reputation without something to challenge it."
"Aren't we getting philosophical today..."
"I'm just trying to keep up with you." James studied his friend's relaxed demeanour. "You know, I'd never have expected you to accept this so easily."
Sirius laughed, lacing his fingers under his nape. "Of course you wouldn't. You know me."
Potter frowned. "Meaning..."
"...Rosier will be missing classes until he can walk properly."
Uh-oh.
So savage all-annihilating bestial Sirius had been around earlier. "What happened to his legs?""Nothing. Only his groin had an extremely unlucky encounter with my knee."
James winced. "Ouch!"
"Rosier's reaction was quite similar," Sirius commented, as if pointing out an intriguing aspect of a plant in Herbology. "Only more intense and less articulated."
"That was low, Black. Literally low."
"I'm Slytherin. No one expects me to be anything but."
The twisted logic in it was maddening. James had to admit that he'd have loved to see nasty Rosier's face contorting in pain. "Was Chalford's reaction more articulate?"
"Chalford's?" Sirius asked with compelling innocence that only his best friend would be able to tell to be totally faked.
"Yeah, Chalford, third-year, blond, dangly, always smiling, the other not-so-scary Beater in your team... who just happened to be limping when Snape dragged him and Mills out of the pitch."
"Oh. That Chalford."
"Yeah, that Chalford. Currently the only Chalford in Hogwarts. Does his limping have something to do with you?"
"Me? No. It might have something to do with the hex that mysteriously came out from my wand and gave him a donkey tail, though."
"A donkey tail?" Potter gaped.
"A very unfortunate accident," Sirius assured him, looking anything but apologetic.
Skirmishing inside your House is always troublesome
, James mused. Chalford and Rosier won't want to finger a House-mate to the teachers, so they can't go to the hospital wing for treatment. He vaguely wondered for how long Chalford would be walking around with a donkey tail before he managed to find the counter curse. "Any more unfortunate accidents with your team-mates today?""Well, now that you mention it..."
James couldn't help beaming. Maybe he was just as odd and harebrained as Hagrid, but he wouldn't have traded savage all-annihilating bestial Sirius for all the philosophical Siriuses of the world. "Mills?"
"Bad case of athlete's foot... running up to his legs, groin and chest."
"Eew... Pucey?"
"In the bath since lunchtime, still trying to get rid of the fleas."
"Turpin?"
"In the library, looking for a spell to grow hair, after all of his suddenly fell out for no apparent reason."
"Snape?"
Silence.
"Sirius, what happened to Snape?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing."
James' brows knitted together. "Because you're not certain about the direction he was pushing things for?"
"Because the clever git wasn't around when they dropped the news on my head."
Lucky git
, James thought wryly. Sometimes it was hard to decide what was more terrifying: Sirius hot-tempered, immediate reactions or his cold, carefully-planned revenges. "Any chance they'll still be... er... indisposed for two weeks more?""You mean, any chance they won't be up to play against Hufflepuff?"
"Well... yes." It was pointless to ask and James knew it, but...
"I don't know why you ask," Sirius grumbled. "Of course they'll be up to play and wipe those poor badgers off the face of the earth. Even if that means I'll have to heal them myself."
James cleaned his glasses on the sleeve of his overcoat. "They really don't deserve your loyalty, Black."
"And you don't deserve my help with your pretentious plans of punishing my team with a series of humiliating defeats."
"Punishing isn't my goal here," Potter argued. "Mine is a pretentious plan of convincing those blokes in your team that they need you."
"I won't root against my House."
"Okay," the Gryffindor Seeker said slowly. "But... hypothetically speaking... if I do manage to implement my pretentious plan... if they do ask you to come back... would you refuse?"
Sirius mulled over the question for a long moment.
A very long moment.
An extremely long moment.
A moment so long James began to worry his friend had fallen asleep on the wooden crates. "Sirius?"
"No."
"No?"
"No, I wouldn't refuse."
That was all James wanted to hear. "Great."
"I mean, if my mates ask me to defend my House's team once again, it's not something I could refuse, is it?"
"No, Sirius, it's not," the other said, barely concealing his glee. "You can't let your fellow Slytherins down."
James Potter was a man with a goal now. There was no risk of Quidditch becoming boring while he kept close to his heart the charitable goal of obliterating the Slytherin team.
They remained there, enjoying the comfortable silence of the darkening afternoon. The chilling breeze brought the promise of rain for the night, and without saying a word they knew both were thinking along the same lines: whether it would snow earlier this winter, and which of them would get to build the best fort for their traditional snowball duel.
"Good grief!" James exclaimed suddenly.
"What?"
The Seeker put his glasses back on, gaping at the Hufflepuff stands. "Jorkins. She's still up there watching us."
"Oh." Sirius didn't seem impressed. "I thought she would be."
"What's with her?" James glanced at his friend suspiciously. "Are you sure you're not being friendly to her?"
"Strictly business, I told you. She's just trying to figure something out."
"What?"
"Whether you and I are just friends... or more than friends."
"What?!"
Sirius propped up on one elbow. "She's heard about me being cut before everyone else, of course--don't ask me how. And she figured I was cut because of my... hmm... connection with you. So now she's stuck with the idea that this is some sort of Romeo and Juliet scenario. You know, Capulet and Montague..."
"...Gryffindor and Slytherin..." James moaned.
"You got it." Black got on his feet and waved to Bertha. Her blushing was noticeable even from the fair distance as she waved back. "I wonder if that means that Snape is Tybalt."
"Snape as Tybalt? I reckon I have to accidentally kill him then."
"You?" Sirius cackled. "No way. You're Juliet. I get to accidentally kill Snape."
"Me, Juliet? Look at your hair, girl! You just need a sixteenth century gown and a little make-up..."
"I'm taller than you, Potter. I'm Romeo."
"Tybalt is a Capulet, like Juliet. Snape is a Slytherin, like you. Therefore..."
"...your logic is worse than your eyesight. Resign yourself to the facts, Jamie. I'm Romeo. You're the girl who'll die with my name on your lips."
James stuck his tongue out at him. "Say it louder, love. I don't think Miss Jorkins heard you well enough."
Sirius raised his eyes to glance at Bertha, who stood up all of a sudden and ran away. "Bloody hell!"
James paled, turning to see the infamous gossiper of Hogwarts sprinting towards the castle. "You think she heard?"
"I don't know."
"She was too far away!"
Sirius shook his head worriedly. "If it were anyone else, I'd agree with you."
That was bad. Really, really bad. "Can we buy her discretion somehow?"
"Maybe," the Beater said dubiously.
"If... I can't believe I'm suggesting that... if we tell her the real name of my old dog..."
"...it'll only make things worse. Juliet and his pet dog Fifi? Forget it. We have to blackmail her."
James blinked. "Blackmail her? Do we have something to blackmail her with?"
"We tell her that, if she says anything about us, we'll tell everyone that she's caught the Goblin Measles from Maggie Boot's brother," said Sirius.
"What? She has the Measles?" Goblin Measles were astoundingly contagious...
"No... but that hardly matters, does it? If people start running away from her in fear of being infected, she won't be able to listen to any new rumours or spread the ones she's learned..."
James frowned. "Devious. Deceptive. So very Slytherin of you."
"Flattery will get you everywhere. You're with me?"
"Of course I'm with you, oh Romeo, my Romeo..." James rested his head on Sirius' shoulder. Now that no one was watching he felt more comfortable teasing his childhood friend.
Sirius looked alarmed. "Uhn... Jamie? Don't get ideas, okay?"
"What?" Potter exclaimed, affecting indignation. "One minute ago you wanted me to die with your name on my lips, now you treat me like a... like a..."
"...a mad freak?" Sirius suggested with an arched eyebrow.
"Exactly! Aren't I your type, love?"
"It would feel too much like incest."
James pretended to think about it for a second. "Hmm... you're right. What a pity. Guess we should keep this platonic then."
Sirius shoved him away playfully. "Prat. Help me put away these crates, okay? We have to go after Bertha."
"Right."
James pulled his wand from his pocket, but before he could use it to levitate the Quidditch trunks, Black caught his wrist. "Sirius?"
"Thanks," the longhaired boy whispered. And he didn't have to explain why.
A snake-let and a lion cub. Never one without the other.
"Any time," was James' heartfelt, emotional response. "Really, any time."
Sirius' reply was uncharacteristically shy. "I know."
"I mean it, Sirius. Honestly, where could I possibly be without you..."
"...to complete your sentences?"
James Potter had some very hazardous friends. And he had decided long ago that he wouldn't have it any other way.
written by Morgan D.
April 18th, 2003
James Potter, Sirius Black and all the characters from the Harry Potter series belong to J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, Warner Bros and Merlin-knows-whom-else, but definitely not to me. A few of the characters mentioned in this story are inventions of mine, but they can be borrowed by anyone who finds them of any use.
It's not established in any of the books published so far which House Sirius Black belonged to. Some suggest that Hagrid's quote in Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, "There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin", proves Sirius was in Slytherin, since at the time Hagrid thought Sirius was a dark wizard. While mulling over that possibility, I imagined the scene above and decided to write it, just for fun.
If you'd like to read more of my HP fanfiction, please visit this site: www.hogwartsletters.hpg.com.br