The Marauders and the Year of Dark Uprising
Summary: We all know Lily and James are destined for each other. But just how does James convince Lily that he really has changed in order for her to give him a chance? Follow the Marauders, Lily, and her friends as their sixth year begins. How do nine teenagers cope with the strange things happening with the rise of a Dark Lord, and the pranking chaos that ensues, and the dramatic twists of their love lives? Read (and review, of course) to find out. Title subject to change. Rating (for language mostly) just to be safe. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Hey, guys! JKR here, writing this fanfic while I neglect my duty of finishing the actual HP series! Totally joking. But you were convinced, right? I'm touched. I can assure you, I am not the genius known as J. K. Rowling, and if I were, I wouldn't be writing on a fan site. I'm not her, so don't sue.
A/N: I'm baaaaack! I actually like this chapter a lot, so enjoy!
Chapter 2: Another Year at Hogwarts
"Where's Jillian? I don't see her in line."
"She's right there, Evelyn—behind the boy with the humungous ears."
Lily pointed to the small girl with long unruly hair; the resemblance between her and her elder sister was unmistakable. The few times Lily had seen her had been over the summer holidays when the Woods invited her over, and Lily learned at once that Jillian was as bold as the rest of her siblings were.
It appeared that Jillian hadn't much changed since Lily last saw her over a year ago; the youngest Wood was chatting amiably to the girl behind her, a petite blonde, as they stood waiting amidst the other trembling first year for the Sorting ceremony to begin. Lily admired the brave determination the young girl seemed to posses, remembering fondly that she herself had instead experienced a different emotion—a nervous lurch in the pit of her stomach during her own sorting the first day of her new life at Hogwarts.
Lily distinctly felt small and intimidated the first time she had arrived at the magical castle, thinking to herself that she didn't have a clue what she was doing. After all, she didn't even know she was a witch until a few weeks prior. What if there had been a mistake and she didn't posses any magical abilities at all? What if she had no friends?
So it was with great trepidation that she meekly set the hat on her petite red locks, its wide brim engulfing half her head. It had told her that she would have made an excellent Ravenclaw, that she possessed the wit and cleverness of many of the brightest from that house. At once, Lily felt a feeling of reassurance about her abilities—if the sorting hat said she was bright (and who—or actually what—else could be more reliable than a mind-reading magical object?), that was enough for her!
But then, out of nowhere, the voice penetrating her mind discovered something within her she had not expected: a strong sense of hidden bravery and a stubborn nature. The hat, it seemed, had other plans for her other than assigning Lily a house with the cleverest witches of the school; it seemed to believe she possessed something much more important. . . .
And with a great cry of "GRYFFINDOR!" Lily left happily from the stool and trotted off to join her fellow applauding housemates, a confident grin upon her face.
"Ah, yes, I see her now," said Evelyn, stirring Lily out of her pleasant reverie. "Doesn't look scared a bit. She needn't be; my whole family's been in Gryffindor for generations, after all. 'Cept my Uncle Norman was a Hufflepuff, although I've always thought him a bit daft. . . ."
Beatrice snorted. "A bit daft? He thought I was Gwendolyn Morgan—you know, Captain of the Holyhead Harpies? He asked for my autograph!"
"Well, you know, if you're in a certain liking, you kind of do look like her."
"What?"
"This should be interesting," commented Cassandra casually, ignoring the other two completely.
As the drone of the Great Hall began to die down, the girl fell silent as the strict-looking Deputy Headmistress strode purposefully to the front and placed a rather patched and wrinkled hat on a four-legged stool in front of the trembling first years. Some seemed relieved to see that it was merely a hat, as if they had been expecting something far more difficult; others merely looked at it with confusion. The Muggleborns, Lily thought to herself, chuckling silently.
Then a rip along the hat's brim opened to form a broad mouth, which opened and began to sing:
"Although I've no proper mind
Inside my wrinkled self,
A Thousand of years I've gathered dust
As I song-write on my shelf.
Then each year I am given task:
Divide you into families;
Four sorcerers of the houses
Once held this responsibility.
The Hogwarts founders soon saw
A problem they must clear,
For when they're gone and younglings come
Who'd sort new ones each year?
So I was used to take their place
Once they gave me wit,
And when you put me on, I judge
Which house you undoubtedly fit.
Ravenclaw accepts the clever
And the brightest of them all,
While the loyal and hard working
Are best in Hufflepuff hall.
In Slytherin, power-seeking
And ambition they hold true;
If courage and bravery you hold,
Then Gryffindor's for you.
So put me on and I'll probe deep
To see what you possess,
Then I'll decide where your fate lies,
Which house will suit you best.
Though destined I am to split you up,
Remember my last counsel:
Stand united and you will find
That no feat is impossible.
For dark times, if they befall
The school, you'll be prepared.
For together you'll stand greater chance
Of succeeding than when paired.
Now that I've told this truth,
Here ends my lengthy song.
So let's begin the ceremony,
And I'll show where you belong!"
The hall was immediately filled with booming applause as the hat concluded its song. Although, man students were murmuring in confusion as they did so about the parting words the hat gave them. What was the sorting hat giving advice for?
"I didn't know it gave warnings," commented Natalie in a low whisper.
"Yeah, why was it telling us to 'stand united'? What's this all about?" James asked from across the table.
The many surrounding Gryffindors who heard him shrugged. "If it expects us to start shaking hands and swapping compliments with the Slytherins, it's gone absolutely mental," Sirius said hotly. Many nodded in agreement, including the rest of the Marauders.
Remus shook his head doubtfully. "Did you hear it say 'dark times'? You don't think it means—?" He didn't want to finish his own sentence, and judging by the speechless stares he received, they didn't either. None of them knew what to make of it.
But Lily sat in silence, contemplating the hat's words. What was it trying to tell them? Was—as Remus said—something bad about to happen? Somehow she felt as if she missed an important warning and suddenly felt a feeling of foreboding. She shivered.
Nonsense. She shook her head. I'm sure it's just the school's way of promoting inter-House unity, that's all. But as she glanced up to the staff table, they seemed a little unnerved as well, increasing Lily's worrying.
The chatter fell silent again. Lily, dismissing her thoughts for the time being, directed her attention back to the front, for Professor McGonagall was about to begin the ceremony.
"Please step forward as I call your name to be sorted." She paused. "Anders, Genevieve!"
A tall, dark-haired girl walked hesitantly to the front and nervously slipped the hat onto her head, waiting for its final decision.
"HUFFLEPUFF!" the hat shouted a few seconds later, followed by Genevieve Anders making her way over to the cheering table on the far right.
"Dylan, Michael!" was called next, and after jamming the hat eagerly on his head, the hat shouted—
"GRYFFINDOR!"
A small strawberry blonde boy with large dimpled cheeks scuttled over towards to roaring applause of the Gryffindor table, only to be accosted by several older Gryffindors eager to clap him on the back and congratulate him. James was among them, as he strode over pompously and enthusiastically shook his hand.
"This seems to take longer and longer every year," Beatrice complained amidst the chaos. "I wish they'd hurry it up a bit. I'm starving, here."
"Aren't you always?" Cassandra asked, earning a scowl from Beatrice.
"Well, it's true," Lily added thoughtfully. Completely and honestly.
"You know how Regnet is," said a deep voice a few seats behind them, "always wanting something she can't have."
They turned around to see Sirius Blank smiling casually as he stared Beatrice unblinkingly in the eye, as challenging her to lash out at him.
"Oh, please." Beatrice rolled her eyes, her voice dripping with malice. "You're no better, Black. You always want something only when you know you can't have it. If something's just out of your reach, you want it. If someone lays down a justified rule, you break it. If someone says they're not interested in you, you just pursue them more. Hell, I bet if Severus Snape walked right up to your smug face and said you couldn't find a Crumple-Horned Snorkack, you'd search Sweden until you're bloody pride let you admit defeat. Don't judge me, Black, because you're no better," she finished heatedly, denying him a chance to respond as she whipped around to face the front again, silently fuming.
Where had that come from? After all, he hadn't said anything particularly horrible, had he? Lily didn't know what to make of it.
Lily, her eyes a little wider, followed Beatrice's example, turning around to face the front once more, not uttering a single word. She felt like she had certainly missed something—something only Beatrice and Black seemed to understand—but she didn't want to press the matter in the midst of the sorting. Maybe it's one of those things between them the rest of us don't understand. Hm. . . .
Even though Beatrice had turned her back on him (which normally wouldn't have stopped Sirius from retaliating), it was odd that he didn't bother at all this time with a retort. It was quite unusual, actually. They both normally tried to have the last word (or jinx) which usually meant that the argument never ended until they had exhausted all their energy exchanging hexes or until an authority figure finally broke up the scuffle, complaining about the noise.
Given, they couldn't exactly curse each other with all the teachers present now, but Sirius normally would have kept up a battle of insults. It was just what they did.
However, he just sat there, a little taken aback, doing nothing of the sort. Strange.
Everyone's attention was recaptured by the ceremony as their table erupted into jeers and catcalls when "Lloyd, Melinda!" was announced the second first year to join Gryffindor.
"What's with those two?" Evelyn whispered to Lily whilst applauding the girl, nodding towards Beatrice and Sirius, who had both regained their composure and promptly went back to ignoring each other.
"Haven't got a clue," replied Lily. "One minute they were calm, the next Bea just lashed out with her claws of fury that would have given Mrs. Norris a run for her money. And Black just took it! Like a dog with its tail between its legs. It was strange. I don't know which one of them was more out of character."
Evelyn shrugged. "Not so much out of character, really. Their rivalry runs deeper than the rest of us can comprehend, you know that. Though, they usually do tend to drag us into the battlefield crossfire."
"Evelyn!" hissed Ian a few seats ahead of his sister. Ian Wood was a fifth year with chestnut hair and a Chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. "Jillian's next!" He pointed towards the front on the line.
After the boy with the rather large ears ("Trevinsky, Jackson!") joined Ravenclaw, McGonagall called "Wood, Jillian!"
The girl walked briskly to the stool and jammed the hat on her head. She seemed very eager and confident, Lily observed. It took a particularly long time for the hat to make up its mind—almost a whole minute.
Finally, it shouted, "SLYTHERIN!"
The little applause that came from Slytherin was hesitant, and the remaining houses were nearly silent. Whatever everyone had expected, it was not this. A Wood—in Slytherin? It was most unpredicted.
Lily heard Evelyn cry out in outrage as Ian glared daggers at the Slytherin table, but neither made to move. They were both too stunned.
The once confident girl stood slowly, her face pale; she removed the hat uncertainly, as if sure she had heard it incorrectly. With a brief nod from Professor McGonagall, she strode to the Slytherin table while deliberately avoiding eye contact with any Gryffindors.
When McGonagall had taken away the sorting hat, Professor Dumbledore stood up to address the students. With a jolly "Tuck in!" the feast began as food of every sort imaginable appeared before their eyes. Everyone helped themselves enthusiastically.
"So . . . erm, interesting ceremony," James commented weakly, attempting to break the silence that had covered the Gryffindor table as he reached for the pork chops.
"What are we going to do, Ian?" Evelyn burst out. "What will Mum and Dad say? They just assume she'll be a Gryffindor. Reckon this'll be a nasty shock for them to handle. I don't suppose they'll just accept it with open arms."
"I really don't know what will happen. I'm more worried about Jillian over there than our parents' reactions, though." Ian cast a dark glance at his younger sister, who was silently pushing food around on her plate and looking positively miserable. "I don't trust the lot of them—they're into dark magic, for Merlin's sake! What kind of place is that for her? They'll corrupt her," he added bitterly.
"Lighten up, Wood. Slytherin's—not—so—bad." Sirius forced each word without any real conviction; rather, he looked amazed that he'd even said anything of the sort.
"As if you could go a day without insulting the lot of them," pointed out Beatrice.
"Only because they deserve it," insisted Sirius.
"Like Snivellus over there," James added with disdain.
"And you wield the authority to deem who 'deserves it'?" Lily asked coldly.
"With Snape, yes."
"Why, you arrogant, infuriating,—"
"There goes your brilliant theory, Prongs," Remus indicated softly with a trace of amusement.
"—insensitive git! Have you no shame within your thick head at all? What gives you the right to decide who should or should not be punished? You're no prefect—you're nothing but a bullying toerag, Potter! And another thing—"
But James wasn't even taking in what she was saying at all, although he knew he undoubtedly should be. He was too busy contemplating other—and definitely more incriminating—things.
Ah, Evans, you look so beautiful when you yell so angrily at me. The way your brilliant eyes light up, how your nostrils flare, how your cheeks turn pink with frustration, how your red hair flies about as you toss it indignantly. . . . Almost makes a bloke want to screw up intentionally.
Almost.
"—and you're not even listening to me!" James adoring stare was disrupted by an irate Lily Evans. Yup, she's definitely pissed. His hand jumped to his hair, but he promptly removed it as her glower—if it was possible—intensified.
"Sure I was. You called me a git and then started yelling." He winced under her intimidating stature—her fists were clenched, her brows knitted fiercely, and her eyes narrowed. "A lot," he added faintly.
"James Potter, you are absolutely hopeless!" She stalked off towards the other end of the table, where Natalie and a few younger girls were busy enjoying the feast.
Well, I think that went considerably well, James thought dully, but as he remembered what she'd actually said, his smile dropped to a gloomy frown. Okay maybe I do do those things, but still . . . she's being a little melodramatic. So what if I curse Snivelly every now and then? It's only 'cause he's a complete git and he deserves it—he's a Slytherin! He'd hex me if I didn't hex him! Still, I think she's being a bit harsh . . . I mean, I'm not a complete prat all the time. I happen to think I'm quite a charming chap. And I'm not the only one who thinks so . . . lots of girls find me charming! And handsome too, of course. Plus, I practically carry the Quidditch team on my back with my awesome talent. There! See? I've got lots of redeeming qualities! So why won't Evans give me a bloody chance?
I think I need to stop talking to myself.
Cassandra gave James a scathing look, which slowly dissolved into pity upon seeing his solemn expression, as if he simply couldn't help screwing up when around the object of his obsession. "Did you listen to anything I told you on the train?"
"Of course I did. You told me why she doesn't like me, but you never said what I should do about it."
She closed her eyes and covered them with her hand as if she had a bad migraine. "Boys—so helpless." She immediately regained her normal composure. "Alright, Potter. Here's the abbreviated version: don't pick on anyone, don't hex anyone, don't show off all the time, don't mess up your hair, don't tell her she's beautiful, don't flirt with her, don't ask her out. . . . I think that about covers all the basics. Any questions?"
"Is there anything I can do?" he asked with desperation.
"It depends."
"On what?"
"On how badly you want her to give you a chance," she replied as if it were the most obvious thing on earth. She paused to let it sink in and then elaborated. "If you're seriously determined to be with her, you'll have to do some growing up this year. If you're not willing to truly change for her, then you might as well forget about her right now. However," she continued, in an undertone that only James could hear, "I happen to think you can change, James, because I'm one of the few here who recognize that you're intentions go far beyond a simple snog. You really like her, don't you?" His speechlessness confirmed his answer, and prompted her to continue. "Give it time, James. Make her see that you're worth it.
"Oh, and here's a bit of advice," she added with an afterthought. "You could start by using her actual name. You do realize it's 'Lily,' right?"
And without waiting for a reply, she abruptly turned around to converse with some other Gryffindor girls, leaving James utterly nonplussed.
What in the world was that? Since when did Cassandra Basil get to know him so well? Sure, she was his good friend—one of the few girls James viewed with strictly platonic intentions, in fact (which is saying something)—and sure, she was one of the few who surprisingly found humor in the Marauders' pranks, but how could she make James feel as if she knew everything about him?
But she's right, James admitted, I do like Evans. A lot. She just doesn't think I do.
Bloody hell.
James began to contemplate everything she'd just said. If my feelings about her so damn obvious to Cassandra, then why can't Evans—who happens to be quite close to her anyway—see that my feelings about her are genuine? I don't understand girls.
James listened as Cassandra's words still echoed in his ears: "If you're seriously determined to be with her, you'll have to do some growing up this year. . . ." Grow up? What in the world does that mean? How do I do that? But, whatever it meant, James was suddenly overcome with determination to do it. No matter what. He wanted Lily to see he could change. He'd show her he could be a nice guy—a bloke she'd want to go out with. She'll practically be begging to go out with me after I show her. . . . Alright, maybe not.
"Make her see that you're worth it." . . . But how?
"Potter, pass the rice pudding, would you?" said a feminine voice further down the table. Apparently, dessert had already begun while James was busy brooding.
"No problem, Fountaine. Congrats on making captain, by the way."
She thanked him and began scooping some onto her plate as he handed it over. Gwen Fountaine was a tall girl with very short, bushy hair. A Quidditch-obsessed Chaser, she was quite fit and athletic. She could be deathly intimidating when she wanted to be (as James knew, unfortunately, from personal experience), and James was really pleased that she made captain during her last year at Hogwarts.
A few moments later, she addressed him once again.
"Don't forget, Quidditch practice starts this week. I want us to be extra prepared for the first match against Slytherin this year—no surprises like last year where they sent that Bludger at McKinnon, the cheaters," she added bitterly. "I want us to be ready for anything. This year we'll make certain we flatten every opposing team, no question.
"Oh, and practice starts next Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday after dinner, so don't forget!" She added, finishing her little speech a little exasperated—a side-effect of having Quidditch on the brain, James supposed.
"Know of any possible replacements for the Seeker and Beater positions, yet?" he inquired curiously.
"Not yet. We'll choose them in a week; they can join practices then. I'm not worried about the new Seeker working with us; they work alone. Just hope we find a decent one this year. We'll have to find a new Beater to work well with Wood, though. Any ideas?"
"I think Hugh Douglas is trying out; fourth year. He'd make a decent Beater," James offered.
"Excellent. I'm really looking forward to this year, Potter. It's going to be a great season." James nodded his agreement. "Any idea who's trying out for Seeker?" she added excitedly.
Before James could answer, the voices around him fell silent once more and his attention was diverted back to the front.
At last, Dumbledore stood up and began to speak once the food had disappeared from the platters, the students groaning under the heavy meals they had just consumed.
"Welcome back, students, to another year at Hogwarts! I have some brief start of term notices and then you all may adjourn to your respective houses to get some shut-eye. First, will the first years kindly take notice that the forest on the Hogwarts grounds is strictly forbidden, which is out-of-bounds to all students. Next, the caretaker Mr. Filch wishes to remind everyone that there is a 'no magic' policy between classes and, for a list of forbidden items, please refer to his office."—his eyes twinkled as they briefly rested on four sixteen-year-old Gryffindor boys—"Lastly, Quidditch tryouts will be held during the second week of school. Anyone wishing to try out will please see Madam Hooch.
"That is all. Pleasant dreams!"
The buzz of the Great Hall grew excitedly once more as the students rose from their table, thronging into the Entrance Hall. The anxious first years began following their respective house prefects, who were properly instructed to lead everyone to their Common Room and reveal the password for that term.
Lily and Remus, along with the fifth year prefects, began leading the first years to the Gryffindor Common Room in Gryffindor tower. The young students openly goggled at the wondrous sights before them: numerous portraits began waving amiably from with their frame as the students passed; they observed enchanted suits of armor that were rumored to have walking abilities; a few transparent ghosts floated by, introducing themselves to the new youngsters (Nearly-Headless Nick, to the first years horror and disgust, gave a live demonstration on the origin of his nickname) and welcoming back the older ones; Peeves the Poltergeist came bobbing through a corridor, cackling maniacally as he released—to Filch's sheer fury—a dozen dungbombs as the students passed, to which they immediately fled until they were out of Peeves' range; the myriad of stairways suddenly changed direction midway, often deterring a student from their destination. Even Lily couldn't help but feel appreciation for her magical surroundings, being trapped in a Muggle dwelling for two solid months.
At long last, after ascending the final set of stairs to the Common Room, they had reached the entrance, secured by a painting of an old woman clad in a pink silk dress. The Fat Lady's portrait swung open to admit them as Lily revealed the new password ("Nargles!"). The students filed in orderly, the prefects instructing the first years where the boys' and girls' dormitories were.
Upon entering the common room, James quickly attempted to engage Lily in a conversation again, but she, catching sight of him, hastily dashed off to the girls' chambers with the rest of her giggling friends. Girls and their ruddy gossip. . . . Hey, wonder if they're talking about yours truly? he mused, grinning slyly. Evans is probably still fuming about earlier though. . . .
Suddenly overcome with a mixture of frustration and fatigue, James quietly followed the rest of the Marauders to their room.
He immediately collapsed on his four-poster bed, exhausted, not bothering to unpack his things; his energy seemed drained since his previous encounter with a pretty, but fiery-tempered witch.
"What's up, Prongs?" Peter asked with concern.
"I'd say he has a bad case of Lily-on-the-brain," Remus supplied nonchalantly.
Sirius furtively caught Remus's eye, grinning roguishly. "You know, Prongs, I do believe Madam Pomfrey has a remedy for that."
"Shut it," James said moodily, allowing his disposition to relax into dejection. "I just . . . don't understand her is all. I mean, lots of girls would kill to go out with me. So why won't she?"
"I'd say it's because Lily's a different sort of girl—one that happens to repel your—er—charms."
Sirius scoffed. "Then she's not so different. . . ."
James ignored him. "Different how?" he asked, genuinely curious.
"Ah, now that is something that even the 'great Remus Lupin' cannot answer—" He ignored James' eye rolling. "—as I can't speak for Lily herself. What I do know is that she isn't one to overlook your . . . lesser redeeming qualities just because you're—let's say—a popular Quidditch star. That doesn't matter to her. She values more important things."
"Such as . . . ?" James prompted.
"Such as kindness . . . compassion . . . a sense of leadership . . . devotion . . . I s'pose a certain knack for showing romantic gestures. . . ." said Remus pensively, ticking them off on his fingers.
"Hey, I'll have you know I can be quite a romantic chap!" protested James.
"Yes, and we've seen the consequences of said gestures from Lily Evans' temper to know just how 'romantic' you are. Not a pretty sight . . ." commented Peter, snickering.
"Getting back to the point," interrupted Remus, refocusing on James' dilemma, "Prongs, you're going to have to find out what exactly Lily wants in order to stand a chance—find out how you're going to have to change for her. Because that's what you'll have to do if you're serious about her: change. You're going to have to prove to her that your affections are real."
James, letting out a hopeless groan, threw himself dramatically backward onto his bed as he exhausted his vocabulary of swearwords in one long breath.
Great. Now I have to change for her. But before I can even do that, I have to figure out how. And it's not like that will be even remotely easy, as I have no idea what she wants. Bloody hell, Evans, you better be worth my sanity. . . . And now I'm talking to myself again. Just effing fantastic—I'm not even safe from her in my own mind.
Sirius, who had remained unusually silent, was eyeing James beadily as Remus had been advising him. He voiced his concerns. "I don't get you, mate. There are loads of other girls at Hogwarts—well, except the numerous amount that want me, of course—" Everyone rolled their eyes and James chucked a book at him. "—who would go out with you without giving you the trouble Evans gives. Why must you insist on dating the one girl that hates you wholeheartedly?" When James scowled, Sirius added, "It's a fair question."
"He's got a point, you know," said Peter. "Maybe you should move on, Prongs, find some other—I dunno—actually interested girl. You're in luck; I happen to know that Mackenzie Fisher from Ravenclaw is single."
James looked scandalized. Since when have I ever given up a challenge? Although, that's not all Evans—I mean Lily—is to me. She's . . . well, she's fascinating. Me? Give up? Never! "First of all, I am not moving on. I really am serious about Lily. Secondly—since when have you been in league with the Hogwarts gossip chain, Wormtail?" He raised his eyebrows. "What have you been up to, mate?"
"N—Nothing of the sort, of course!" squeaked Peter. "I found out from her roommate—you know—Beverly Moore—I dated her last term, remember? Well Beverly told me she—Mackenzie, that is—had her eye on you, and I'm just, you know, passing along the message. Not that I'm obligated too; we're not together anymore. Just thought you ought to know is all," he added weakly.
Eyeing Peter skeptically, James decreed, "Besides, I don't need someone to find me a date. Evans will come around soon."
I hope, he added. Well, let's just cross our fingers and hope I don't screw it up enormously.
"Whatever you say. . . ." Sirius said under his breath.
Peter smirked. "Right, Prongs. The likelihood of that statement coming true is about the same as the Slytherins getting chummy with the Muggleborns—that is to say, less than zero, mate."
Scowling, James launched a pillow at Peter, who didn't duck in time and was hit smack in the face, feathers flying about their room. Peter wisely armed himself with his own pillow, preparing for battle if the situation turned for the worse.
Unintentionally, Peter's comment weighed on one of the Marauders' conscience more than the speaker's intention—the subject of it being a dull reminder of his own ancestry.
Exhaling deeply, Sirius said heavily, "How can I go on ignoring the fact that my own family's part of that problem? With Muggleborns, that is," he added when he received confused stares.
He continued. "Look at my brother. He blindly follows my parents and believes that load of crap about Pureblood superiority. What the hell does ancestry have to do with inferiority? Look at Evans—she Muggleborn, but she's the smartest witch in this whole bloody school, smarter than any Pureblood here!" He practically spat the word, caught up in his own anger. Once his stormy grey eyes abated he resumed in a much softer, more pained tone. "I just," he sighed. "I just wish I wasn't apart of my pureblood-crazed family. I'm nothing like them."
Wow, and I though my 'Evans' problems were bad, James thought guiltily. The rest of the Marauders looked at Sirius pityingly. They didn't know quite how to respond to his unexpected—though perfectly justified—outburst, so they remained silent for a moment, contemplating the weight of his words.
"Everyone knows that, Padfoot. We know it. It's not your fault—you're not personally doing anything wrong," said Remus softly, breaking the silence.
"It doesn't seem enough sometimes," Sirius replied sulkily.
"Maybe not," said James earnestly. "But you're right—you're not like them. Your parents—and your brother even—may think that way, but you don't. The hat put you in Gryffindor, didn't it?"
"Well, maybe it was wrong; maybe I belong in Slytherin with my stupid brother."
James eyed him sympathetically. "You don't mean that, Sirius." It was more of a statement than a question.
"No. I s'pose I don't," he replied unconvincingly.
"You can't help who parents are no more than a Muggleborn can help their parents being Muggles. It's just . . . how it is."
Once again, they were silent as Sirius pondered Remus's words. Each knew that Remus was right, but couldn't help feel sorry for Sirius's plight all the same. They didn't have family's that rejected him because they had been sorted differently or because they'd gone against the family norm to embrace their fellow wizards as equals. It was a cruel twist of fate, James observed, that Sirius was an outcast with his own relatives and completely accepted as a fellow Marauder.
So that's the way it is, James mused; the prejudice works both ways: Purebloods can't see Muggleborns as equals, yet sometimes Purebloods are all stereotyped as holding that prejudice. James sighed. When did we start hating each other?
James shifted his view to glimpse Sirius; he staring determinately at the ground, his hands fidgeting restlessly in his lap. It didn't hit James until that moment how lucky he was to have a family that loved him unconditionally, no matter what. He didn't ever have to look so down as Sirius did at that moment.
"Cheer up, Padfoot," James said sympathetically, giving Sirius an affectionate punch on the shoulder. "You'll always have us as your family. Marauder-hood is much deeper than blood, mate."
It seemed to be enough for Sirius; he slowly turned around to face James, flashing him a weak smile, and then turning to Peter and Remus to give them the same—a unspoken gesture of his gratitude. They understood its significance without communicating, so unique was the bond of brotherhood they shared.
Sirius simply reveled in James' words: he had family—three brothers who would go to any length to see him happy. Sure, his parents and his brother didn't care about him, but he was actually quite lucky; who needed them when he had something right in front of him that was ten times better?
His smile continued to grow with the thought, until he unexpectedly began to double up with laughter. He didn't know why, but all of a sudden, everything—especially his prior useless brooding—seemed ten times funnier, almost as if everything was in a completely different light. And he felt strangely happier. . . . It was almost as if he was suddenly overcome with a new emotion he hadn't realized was there before. Was it . . . love?
In an instant he realized he'd had it all along.
The rest, surprised—yet grateful—at his quick change of heart, seized the opportune jubilation, unsure of what they were laughing at, but knowing they didn't want to—and couldn't—stop. It was somewhat pointless, they realized, seeing as how the message that Sirius was no longer sulking had clearly been received. They simply didn't care.
As the laughing finally did subside, it was with great effort through lack of oxygen and stitches in their side that they finally regained control of their vocal cords.
"Wow."
"Yeah. . . ."
"You said it."
"Say Moony, when's the first outing of the year?" James seized the opportunity to change the subject, gasping for air after a few final chuckles.
Each month the four boys made arrangements to carefully execute their newly formulated plan to keep Remus company as he transformed into a werewolf each Full Moon, which they had unofficially dubbed the 'outing'. They would sneak out using James' inherited invisibility cloak and make their way to the Whomping Willow, the violent tree that guarded the underground pathway to the Shrieking Shack, Remus's designated transformation site which other students believed to be haunted.
In Remus's werewolf state, he could only safely surround himself with animals; humans he would unknowingly attack. His mind would not recall the incident when he had awoken.
So, after his friends discovered his 'condition' in second year (to which he was utterly thankful that his friends had not abandoned him immediately), they committed themselves to studying and training to become illegal Animagi to make his transformation a little more bearable. They had only just managed the task last year, in fact, and found—to their intense relief—that the plan had been a complete success.
"The night of the eleventh," replied Remus darkly when he too had regained control of his lungs.
"It's a good thing no one knows what we're doing," Peter added in a whisper, despite the fact that they were quite alone and secrecy was hardly an issue. "If anyone knew we were sneaking out and transforming illegally, we'd probably bypass expulsion and be sent straight to Azkaban." Peter shuddered.
Sirius beamed confidently at Remus. "It's worth it though, to help Moony out." Remus smiled hesitantly. "Not to mention it was right satisfying to accomplish. It's a very complicated process, after all. Too bad it's totally illegal, otherwise I could brag about this to the ladies." He wagged his eyebrows, grinning—a clear indication that he had surely forsaken dwelling on his family.
"Maybe you would," said Remus heavily. "Wish I could say the same."
"What, girls don't find that wolfish edginess sexy?"
"You'd be surprised. Not that I've bothered to tell any. I actually want them to stick around."
"Not everyone's like that, Moony. We stuck around," pointed out James.
"To which I'm eternally grateful. But let's be serious. How many others do you think would do the same without running away screaming in the opposite direction?" Remus asked rhetorically.
"Er. . . ."
"Exactly."
"So your plan is to—what?—not get close to anyone? Or simply not tell anyone? Not that they won't figure it out eventually, in which they'll just leave you for lying, not because you're a were—"
"I plan on telling them—that is, whomever I get close to—eventually. Before it's serious," interjected Remus earnestly.
"Like me?" asked Sirius, smirking.
Remus raised his eyebrow in confusion. "What? No, like—oh. That's the stupidest joke ever, Padfoot, honestly."
"No, it isn't. I'll have you know the girls find it completely hilarious. I have them in stitches with my dashing sense of humor."
"I highly doubt that's what they're laughing at that, Sirius. Seriously."
"Moony, I'm deeply hurt. You've forever shattered my confidence, wounded my pride, destroyed my—"
"Padfoot, shut up."
Folding his arms, Sirius a small "Hmph!" before replying. "I'm so underappreciated here."
"Why don't you go find one of your girlfriends to comfort you, then? I'm sure you can find some appreciation there. Hmm . . . I'm can't quite remember, which girl is it this week?"
"I'm not that uncommitted. I just have fickle tastes." His voice wasn't even remotely convincing; rather, he actually sounded proud of that statement.
Remus shook his head indifferently. "I don't get you, mate."
"'Bout time you admitted defeat," said Peter.
"Anyway," announced James loudly, effectively receiving the trio's full attention. "I think now it's time we discussed the highlight of the new school year. It's that time of year again, gentlemen. . . . The one we look forward to every year—our first-day-of-school prank! We need something big—yet . . . classic. Any suggestions?"
"Turn the Slytherin ties red and gold?"
"Engorge Snape's nose to twice its abnormally huge self?"
"Release a pack of pixies during Binns' class?"
Sirius looked thoughtful. "The tie thing got old after the third time last year. . . . We couldn't effectively carry pixies into Binns' class without being caught anyway, even if he is completely oblivious. . . . Engorging Snape's nose holds potential, though. No, this year's has to be huge!"
"Unless . . ." James said pensively, suddenly inspired.
The reaction was immediate; everyone turned to face him with rapt curiosity.
"Don't keep us in suspense, Prongs," said Peter impatiently.
"What if," James said slowly, "What if . . . we do something a little different this year, mates? Instead of one huge prank like we've done in the past where the fun's all over after it's been had, we could do multiple pranks—you know—catch people off guard who aren't expecting more than one. It'll be spectacular! Everyone will know the infamous Marauders haven't lost their touch, sealing our reputations as Hogwarts' greatest pranksters in history! This school will never know what hit them." James finished excitedly, a triumphant grin on his face.
They each began murmuring their assent, eager to begin planning which jinxes to use, what supplies they'd need, how to best conceal their identity, and so on.
"Why didn't we think to do this sooner?"
"Who cares? It'll be bloody brilliant!"
"Come tomorrow, they won't soon forget the year the Marauders came to Hogwarts."
"That's for certain, not when we're through with them."
And with that, they began the very long and exciting process of planning the events that would take place the following day. They stayed up late into the night, throwing out ideas, nixing the ones that didn't hold up to their standard. They kept an ongoing list of the day's pranks, ready to put their plan into action as soon as it became morning.
The adrenaline rush from all their excitement succeeded in keeping them wide awake as they purposely disregarded the fact that they would have to get up early to be ready for class—or, rather—their first prank of the day. Once all plans had been assured, they called it quits for the night.
"Let's go to the kitchens," suggested Sirius. "I'm hungry."
"What else is new . . ." James muttered, but proceeded to retrieve the invisibility cloak for their first curfew-breaking adventure of the year to said kitchens.
Ah yes, James mused, it finally begins.
A/N: Ta da! So whadaya think? Please leaves reviews, they mean a lot to me, really. It's what keeps me excited about writing the next chapter (even though I've already written through ch. 4... hehe).
By the way, I feel I should say that this fic wouldn't even be possible (unless I did endless amounts of research on my own) without the HP Lexicon, which is where I base pretty much all my facts on (plus JKR's books). That place is the best, and if you haven't been there, I urge you to go, you won't be disappointed! Thank you HPL!
Oh, and go to MuggleNet too. Love that place. I'll stop promoting fansites now.
I also want to thank my first six reviewers (you guys absolutely made my day!), and if it weren't 4:30 in the morning right now, I'd be writing you guys individual thank you's. Seriously, you made me feel so wonderful when you told me you liked my fic, it was like the best feeling ever, so THANK YOU! I love you guys!
And, of course, please please pleeeease review!
Oh, one last thing: this story will, unfortunately, no longer be cannon when HBP comes out (I'm so freaking excited!) but I hope you guys can look past that and keep reading this, otherwise I'd be sad. And if you're a stickler for cannon, like I am, believe me, my sympathies are with you, but PLEASE do not abandon my fic! I shall be eternally grateful if you stick with it, as I'm hoping you won't be disappointed.
Next chapter: Mischief and Merriment (yay! some Marauder pranks firsthand!)