So the four of them, Remus, Sirius, James, and Peter sat like that for a good half hour, talking about Quidditch, houses, and the Hogwarts grounds. Remus remained silent unless he was spoken to, as he had promised. But he knew, in the back of his head, that something was going to go right this year. Something. Anything.
Remus didn't stop writing in his journal, and actually recorded some important information.
"Nom : Potier De James.
Chambre : La famille a été dans Gryffindor pour des générations.
Nom : Noir De Sirius.
Chambre : Slytherin est dans les antécédents familiaux, mais il veut Gryffindor.
Nom : Peter Pettigrew.
Chambre : Inconnu ; a eu un membre de famille dans chaque maison." (Translation 1)
"Hey, Remus, watcha writin'?" Sirius said.
"Oh, rien."
"Wha?" James said, raising his eyebrows. Remus quickly corrected himself.
"Oh, sorry, sorry. I said 'oh, nothing.'"
"Buuuuttt not in English, ya didn't…" Sirius observed.
"Duh, dorkhead," James swatted Sirius.
"Can I see?" Sirius asked, indicating the journal. He was starting to like this kid, quiet as he was. He looked like he had brains. Good prank pulling brains…
"Uh, can you read French?"
"How do you say no, not at all in French?"
Remus laughed, and Sirius jumped a bit. He had a nice laugh – it was natural. "Non, pas du tout."
"Okay then, non, pas du tout."
"Wow, you speak it well, but you're sure you can't read it?"
"Sí senor, no puedo leer a Franceses."
"Uh, Sirius, that's Spanish," Peter squeaked.
"Oh, my bad. I know a bit of Spanish. I said, 'No sir, I cannot read French."
"Right, sure, here you go." Remus handed Sirius his journal cautiously. He had to watch to make sure that Sirius didn't read in the back, because when he wrote something in French if the front, it automatically translated into English in the back, on the last page. It never ran out of paper, either.
Sirius was intrigued. French is beautiful…or is that just his really neat handwriting? Sirius thought. One of the entries read,
"Carel était aujourd'hui faible, et Maman ne sait pas pourquoi. Elle va aller voir docteur lui. J'ai peur qu'il sera quelque chose de mortel pour lui. Je ne pense pas que je pourrais traiter être seul toutes nuits où je suis encore blessé. Il a dit - il a dit après que Cary ait été - oui, après Cary, il a promis qu'il serait toujours là pour m'aider. Séjour bien, Carel, pour moi. Svp ? J'ai besoin de votre force - j'ai besoin de votre puissance de volonté." (Translation 2).
Those last few sentences were splattered, the ink smudged. Sirius expected that Remus'd been crying. He flipped a bunch more pages to the back, where he saw a language he understood, but the poems…One of them caught Sirius' eyes, as it had been written in a deep crimson red, and was blotched in numerous spots.
taste the agony
the helplessness
the desperation
be your own hope
and hope for what wont come
loving your blind life
is a waste of conserved energy
for we all live to die,
breathe to suffer,
talk to be silenced,
and love to be shattered.
Sirius blinked. Who wrote that? That's bloody amazing. Sirius looked up at Remus with inquiring eyes. Remus' eyes shot down to the open book, and they widened. He snatched the book back quickly, snapping it shut. His eyes flared with one thing, and one thing only. Fear. But not fear of a dementor, or fear of something horrid, but fear that burned your insides. Fear that if one knew the full extent of, you would have wished you'd have never asked. Sirius had had that fear once before. Only once, when his father had hit him on the back – hard, too. But that was only once. This poem was – pure, complete, and raw emotion.
"Remus –"
"Yeah, it's an interesting language isn't it? Really pretty looking with all the accent marks, and stuff."
"Wait, Remus, don't. I—"
"Isn't it?"
Sirius bit his lip. The poem sounded so…threatening…not to others, but to himself. Remus. He wouldn't hurt himself – he was a nice boy from France. "Yeah, it's real nice."
James and Peter talked animatedly for the rest of the ride, but Sirius and Remus both thought deeply. Remus went back to Plan A – shut up. He'd occasionally mutter to himself in French very quickly and nervously; A quoi est-ce que j'ai mon individu dedans ? Je suis sur le train pendant quarante cinq minutes et j'ai déjà eu une de mes poésies personnelles montrées à un étranger.L'I peut seulement imaginer ce que le papa ferait à moi s'il se dirigent. (Translation 3)
Sirius was still curious about the poem. Maybe he'd ask about it later…But for now, he was growing accustomed to the silence. This year would be most interesting…
Translation 1 - Name: James Potter.
House: Family has been in Gryffindor for generations.
Name: Sirius Black.
House: Slytherin is in the family's history, but he wants Gryffindor.
Name: Peter Pettigrew.
House: Unknown; had one family member in each house.
Translation 2 (NOT LITERATE) – Carel was weak today, and Maman does not know why. She is going to have a doctor look at him. I am afraid that it will be something deadly for him. I do not think I could deal with being alone all of those nights when I am still injured. He said - he said after Cary was - yes, after Cary went, he promised that he'd always be there to help me. Stay well, Carel, for me. Please? I need your strength - I need your will power.
Translation 3 – What have I gotten myself in to? I'm on the train for forty-five minutes and I already have had one of my personal poems shown to a stranger…I can only imagine Papa would do with me if he knew….