Before the 1960s, Muggle science really only duplicated things that had already been done by magic before, but in strange and unusual new ways. Magic grew in leaps and bounds, where for a long time scientific improvement crawled at a snail's pace. Even when the modern achievements hurtled Muggle science faster and further than imaginable before, it repeated things that had been done and perfected by wizards long before.
Around the time Albus Dumbledore began his long and illustrious career at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, Muggles had turned their sights to something beyond magic's reach.
Space.
Oh, plenty of wizards and witches had been launched into orbit by some way or another. It was even possible to survive, if one was quite careful in their use of a great many spells. It wasn't worth it, though, for more than map making, and even that was easier when new spells automated the process so it no longer required the mapmaker to visually survey what he wished to map.
When news reached the wizard world that the United States Muggle president said, in 1961, that they were going to land on the moon by the end of the decade, Muggles and wizards alike were joined in the belief that this was impossible. They were also joined in the hope that it was not.
Wizards bent their wills to the project just as vigorously as the Muggle scientists that were their counterparts.
In the end, though, only one group succeeded.
Science had outstripped magic at last.
Certain wizards saw this, and could no longer look upon Muggles as their unfortunate cousins, handicapped by a mental lack.
Others felt threatened by Muggle power, and worked harder than ever to weaken and degrade Muggles, to take that power back. They did not think of it this way consciously, but such wizards were clearly becoming more desperate to prove their superiority.
The rift in the wizard world between these two attitudes was at its widest, ever, and it did not take a genius to take advantage of it.
Just a megalomaniac, born to a witch and a Muggle, abandoned at birth, who felt he had something to prove.
Chapter Four - A Fire That Freezes
James got up and went to his classes anyway, leaving his friends behind to get all the rest they could. His professors looked at him funny, in every class, but no one said a word. They gave him sympathetic looks for a few moments, but he seemed to look through them until the class actually began, and then he applied himself with a fervor they were quite unused to seeing from him. He was usually so laid back that they all assumed he was simply a natural at everything they could throw at him.
Well, with a little prompting and a bit of help from Remus, he usually was.
He needed something to distract himself with, though. Desperately.
Unfortunately, there simply weren't enough classes in the day. He found himself alone at lunch, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to remedy that or not. There had been no announcements, but it seemed like everyone knew and they all watched him with concerned, sad, or even frightened eyes.
Whatever the rumors were, he didn't feel up to correcting them. He was sure he looked at least as bad as he felt, and he wasn't the only one.
Snape had also been to every class, and was furiously filling some parchment with something that looked to the untrained eye like chicken scratch.
James tapped him on the head with one of his books, lightly. "Couldn't sleep?"
Snape just nodded curtly, not bothering to look up.
"Can I talk to you?"
"You already are, unless you've reinvented the word."
The whispers rushed through the Great Hall like a spreading wildfire, slower only than the covert glances and the outright stares. James heard the word "fight" whispered and murmured a few times, and had to restrain himself from yelling to the whole room to stop being a bunch of nimrods and jumping to conclusions. It irritated him that that's all they thought of him, when Snape was involved. Never mind the fact that until last night they'd have been right to think it. Today it still got on his nerves.
"I meant outside, where we're not the center of attention."
Snape looked at him coldly. "Is that even possible with you?"
James waited a minute, but Snape wasn't budging. He finally sighed, picked up Snape's books and a bit of food, and started walking out of the room despite Snape's protests. The volume of the murmurs in the Great Hall rose dramatically as he did so, but he didn't care.
"What do you think you're doing?" Snape demanded, flailing wildly as he followed James out onto the grounds. "I was in the middle of something!"
"When's the last time you got out in the sun? You're not a vampire, you know. A tan won't kill you."
"Your concern for the color of my skin deeply moves me, I'm sure," Snape said, rolling his eyes. "It's hardly a reason to abscond with my personal affects and humiliate me in front of the entire school. Again."
"Oh, please," James said. "That wasn't humiliation, and you know it."
Snape just glared, sitting down right where they were.
"Hey, we're sitting down under that tree!" James pointed to the spot he usually haunted with his friends.
"I'm sitting here. I like it right here, and I'm not one of your groupies to be ordered about, besides. Take it or leave it."
James sighed and sat down. Making a friend out of this antisocial outcast was going to be a lot more work than he thought. "Here it is, then."
Snape looked surprised for a moment, but he covered it up quickly with a scowl. "Where are your shadows?"
"Aside from the dead one, you mean?" James replied with a sour expression. The lack of sleep was starting to add a slightly surreal feel to the whole situation.
"You win the 'stating the obvious' award for the day. How's it feel?"
"I'll set it on my trophy shelf with the rest."
Someone on the other side of the world would probably have seen Snape's irritation at that comment as easily as their own hand in front of their eyes, it was so obvious and intense. "Give me my things, Potter."
"Promise me you'll stay out here with me, first. I guess we don't have to talk if you don't want, but don't leave."
The expression turned into confusion on top of the irritation. "What are you playing at, this time?"
"I just don't want to be alone," James said, lying back on the grass. "I didn't think you'd want to be, either, after last night. Otherwise you'd have stayed in your room."
Snape looked at him, expression almost blank except for a disarming curiosity. That was all, though, and then he grabbed his things and pulled out the paper he'd been writing on. "I suppose so," he muttered quietly as he started writing again.
"What are you doing?" James said, crawling over to look. "Good lord, is that your actual handwriting? How do you manage to read it?"
"Shut up, Potter," Snape said as he bent closer. "I can read it just fine."
"But, what is it?"
"I'm writing down everything that happened last night, so I can keep it straight. That way I won't lose any details over time, and I won't have to constantly think about it later. Also, I can blackmail you and your friends with it, later."
"Spoken like a true Slytherin," James said with a slight chuckle.
"Thank you."
"It wasn't a compliment."
Snape looked up at him with a pointed gaze. "Perhaps not to you, but that's why you're just a Gryffindor, isn't it?"
"Just?"
"Meaning 'merely', 'only', or 'simply'. They'll let any imbecile into Hogwarts these days, won't they?"
"Of course. They let you in, after all."
Snape shot him a dirty look, but he returned to the narrative before him.
"You know," James mused, "you won't be able to use that as blackmail if no one in the world can read it but you."
"Shut up, Potter."
"Just an observation," he said with a grin. When Snape didn't answer him, James just grinned wider and looked up at the clear sky, breathing in the scent of the grass and flowers. It was such a beautiful day. Hardly the sort of day you'd expect to follow a night like last night.
The grin turned into a grimace and he rolled over onto his stomach. What he wanted to do was play Quidditch. He wanted to be up on his broom, facing impossible odds and beating them all to the cheer of a crowd. There was no practice until Monday, though, and this was only Wednesday. By Monday it would probably be wet and rainy, as autumn reasserted itself and took back what had been, for the last week or so, blessedly summer-like weather.
"Do you think they'll have a big funeral, this weekend? Have the whole school turn out?"
"For a friend of yours? Probably." Snape said bitterly, nose an inch from the parchment. "If I'd died last night, probably not."
"You know what your problem is, Snape?"
"No, but I'm sure you'll tell me."
"Of course I will," James said loftily. "That's what friends are for."
"I'm not your friend. I don't make friends with stupid wankers."
"After last night, you're stuck with me. With all of us. Now--"
"I'm NOT going to take Pettigrew's place in your idiotic little gang!"
"No," James agreed, barely holding back a glare. "You're not being invited to. No one could ever take Peter's place, and I cannot tell you how presumptuous and arrogant it is, even to my ears, that you'd say such a thing." He looked coldly at Snape for a minute, making sure that the Slytherin wouldn't try to interrupt him again. It worked, getting the message across clearly that this was not something Snape wanted to challenge him on. "We are, however, allies now. I'd prefer to be friendly allies, personally, and I'm sure you'd see the benefit of it yourself if you'd stop and think about it for a minute. There's too much at stake to worry about any of us watching our backs and everyone else's wands. Be paranoid after this is through, Severus. I--" He stopped himself, shaking his head. "Never mind. I'm offering, hesitantly, friendship on top of our truce. Think about it. I'm going to go wake up my friends."
He stood up and stormed off, leaving Snape to whatever dark thoughts he might have after that. James was too upset, his emotions too close to the surface, to do much more than that.
