Hogwarts Castle, May, 1977
James
When there's no one left to fight
Boys like him don't shine so bright
Soon as I see the dust settle
He's out on the town tryin' to find trouble
"Why is it when something happens it is always you three?" Professor McGonagall demanded of the Gryffindors. Her study suited her perfectly, James thought as she stared down him, Sirius and Remus. It was a round circular room with a broad stone fireplace with curved walls hung with tartan tapestries that were embroidered with curling Gaelic text. The furniture was comfortable but practical and unfortunately it was a room he knew as well as his own dormitory.
"Professor, if I may—" Sirius began.
"Black, remember we had a conversation last term about thinking before you speak? Now, consider the following: is what you are about to say useful or is it a pointless distraction tactic to deflect from the matter at hand?"
"I was simply going to inquire what skin care potions you use. You are positively glowing and I suffer from criminally dry skin and—"
"Absolutely not, Black. Flattery won't work. You used that line on me back in September." She cast him a steely gaze and he shut his mouth with a glum nod.
"It was worth a shot," he muttered and Remus kicked him in the shin.
"If I can add to the discourse," James cut in. "I don't think you're being completely fair; it isn't always just us three. Normally Peter would be here too. It's not our fault he's away visiting family."
"Not helpful, Mr Potter." McGonagall shot another withering look at them and walked behind her desk, sitting in the wing-backed chair and watching them with bemused resignation. "Would you like to hear a story, boys?" She continued before any of them could reply. "I went to write on the blackboard in the Transfiguration classroom and the most peculiar thing happened. I was unable to write in English. Whenever I did, the chalk would rearrange itself into Mandarin. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you, boys?"
"Are you really so sure that it was us?" asked James with a serious expression.
"I have rarely been more sure of anything in my life."
"What happened to innocent before proven guilty?" chimed in Remus mildly.
"You three aren't quite as subtle as you think. You were spotted by one of the house elves hexing the blackboards all along my corridor. House elves don't lie, gentlemen." McGonagall's nostrils flared as she leaned forward in her seat, eyes flashing dangerously behind her spectacles. "Do you have anything to say for yourselves?"
A pause and then—
"Your skin really is glowing, Professor—" James tried hopefully but was silenced by a sharp look from McGonagall.
"We have been here a hundred times before, boys. No matter how often I tell you how disappointed I am in you or how many times I say that you are wasting your incredible potential as young wizards, you don't listen. I see no point in dragging this out any further. Fifty points will be taken from you and three nights of detention this week." She took off her spectacles and pinched the bridge of her nose wearily. "You have good hearts and you aren't malicious or cruel, but you are letting your house, your peers and yourselves down with this sort of behaviour. I worry what will happen if you do not grow out of this."
James was too used to the lecture to really absorb McGonagall's foreboding. It had been a good prank; the hex was a tricky little thing that had taken him and the other Marauders several sleepless nights to master, though even then sometimes his chalk flickered between Spanish and Ancient Greek uncontrollably. Still, he said the appropriate apologies with Remus and Sirius and flashed his brightest winning smile at the professor, but was greeted by a stony glare.
"I expect better from you boys," she said, voice heavy with resignation. "Off you go—" James turned on his heel, heading for the door when she called, "— except you, Potter."
James turned, schooling his face into polite puzzlement. "Excuse me?"
"Black, Lupin, off you go, I wish to speak to Mr Potter alone."
Sirius and Remus exchanged confused glances and then looked to James, who shrugged and turned around to face McGonagall again as the door swung shut.
"Potter, things are getting out of control."
"Look, I know it was a stupid prank and I'm sorry about it. Okay?"
"No, it is not 'okay.'" She leaned back in the wing-backed chair and watched him with such a calculating stare that James could see the faint traces of the tabby cat he knew she could transform into. "These detentions I have just issued will bring your total number for this year up to forty-six."
"That's not too bad," James protested. "I had seventy-four by the end of last year."
"Potter, it's only February."
He considered this. It was true, he had a staggering number of detentions under his belt, but they were the result of harmless pranks, a few cases of missing homework, the odd discovery of firewhisky smuggled back from a day in Hogsmeade. Stupid things really. Nothing for McGonagall to worry over. He maintained good grades on the whole and he'd stop hexing Snape every time. He'd manage to limit his days of jinxing Slytherins to Mondays and Wednesdays. That counted as progress, he was certain.
"I don't understand why we're having this discussion, Professor. Why didn't you say all of this to Pad— Sirius, I mean, and Remus?"
"Because neither of them are in danger of expulsion, Potter," said McGonagall grimly.
It was like icy water had been poured down his spine, the words coiling and tightening around his bones like snakes. Expulsion? He'd always pushed the line of acceptability, he knew that. But he had always been the lovable rogue of sorts, never in danger of anything as serious as expulsion. The thought of being forced from the castle, having his wand snapped, leaving his friends and never seeing—
No, he still would not be distracted by thoughts of a certain redhead.
"Professor," James managed. "I…" He couldn't find the right words.
The steel in McGonagall's eyes softened. "You aren't a bad person, nor a terrible student. But you have to learn cause and effect. Some members of staff spoke up in favour of your expulsion, but Professor Dumbledore, myself and several others spoke in your favour. You will be on a probation period of sorts from now until the end of the year. As long as you toe the line, maintain good grades across your subjects and stay out of trouble, the situation will not be escalated. Is that understood?"
Despite the tight knot of dread in his throat, he replied, "Yes, Professor."
The walk back to the common room was a downcast one, lacking the usual bounce to his step. His brow was furrowed, hands shoved in his pockets. The sky was setting and shafts of blood-red light crested the rim of the high windows, making the corridors glow.
Staying out of trouble was something James had never been particularly good at. In fact, it was one of the very few things he was bad at. Sometimes it was deliberate; hexing the odd Slytherin was a habit he wasn't sure he could ever shake, but other times it just seemed to find him. As for his lessons, he was an outstanding student, he knew that. The only subject he'd ever struggled in was Charms. He wasn't top of the class for that. No, that title went to the girl he'd been trying so desperately not to think about. James still cringed every time he thought about the incident last year down at the beech tree. The memory of Snape snarling 'mudblood' at her still made James's hands curl into fists.
Evans had always managed to beat him in Charms. She could pick them up in a second. Flitwick, the tiny tufty-haired professor, had often remarked that Evans understood magic. James wasn't sure how that quite worked and yet he did; he saw it in the light flick of her wand and the clear, precise way she said the incantations. Not that he ever noticed. No, gone were the days when he spent his lessons staring at the back of her head in class, watching the way her hair glinted like shining copper when it caught the sun or the way she tilted her head to the left when she was concentrating.
Nope, those days were through.
Still, a part of James did wonder if even the threat of expulsion would be enough to push thoughts of Lily Evans away.
"Fucking hell," James muttered to himself. He could be expelled and he was thinking about Evans? He shook his head.
Sirius and Remus were waiting up for him in the common sitting on one of the plush sofas before the fireplace. Ever since rainy March had melted into May and summer drew closer, the nights had grown milder but a fire crackled anyway in the grate, burning its way down into smouldering embers. Remus was half asleep and resting his head on Sirius's shoulder whilst the latter had an arm around the back of the sofa, though Padfoot stroked his index finger absently over the other boy's shoulder, tracing light patterns on his jersey. James didn't think anyone else noticed the subtle gesture apart from him.
He flopped down into the seat beside Sirius, head in hands.
"What's wrong?" Remus asked, sitting up straight and yawning.
"Clearly he's upset MacGonagall didn't share her skin care secrets," grinned Sirius, but his smile vanished when he noticed the drawn expression on James's face.
"Prongs, tell us," Remus said, disentangling himself from Sirius.
James recited what McGonagall had said about the mounting detentions, the call for his expulsion and the probation period, a sick feeling curdling his stomach as he did so.
Sirius swore colourfully and Remus shook his head.
"They can't do that!" Remus said indignantly.
"Honestly, I'm sort of insulted they think you're more of a trouble maker than me," sniffed Sirius and James gave him a weak smile, grateful for his friend's attempt to lighten his mood.
"Don't take it personally, Padfoot, I've always been McGonagall's favourite."
Remus looked between them with a raised brow. "You two are seriously bickering over who is the worse student?"
"It's me," Sirius said confidently.
"You should take this more seriously," Remus said to James. "You could be expelled and we wouldn't see you, would we?" Worry flashed in his eyes and James felt a stab of guilt. He shared a look with Sirius, who matched his self-reproach. Remus needed James in a way Sirius didn't; the wolf needed the black dog and the stag at the full moon. If James was expelled and forced from the grounds, Remus would face those nights once a month chained down and writhing in agony. The tracery of scars mapped down Remus's face stood out white against his skin in the flickering firelight.
"Sorry, Moony," James said softly. "You're right. And I promise I'm going to keep my head down starting tomorrow."
He leaned back against the plush sofa, closing his eyes and trying to let go of the disastrous evening. The only bright thought was that tomorrow was a Wednesday, which meant potions, which meant…
James finally allowed himself to think about Lily Evans.