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20. Thunder and Lightning
Of apple pie, unicorn breeding, and an invisible sword.
My dear James,
I'm sorry it's been so long since my last letter, things have been getting quite busy and I've been so distracted your father and I have barely had time to think. But don't worry, we're both well and I hope you are the same – keep studying hard!
I'm so pleased to hear you've finally won over that lovely girl Lily. I tell you, boy, I find out more about what's going on in your life from Sirius than from you! And as your father would say, don't take her for granted. Love's a precious thing, and you shouldn't go wasting it.
That said, if I hear one word of your romance distracting you from your studies I'll inform your father immediately and see what he has to say on the subject. Remember what happened last time?
Speaking of your father, he's away on another job for the Aurors. They've just recruited a new squadron – do you remember that charming young man Edmund Sunman, the son of one of your father's old colleagues? Well, he's just joined, too – and your father's one of the few that's filled his teaching quota. Don't worry, Rob's with him, and I'm sure they'll be fine. He told me he'd send you a letter as soon as he can, we both know how you worry.
My darling James, I have to go now, because it looks as if it is going to rain soon and I'd hate to send Hetty out in a storm.
All my love, and make sure you share the apple pie with Sirius. You know how he whines when you don't.
Your Mother
The apple pie, which was surrounded by countless protective enchantments to keep it perfect, lay forgotten by James' side as he read through the letter over and over, analysing every word until it was memorised. Hetty, a magnificent Eagle Owl who was older than James but still full of life, ruffled her feathers as she waited for permission to leave.
James waved his hand at her before she could start hooting at him, aware of her taking off through the window in his peripheral vision but not bothering to watch, too deeply engrossed in his mother's note.
He was sitting on the windowsill, legs squashed beneath him, and he was alone. It was a Friday night; everyone was celebrating the commencing of the weekend in the common room, leaving him to his thoughts in peace.
This was how Lily found him, hunched against the window, a slightly crumpled roll of parchment in his hand and an apple pie in danger of getting squashed by his knees next to him. He wore a warm pair of robes but he was shivering slightly, eyes resting on nothing in particular.
"James!" she cried, moving the pie before pulling him off the sill and over to his bed, where she pushed him onto the mattress and hastened to sit by his side. "What on earth's wrong?" she demanded.
The boy, finally wrenching himself from his reverie, met her gaze with concerned hazel eyes, the usual twinkling mischief dimmed, though whether it was with his mood or simply the light Lily couldn't tell.
"Just a letter from my mum," he sighed, folding it in half, suddenly alert and businesslike. "Nothing important," he reached over to kiss her temple gratefully, taking her hand to squeeze it gently.
"Clearly," Lily replied, one eyebrow raised in disbelief.
"No, really," James grinned lightly. "She mentioned you, actually." This successfully distracted the redhead, whose brow puckered in panic. "Nothing bad, honestly. Apparently Sirius told her about us in his last letter."
"Sirius writes to your mum?"
James laughed.
"Well he isn't going to write to his own mum, is he?" he scoffed.
Lily shrugged. "I guess I never thought about it before. You know, my days aren't spent idly considering the many happenings of the busy lives of the Marauders."
"Apple pie?" James offered, holding up the plate to her innocently. "Best you'll ever taste. Quick, before Sirius smells it from downstairs and snatches it."
Lily, grinning guiltily, grabbed a piece, the pie having been sliced by the maker before being sent, and bit into it with devilish delight.
"Good?" James asked as a look of melting satisfaction filled her expression.
"Mhmm," Lily nodded fervently, swallowing hard. "Definitely. Gosh, I have to meet your mum. The best my mum can bake is misshaped chocolate chip cookies, most of which aren't cooked all the way through. She can cook anything, but she completely fails at baking."
James nodded slowly, not really listening as he concentrated on his own slice of apple filled pastry.
They sat content for a while, gladly munching their way through Jacinta Potter's gift – Lily guilty faced as she took a second slice, James proudly greedy as he devoured a third – their idle talk of nothing more than their plans for Saturday.
Saturday would be James' last Saturday Quidditch practice before the first match of the season the following Saturday: Gryffindor vs Slytherin. Technicallyhe had remained true to his mother's apparent wishes – his romance would never get in the way of studies, given how dedicated Lily herself was – instead allowing himself to be distracted by Quidditch.
If, of course, distracted was a synonym for stirring a mutual hatred for himself among the rest of his team, with wake up calls as early as five in morning practices and not stopping until almost midnight on evenings.
If so, yes, James was indeed very much distracted.
"You do realise that if you tire your team out completely they're not going to be able to perform their best for the match because, you know, you'll have killed them."
James smiled, waving an airy hand and stretching backwards to lie against the headboard, pulling Lily over to fit under his arm. The redhead, not mistaking I'll sidetrack her to shut her up for a romantic gesture, rolled her eyes.
"James?" she asked when he didn't respond.
"Lily," he sighed. "Lily, Lily, Lily! Since when did you become an expert in Quidditch training?"
"Since I spent a good deal of my waking time listening to you talk about it for almost three months."
James, a witty reply ready at his lips, paused. His shifty hazel eyes found hers and to Lily's astonished amusement he looked nervous.
"Yes, James?" she asked sweetly.
"You don't..." the boy wrinkled his nose feverishly. "You don't like, need a three month anniversary present, do you?"
Lily, throwing her back and hooting with laughter, twisted her torso around to kiss his cheek between giggles.
"How romantic," she murmured, her lips never quite leaving the boy's skin. "But no, I don't. Happy now?"
A guilty James grinned sheepishly back at her. "I mean, I'll get you one if you want one, but-"
"Earth to Potter, come in Potter, where are you Potter?" A hand flapped in front of his face, dragging his gaze back to the girl's face. "I honestly don't want a three month anniversary present. Jamie, I hated that when I was going out with Elliot Cauldwell in fourth year, and I wasn't even fifteen."
She raised an eyebrow, earning another, more confident laugh from the boy.
"Now, back to the actual topic at hand."
"Which is?"
"Your team!" Lily sighed in exasperation, flicking the boy's forehead. "You know, six tired Gryffindors and the distinct possibility of either your murder, or their deaths by exhaustion."
"They'll be fine. We have bigger things to worry about," he mumbled, frowning as he shifted his pillow higher and looked up, wondering why his bed had one pillow and Sirius' had three.
"Oh yes? Bigger than the fact even your best friend walked out on you at practice on Wednesday night?"
James nodded, looking stern, and decided to retrieve his stolen pillow later.
"How about it's been almost a week since we overheard the you-know-what and I'm thinking we need to do you-know-what about it." James' face, so prone to smiling, had turned grave, his eyes full of suspicion. Lily, however, did not seem to share his concerns.
"And what do you plan to do, exactly? You've been a bit inactive yourself, you know."
"I've had Quidditch!"
"And you clearly aren't worried if you're putting students' safety beneath your game in your list of priorities."
"And you think taunting Sirius for a week by leaving stuffed toys of black dogs everywhere for him to find is more important, do you?"
Lily, very proud of herself, frowned, eyes glancing towards the door as if expecting to see the boy listening in on their conversation. "Yes, I do. You know why? Because there's nothing going on!" she snapped, sitting up away from James' chest and wriggling back to put a few inches of distance between them.
"Well I beg to differ," James mumbled grumpily.
"Oh you do, do you? Well that's too bad. Guess we'll have to agree to disagree, won't we?" Lily grumbled. She waited for James to dissect, analyse and understand her sentence before continuing. "You know, for all we know it could be a joke like the sort you Marauders pull. Not all Slytherins are evil, James."
The Marauder sat at her side made a psht sound, his breath whistling between his teeth, and he rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, sorry," he groaned, voice dripping sarcasm. "Forgot you were in love with Snivellus."
"I am not in love with him," Lily said monotonously, bored with this argument, which they had repeated twice this week already. "I don't even like him-"
"Well you should hate him."
"No I should not!" Lily cried. "James, we may not be friends anymore, but for a long time he...he was my-my best friend!-"
"-Don't tell Jules that-"
"And I don't think I should forget that. And I don't want you snooping around getting yourself into trouble just for the sake of trying to catch Snape or anyone else doing something wrong."
Lily's cheeks were darkening in her frustration, and her red hair was spilling out of the ponytail she had scraped it into, wisps of fiery blonde falling into her angry green eyes. She looked at him pointedly, a challenge in her expression. "Promise me you won't get into a fight with them, James."
James nodded, not quite looking at his girlfriend, who grabbed his chin and forced him to look up.
"Promise me?"
"Hmmphmm..."
"James, promise me you won't."
James smiled warmly, if a little reluctantly, taking her hand and clasping it tightly. "I promise," he assured her. And, reaching over to the half empty plate by his side, held the gift from his mother out to her. "More pie?"
Lily, satisfied with his reply, smiled ruefully. "Well, if you're going to force it on me..."
The Slytherin common room was full, and the chatter of students was even louder than usual as many of those in the younger years gathered around Regulus Black and his best friend, Beatrice Radisson, as they talked all about their plans for the next Quidditch match against Gryffindor. It seemed the entire house was on edge, waiting for the defeat of the red and gold team, while only a few were aware of just how important this game was going to be.
Severus Snape, however, was not listening to the two sixth years and their excitable propaganda on the importance of beating Potter and Black's match. Alone in a corner he remained surrounded by books, with one given particular attention, his quill working fast and his brand new ink pot nearly half empty already.
He was so lost in his notes that he almost failed to notice the figure approaching him, and it was only once MacNair had taken a seat opposite him (the scattered books preventing the boy from sitting too close) that he finally looked up and acknowledged his fellow seventh year's presence. He waited patiently for MacNair to stop trying to read his scribbled writing upside down, and once the boy had come to the conclusion it was impossible, he raised his eyebrows expectantly.
"What are you working on now, then?" the boy asked, his voice low and full of suppressed delight. His squashed smile only emphasised the malice in his excitement, and Snape glanced down at the book on his lap thoughtfully.
"Nothing of use," he muttered, scoring a line through half a paragraph.
"Come on," MacNair muttered, "You're always working on stuff! You tell me everything," he reminded the boy. "Just tell me what you're doing."
Winston MacNair had never been what Severus could consider to be an ideal companion. He was, however, an ideal confidante. Reluctantly he nodded slowly, leaning over to speak as quietly as he could, his book shielded from his friend's sight by his hand.
"I'm working on a sister piece for the splitting spell."
A confidante, yes, but Sectumsempra was just too useful a word to say aloud to anyone; for now, at least. The hungry gleam in MacNair's eyes sparkled.
"What does it do?" he insisted.
"I was thinking if you could successfully break a bone without splitting the skin..."
"There is either something very wrong or very right with your brain, Severus Snape," MacNair cackled under his breath, shaking his head in wonder at this boy, both peer and idol, looking mightily impressed.
"But it's not working properly."
"How are you testing it?"
"Same as the others," Severus replied coolly. "I still have that old tabby cat we found in fourth year. She catches pretty much everything. Rats are the best, though."
"Ahh," MacNair nodded. "That makes sense. So what's going wrong?"
Severus' cheeks puffed slightly in indignant embarrassment, his colouring darkening to a blotchy red. "I can't seem to control the breaking. I hit one bone and all the others around it shatter, too. Not so bad when it's just a leg, or an arm," he muttered, frowning hard at his notes as if trying to will them to make sense. "But try break one rib and the entire ribcage shatters. A splinter could pierce the heart, a lung, could kill instantly...and if that doesn't happen, you'll still have all the organs unable to stay in place, so they'll just spill everywhere and the victim will die anyway, most likely. Not a very effective torture method if they die on the first hit, is it?"
MacNair appeared unsure whether to hoot with glee and lean back, afraid. "You know what, Snape? With all this madness you can come up with? I reckon the Dark Lord wouldn't care even if you were a mudblood," he smirked, but Severus' eyes flashed.
"I wouldn't say that if I were you. Wouldn't want word to get around, would you? The Dark Lord might not appreciate you making assumptions, and we know at least one person here has already spoken with him before." His eyes rested briefly on Regulus Black, still entertaining the younger students with explanations of grandly humiliating their Gryffindor enemies.
"Just saying," MacNair mumbled sulkily, "You're pretty good, Snape." He stood lazily, brushing himself down and nodding to his friend. "You ready for next week?"
"How do you know about that?" Severus demanded.
"Who can charm away a lock better than Winston MacNair?" the standing boy asked smugly. "Looks like I'm needed, too. Good luck with the spell, Snape. Let me know how it's coming along."
Severus' eyes followed the boy as he walked across the room and began trailing up the stairs to the dormitory, hoping beyond hope that their plan didn't disappoint. It seemed a great deal of house morale was resting on his spells and imagination.
It was at times like this that Juliette deeply regretted the day she agreed to join the Gryffindor Quidditch team. At least it was dry, she tried to tell herself as she soared through the air, trying to remember whether James wanted her up front or defending behind, but this was a small mercy. Through the dry air cut a wind so furious she could almost feel her skin peeling at the force, something not helped by the speed at which their enthused captain had them flying.
Her hands were so cold it was a physical pain to bend her fingers, let alone catch and throw a Quaffle, but she ignored the stinging tears in her eyes as she followed James and Marianna's quick pass strategy, reaching the opposite goal in record time before doubling back to join her.
"Your turn, Jules!" James bellowed, but with the wind's howls she still had to thank her ability to lip read.
"James, we've been at this for hours!" the right wing beater, Christian Sunderland, called over, coming to halt in front of the captain.
"Suck it up!" Sirius ordered waspishly. He was yet to forgive the sixth year for mistreating Lizzie, and had taken to belittling him at every opportunity since the Christmas party last term. In truth, however, even Juliette could see that behind his words Sirius secretly agreed with the boy.
"One-two-three-go!" James shouted, before rocketing across to the other side of the pitch.
Delaying only a moment, Juliette soon caught up with him and reached out her left hand to grab the large red ball tossed to her. On the third pass the ball met her fingers with a harsh slapping sound that reached her even through the rushing winds, and a blinding pain shot up her arm. The Quaffle forgotten as it tumbled to the ground, Juliette retracted her hand, pressing it protectively to her abdomen and dropping to the grass below.
"Juliette!" James leapt lightly off his broom, the anger in his expression dissipating as he saw her cradling her fingers. "Are you alright?"
"Damn cold!" she screeched, her eyes puffy with tears.
"Let's take a look," Iain said softly, having flown down from the goalposts to see what everyone was gathering around. He accepted her reluctantly outstretched hand, grasping her wrist tightly to keep her from bringing it back in, and inspected her bruised fingers as delicately as possible, turning her hand over to look. "I think these two at least are broken," he mumbled apologetically, indicating the middle and ring finger, and the girl hissed as his touch brushed them accidentally.
"Ahh, come on!" James cried in frustration, stamping his foot.
"I suppose I could still play, I'll just-"
"No, Jules. I'm the Captain; I'm not an imbecile. Everyone! Game over," James said dejectedly, glowering at the hoots of delight as they turned in the direction of the changing rooms, Iain and the seeker, Andrea Gregors, running to gather up the equipment.
Juliette rushed to snatch her things up with her right hand, not bothering to get changed before announcing she was going to visit Madam Worrell in the hospital wing.
"I'll come too," James sighed. "It was my fault you-"
"No, it's fine. You take your time," Juliette smiled painfully. "I'll be fine on my own. Don't worry about it, Jamie."
"You look after yourself for Saturday, Miss!" the boy shouted hoarsely after her as her curls whipped out of sight through the door. He massaged his throat, wincing, and he glared at Sirius' snicker. "What?"
"You've outdone yourself this time, Prongs," Sirius shook his head, impressed. "Broken Swindon's fingers, you made Marianna fall off her broom on Tuesday, and you've lost your voice already. You normally save that for the night before the match."
"I have not lost my voice," James muttered. "I've just..."
"Damaged your vocal chords?"
"Yes, that's it. They'll be fine soon."
Sirius grinned, smoothing his robes and bundling his Quidditch gear into his bag. "Nothing a good bit of smooching Evans won't solve, I bet?"
"Oh, and do you think a bit of smooching Darcy will help your broken nose?"
Sirius waved a hand of surrender in the air as the pair walked out of the changing rooms, the others having changed and left at lightning speed in their relief at finishing a gruelling practice session.
Together they made their way back to the castle, slowly treading up the old path to the Entrance, now, warmer on the ground and deaf to the buffeting wind. Sirius, knees weak and arms heavy from repeatedly smacking the bludgers around, groaned in triumph as they entered the warm, enclosed castle, though it was with a trace of bitterness at his long walk that he began the ascent up the staircase in the direction of the Gryffindor Tower.
They were silent for a while, James rubbing his throat but Sirius, after pondering as he frowned at the stone ground, broke the calm before they reached the first floor.
"I've been thinking-"
"Congratulations!" James cried sarcastically, lazily slapping Sirius on the back as they strolled past a portrait of two nattering witches in widows' black outfits.
"I've been thinking," Sirius repeated, growling playfully at his best friend. "And I realised it's been far too long since we did anything remotely Marauderish. Exactly a month, to be exact. It's time to act."
James, eyebrows raised at Sirius sentence, grinned. "Oh? And what exactly did you have in mind?"
Sirius, failing to see the joke, continued to muse aloud in a concerned tone.
"I'm thinking grand scale...in the Great Hall...like that Christmas we had here because your parents were off saving the world or whatever. Remember?"
"You mean fifth year?"
"That would probably be the one, whatever." Sirius shook away any importance of the date with a wave of his hand. Before he could expand upon this James intervened.
"Yes, I remember. I also remember there wasn't much 'we' about it, if by 'we' you are including yourself. You said we should victimise Slytherin. I came up with the idea and bought the toy lions. And it was Moony that actually charmed them all to can-can dance on the Slytherin tables. Your contribution was minimal."
Sirius, affronted by James' lack of faith in his role as a Mischievous Marauder, huffed loudly, pulling his bag a little higher on his shoulder and sticking his nose high in the air.
"Fine," he snapped in a voice of hurt pride. "I'll do it all myself."
"Oh really?" the taller boy asked disbelievingly.
"Yes."
"Padfoot," James placed a comforting hand on his friend's arm. "You're too lazy to do a prank all by yourself."
"Am not!" Sirius screeched, stumbling as he almost forgot to miss out a trick step in his indignation. They had finally reached a set of moving staircases, and they had to wait a moment, giving him time to turn to James and look him directly in the eye. "I'll prove it to you. Slytherins; Great Hall; grand scale. Right? No help from you or Moony."
"Or Wormtail," James added as they continued walking again, pointing a warning finger.
Sirius, however, scoffed loudly.
"Please, Prongs. Give me a little credit..." They turned and found themselves on a long corridor lined with suits of armour, the likes of which they had hidden behind countless times to avoid detection when not under the cover of the invisibility cloak. Here they found themselves looking upon two figures walking towards them, heads down and voices quiet. "Oho! Speak of the devil," Sirius whispered in victorious glee. "The little wretch, look who he's with!"
James, eyeing Peter, who along with Ruth Saldana was still out of earshot, leaned over to Sirius. "Calm down, Padfoot."
"Oh Prongsie, this one's too good to miss!" And taking a deep breath to shout down the corridor, Sirius began to bellow, much to James' chagrin. "Wormtail! Oh Woooorrrmmmtaaaiil! Coo-ee!" Sirius waved frantically and Peter stopped, looking mortified. Holding Ruth's elbow in a kindly gesture he murmured something to her and she nodded.
They parted ways, Ruth slipping past the two boys without looking up as Peter halted in front of his friends, looking somewhat pleased to see them, though obviously unimpressed by the method with which Sirius had addressed him.
"What do you want, Padfoot?" When Sirius simply smiled at him fondly he turned to James, who looked equally confused by the boy's expression. "Why's he looking at me like that?"
"Ma wee bairn's all grown up!" Sirius cried in a diabolical attempt at his girlfriend's Scottish accent, and James made a mental note to himself to remind Sirius never to repeat it in front of Isla.
"Shut up," Peter grumbled as they traipsed down the corridor, all in a line with Peter in the middle, stumpy compared to his two tall friends.
"Oh Peter, you're so cute when you blush...has your girlfriend noticed that yet?" Sirius enquired delightedly.
"She is not my girlfriend and I am not blushing!" Peter snarled as politely as he could.
"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Wormy dearest!" Sirius ruffled the boy's mousy hair condescendingly. "If anything it's a shame you've taken this long to get around to it. Seems you might have to settle for sloppy seconds..."
Peter, the crude hint not lost on him, glared at the boy to his right. "For your information, seeing as you don't tend to keep a record, you've never dated Ruth."
"Well of course I haven't, Peter. Most probably on account of the fact that I am attracted to women." Before he could even laugh at his joke Peter pushed him firmly.
"Oh just leave me alone, Sirius!" He didn't have time to notice the apology in James' face as he took a left turn to storm angrily away.
"What? Oh, go sulk then!" he heard Sirius grumble, and he thought he heard James say something back, but he was too far away to make out any other words.
Maybe it was a joke, just a wind up, and if Prongs had said it he might - might - have laughed it off with a punch on the arm. But he couldn't tell with Padfoot, and that frustrated him too much to take any more goading about Ruth.
Did he like Ruth? Maybe – yes, he quite possibly did. But why should he get mocked for it? If anything Peter felt proud of having a much cleaner track record than his two fellow Gryffindors. He didn't need to have a lot of sexual experience and a long list of past girlfriends to feel good about himself.
Too lost in his humiliated anger Peter didn't notice he was walking up to a group of boys before it was too late.
The Slytherins, having noticed a Gryffindor in their midst, turned as one to sneer triumphantly at the lonely boy.
"Why, hello Pettigrew! Lost your little friends, I see," Gilbert Swanning said with a smirk. Behind him stood four more boys, including sixth year Roger Franklin and seventh year Severus Snape. They all chuckled darkly at Swanning's tone of innocence as he stood a good two paces in front of his friends.
"Sorry, I-I-" Peter began, the frightened blush in his cheeks darkening every second.
"We've actually just been talking about them, haven't we boys?" Swanning asked, and was responded to with a series of snickers. "Could you take a message back to them for us?"
"Can I interrupt?"
Lizzie looked up, though by the bubbly Scottish accent she already knew the identity of the intruder. So she looked up and into the face of Isla Darcy, who took a hesitant seat. The Library was full, and the blonde had only managed to find an empty table at the very back of the room, near the Restricted Section. She had thought herself likely to remain undisturbed, invisible to everyone else. Apparently not.
"Is that Care of Magical Creatures?" Isla asked, indicating the essay Lizzie had been working on in her solitude.
Lizzie nodded, and for a moment forgot her frostiness as she stared, intrigued, into the girl's eyes, the right a sapphire blue almost as deep as India-Rose's, the left jade green, darker than Lily's and not quite as bright. "Yes, it is..."
"Mind giving me a few tips? I'm totally lost on what to do. If I'm not careful I reckon Peart is going to officially fail me before I even get the exam done. Unicorn breeding, I take it?" her gaze travelled to the open book, spotting a page covered in diagrams of the skeletal differences between captivated British unicorns and the wild unicorns of the Americas.
Lizzie didn't reply as she stared at the girl, who ran a hand nervously through her uneven fringe that fell into her equally uneven eyes, briefly reminding her of James Potter. Isla licked her lips, biting the inside of her cheek.
"Are you alright?"
Lizzie could have pretended to misunderstand the question and think she meant here and now, as opposed to the generally I-know-my-boyfriend's-an-arse-who-hurt-you-are-you -ok-with-it-all?
She didn't bother.
"Look, Isla." Lizzie leaned over the table as she spoke, placing a hand flat on the polished wood, her eyes full of something akin to sympathy. "You're a lovely girl. You really are. Sixth year I thought you were amazing. And yeah, you are, I suppose. But now? I care about you, I honestly do. I care about you the way I care about a lot of other people. I want you to do well, in life as well as school. I want you to be happy, and I hope things work out for you.
"But out of school? I'm not going to keep in touch with you. I'm not going to send you cards and leave room in my calendar for catch up sessions lunches. Sure, if I see you in the street I'll nod, maybe give a little hello. If we go to the same party I might share a drink and ask what you're up to, how work's going...
"That's it. I don't need your friendship, Isla. I don't need you to let me know how sorry you are. I don't need you to be friends with me just because I'm friends with Sirius. I'm sure we'll co-exist quite nicely without having to hang out when everyone else isn't around. And I kind of assumed that when I told Sirius I wanted him to leave me alone, it would mean you would leave me alone, too."
Isla's eyes flashed, her lips parting as a small breath of exclamation escaped from the base of her throat.
"He didn't tell you that?" Lizzie asked with a short laugh, rolling her eyes when the girl opposite her shook her head. "How kind of him. So you see what I'm saying? I'm sorry, but just because I promised I didn't want to get in between the two of you it doesn't mean I need you parading around in front of me."
"But I didn't-"
"I know," Lizzie interrupted again. "But please just leave. Because to be honest, Isla, I know you beat me in the last test for Care of Magical Creatures, and I know you got an O in your last essay."
As Isla stood the entire room, though full of no more than hushed voices, seemed to grow louder. The room seemed suddenly hotter as a flush filled her cheeks and she pressed her lips together. She didn't bother voicing her apology, conveying it only in her expression before leaving swiftly, her ears burning.
Had she looked back, she might have been able to read the regret in the blonde Gryffindor's face, and she would have known how very difficult it had been for Lizzie to push her friendship away. But she didn't.
"What? Oh, go sulk then! What's his problem?" Sirius muttered as Peter strode away, his grey eyes full of impatience as he made to keep walking down the corridor.
James exhaled loudly and pointedly, drawing the boy's attention back to his face. "Was that completely necessary?"
Sirius smiled simply. "Well, no...but admit it, Prongs. It made you smile just a little bit."
James, keeping his face neutral to avoid appeasing the older boy, spoke firmly. "No. It was mean, Padfoot."
Sirius stopped in his tracks, ostentatiously looking around to inspect their surroundings, his eyes falling only on a suit of armour, a portrait of a large man wearing scarlet robes and a feathered hat snoozing quietly in a chair, and another of an austere witch in burgundy robes stood beside a table, perusing the book in her hand absently as she listened in on their conversation.
"Well, look at that! Lilykins isn't here, Prongs. There's no-one to impress with your maturity. Actually if anything I'm unimpressed by it."
"I mean it," James grabbed his arm. "Look, maybe we should go back for him."
Sirius' barking laugh, abruptly loud, rang through the corridor, making the scarlet suited wizard jerk awake in alarm, peering down at the corridor beneath him to see who had disrupted his sleep. "James, it's Peter, and we're at Hogwarts. What's the worst that can happen? Come on, let's go laugh at Swindon's broken fingers-"
"Padfoot!" James warned, and Sirius whined under his breath.
"Oh fine. Let's go find Mister Insecurity. You're such a softy, Prongs."
"I know," James admitted with an innocent smile as they made their way back to the left turn hastily, rushing to follow their friend before he could get too far.
Turning a corner, however, they found themselves confronted by a very unexpected sight.
Peter was standing against a wall, eyes wide with terror, and before him stood five Slytherins, at least three of which were seventh years, the rest not far behind. He let out of a squeak of panic and relief at the sight of his friends.
"What the-" James shouted, making towards the group and preparing to shout even louder than he had done during the Quidditch practice.
Sirius, however, had better ideas.
"You cowardly bastards!" he roared. "Incarcerous!" a sixth year Slytherin, to slow to dodge the spell, fell to the ground as ropes of an off gold colour began to snake around him.
"Sirius!" James shouted back at his friend, but the other green and silver clad boys had soon engaged in a furious combat. Gilbert Swanning took a step forward, looking delighted.
"What's wrong, Potter? Scared?"
"Of you?" James scoffed. "You'd love that, wouldn't you?" he snapped, stepping aside to avoid the spell aimed at him. Without another thought he extracted his wand and fired at Swanning, who was more than eager to return the favour.
Soon they were lost in a series of flashing spells, and Sirius took down another boy who found himself vulnerable as he tripped over his roped comrade. Already on the floor, the Slytherin began scrabbling at his friend to release him from his bonds, while another seventh year, who turned out to be Severus Snape, stepped forwards to take his place in the fight.
The shouts rang loud, all spells, the Slytherins too panicked to communicate and the two fighting Gryffindors without a verbal need to.
It didn't take long for James and Sirius to overpower the others, whom they had managed to back into a corner, Peter watching helpless, his wand three feet away from his reach. The pair had grins of their faces as they waited expectantly for the group to take their leave, running with their tails between their legs and crying to their common room, and for a moment they caught each other's eyes in a silent exchange.
James stepped aside as he raised a hand towards Sirius, and the world didn't need to be in slow motion for him to watch in horror as a streak of white light shot from one of the Slytherin wands, though which one exactly he would never know, meeting Sirius' chest side on as he stepped forwards towards his friend.
Without a moment to realise he'd been hit Sirius' body shuddered, and from a great gash, like the wound of an invisible sword, blood spurted everywhere.
Shrieks from the Slytherins erupted and they scattered as James, ignoring them, stared frozen at Sirius, who had whispered his name in breathy panic before collapsing to the floor, his blood pooling around him in spatters of crimson, shining against his pale skin.
"Sirius!" James repeated, over and over shouting in his friend's shivering face, not knowing where to hold him. "Don't just stand there!" he screamed at Peter, who was staring horrified at the oldest boy's barely conscious form, wand back in his possession. "Get help!"
At once Peter took off down the corridor, shouting for help all the way, and James returned his attention to the boy on the floor.
"Don't worry, Sirius. Just wait, someone's coming," he whispered, grasping one of Sirius' hands, which trembled violently as he tried to staunch the flow of blood with his fingers, and unashamed tears from eyes both hazel and grey flowed freely as the merciful sounds of approaching footsteps could be heard, barely audible over Sirius' gasping screams of pain.