Chapter 4: First Patrol
September 1975
After the busy first week, Daria found her prefect duties surprisingly manageable.
For a start, it was comically easy to pretend not to see misconduct. Every miscreant thought he was the smoothest criminal on earth. It was as simple as breezing past offenders, like the three Hufflepuff boys stashing contraband joke wands down their trousers as Daria passed them on her way to Potions.
It was harder to be willfully blind to a practical joke, but Daria found a simple and elegant solution for that dilemma: turn around and walk away. On one occasion, she had become so rerouted by mischief that she missed the first ten minutes of the first Transfiguration lesson of the year. Being O.W.L.s year, all she missed was the first half of McGonagall's speech about 'personal responsibility' and 'future employment prospects,' so it was a relief to have been made so late.
Being prefect also gave her a brilliant cover for her slightly impermissible extracurriculars. As the fifth year Slytherin girls prepared for bed on their first night back, Asma Greengrass, still bitter about being passed over for prefect, made a crack about 'that mudblood Evans' not knowing her 'rightful place.'
When Asma checked her reflection the next morning, she released such a blood-curdling shriek that one of the third years two levels down came hammering on their door. Sometime in the night, someone had charmed her two lovely blonde eyebrows together into one thick black unibrow that stubbornly refused to separate.
Instead of running straight to a prefect, as she always had before, Asma immediately rounded on Daria.
For one breathless moment, Daria thought the jig was up.
"YOU'RE A BLOODY PREFECT—FIND OUT WHO DID THIS!" she screeched. Daria struggled to keep a straight face as she nodded. In her expressive fury, Asma's one brow keenly resembled a hairy caterpillar inching its way along a garden path.
After ten minutes of coaxing, Gemma Rowle persuaded Asma to let her try to remove the deformity. To their horror (and Daria's delight), the unibrow did not disappear, but a magnificent handlebar moustache sprouted beneath her nose. Asma burst into tears, slapped her hands against her face to cover her shame, and tore off to the hospital wing, Gemma apologizing profusely on her heels.
Thus far, being prefect was rather excellent. And then there was the bathroom.
The gigantic tub, the hundred different taps, the diving board. Daria had lived in the magical world for four years now, but this was, by far, the greatest use of magic Daria had ever seen. The existence of such a room made her question how the same wizarding world that clearly perfected bathing could think there was no better writing instrument than quill and ink, but that was neither here nor there. In the meantime, Daria vowed to try every tap at least once before the term ended.
By the end of her first week as prefect, Daria wondered what she had been worried about at all.
Until the first patrol schedule went up on the Common Room bulletin board.
At least once a week, each prefect was partnered with another prefect to patrol the hallways for an hour and a half after curfew. They were supposed to make sure that no students were out of bed making midnight mischief and dole out appropriate punishment. It combined nearly all of Daria's least favorite things: strangers, snitching, not sleeping, walking, and wearing a school uniform longer than strictly necessary. If they somehow shoehorned in an Easter Vigil, she'd probably throw herself off the Astronomy tower.
With trepidation, Daria scanned the schedule.
Her first partner was Remus Lupin, the new Gryffindor prefect. Daria let out a breath. Silently, she thanked Dumbledore for his quixotic attempts at inter-House unity. She dreaded rounds with Rosier.
Daria didn't know anything about Lupin except that there was something terribly wrong with him. He was regularly absent from classes and appeared quite ill when he did attend. Daria suspected he either suffered some horrifying ailment or that he had domestic responsibilities as head of his family. For his sake, Daria hoped it was the former. The lad was so unremarkable that a terminal illness was the only thing that could make him interesting.
Lupin was already waiting for her when she reported for duty in the Entrance Hall on Saturday evening. Daria knew she was at least ten minutes late because McGonagall was there and she loudly told her so at length.
Throughout McGonagall's tirade, Lupin stood off to the side, clearly embarrassed for her, and feigned temporary deafness by grimly surveying an adorable painting of snoozing mooncalves. Only half-listening to McGonagall, Daria studied him.
He was tall, with weedy sort of look that suggested he shot up quickly in a short period of time. Even though the term had just started, his face was already drawn; his brown eyes very tired. His robes were clearly secondhand and a shade too short, but his prefect's badge gleamed in the torchlight. He was probably excited to receive the badge, she surmised. It must have been a point of pride for a struggling family. Altogether, Remus Lupin made a rather sad portrait.
Once McGonagall had retired to her chambers, Lupin sidled over.
"Er, hello. You're Daria Durant?"
"Durant," she corrected automatically, with a roll of her eyes. Brits always said her name wrong, with a hard 't' at the end.
"Sorry," Lupin apologized immediately. "Um, well, I'm Remus Lupin. We're supposed to patrol together."
He said it like it was a question, the tail end drawn up about an octave. It invited her to answer. She did not accept such an invitation. As a general rule, Daria liked to avoid doing what was expected of her. She stared at him until he squirmed and spoke without a reply.
"Right, well. Shall we?"
They patrolled in silence.
Daria could tell the quiet bothered Lupin. He cleared his throat several times, his shoulders shifted towards her as if to voice whatever inane thought was begging to come out.
As little as she wanted to do with Lupin (or anyone at Hogwarts), Daria couldn't help wondering why he seemed so keen on being pleasant to her. Lily Evans notwithstanding, Gryffindors largely did not care for Slytherin companionship, and vice versa. Gryffindors stereotyped Slytherins as fanatic blood supremacists (which was not inaccurate). Slytherins believed Gryffindors to be arrogant stupid sanctimonious dingbats with hero complexes and hot tempers (an opinion Daria largely shared).
James Potter, for example. Daria learned from eavesdropping on Gemma Rowle, a witch more determined to marry well and quickly than anyone Daria had ever met, that his father Fleamont Potter became filthy rich by cornering the hair potion market. His son James clearly believed this wealth made him King of Hogwarts. He strutted about the corridors mussing the untidy hair atop his fat head to appear at all times windswept and dashing, as though he had just jumped off his high-end broomstick. He felt owed attention and leniency in a way Daria had only ever seen in the wealthy, like the tourists who flocked to the south of England in the summertime in their Rolls Royces, demanded immediate hot baked treats from her overworked family.
And, of course, his friend Sirius Black. He was easily Potter's equal in arrogance, but it was compounded by the fact that the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black was the closest thing to nobility Wizarding Britain had. Even at the tender age of eleven, Gemma used to insist (until she realized what a blood traitor he was) that she would marry Sirius Black. His blood was impeccable. Daria quickly learned that meant there were troublingly few branches on the Black family tree.
As such, Black didn't simply feel owed attention—he was entitled to it. Adoration, reverence, indulgence—these were not things he demanded like Potter did; he simply received them as was his right. He would not be denied, even if he was a blood traitor. Boys had to think he was clever and funny; girls had to fall in love with him; teachers had to bend to his charms.
In the midst of these thoughts, Daria felt the urge to glance over at Lupin. He had his hands shoved into his pockets, his shoulders hunched forward, his light brown eyes searching the corridors as if his gaze alone could undo a disillusionment charm over a rule-breaker.
Lupin did not look like a boy who felt entitled to anything. Daria wasn't sure why that annoyed her.
The new prefects' mutual quiet ended as all of Daria's silences ended: by necessity. The pair encountered a tearful first year boy in a narrow passageway on the sixth floor. It was nearly an hour past curfew, so they confronted the young Slytherin.
"I didn't know what time it was!" he told Daria and Lupin, rubbing his eyes. "I just got lost and then Peeves started throwing dungbombs at me and before I knew it—"
"It's alright," soothed Lupin, placing a hand on the boy's small shoulder. "I must've gotten lost a hundred times my first week in the castle, don't worry. We'll take you back to your dormitory. No harm, no foul, eh?"
The boy sniffed and nodded. Lupin smiled at him warmly and produced a chocolate square from his pocket.
All the way down seven flights of stairs, Lupin made polite conversation with his little charge. He asked his name, about his family, how he liked Hogwarts thus far. The boy, Martin Brown, was only too happy to talk about himself and Lupin was only too happy to try to cheer him up. Daria tried to ignore them. It was difficult when the castle was so quiet. Their whispers echoed off the stone walls as loud as a shout.
When they arrived before the blank stretch of wall that hid the Slytherin common room, Lupin put his hand on Martin's shoulder for a final aside.
"Now, Martin," he said, mock-sternly, his eyes twinkling. "What are you going to do if you get lost again?"
Martin grinned. "Ask the portraits for directions."
"That's right. We don't want to catch you breaking curfew again, is that clear?"
"Very." Martin whispered the password to the flagstones, which shifted to open the door to the common room. He glanced over his shoulder at them. "Thanks, Remus."
"Anytime, Martin."
As they ascended the narrow stairwell to the entrance hall, Daria chuckled to herself. Lupin glanced over at her, confused.
"What are you laughing at?"
"It's just… you didn't really believe him, did you?"
He blinked. Bless him, he didn't even consider it. "What?"
"You know, the whole…" Daria pretended to pout and spoke in a wobbling, high-pitched voice, "'I was just revising like a good boy even though it's only the first week of term; and then I got lost and oh dear, oh my…'"
Lupin shifted uncomfortably. "You think he was lying?"
"Obviously."
"Why?"
She snorted. "Everybody knows Brown's a lying little shit. He's already wormed his way out of detention for filling a suit of armor with dungbombs. Told Filch Peeves did it."
Lupin stopped in his tracks and gaped at her. "You… why didn't you say anything?!"
Because he's a Slytherin. Because if I'd busted him, that little shit could go to Rosier. That child could get me killed if he wanted.
Daria knew he would. Only a week in and all of the little first years already worshipped Rosier, the pureblooded prick. Brown was the runt of the lot, insecure about his blood status and, thus, the most easily corrupted. From what little she'd gleaned, Daria knew him to be a pathetic little worm; equal measures craven and arrogant, and was likely out past curfew on a dare. His cohort would begrudgingly accept him into their fellowship after tonight; not fully, of course, half-bloods were hardly better than mudbloods, after all…
All this she could say with certainty. If she wasn't muggleborn or in Slytherin, she would've told Lupin. Daria couldn't help feeling sorry for the other prefect. He only meant to be kind. He didn't know most people didn't deserve kindness.
Instead, Daria deflected. "Couldn't be bothered."
He stared at her, perplexed. His probing gaze made her feel uncomfortably naked.
Finally, his features slackened, as though a thought had just occurred to him. "Did you just not want to take points from your own house?"
Daria had been in public toilets she cared more about than the House Cup.
"That's it, yeah."
Lupin released a long breath. It was too much to hold out hope that he'd be quiet for the rest of their shift.
"Sort of feels like being a traitor, doesn't it?" said Lupin idly. "Being prefect. Having to police our friends and our house. It's an honor, of course," he was quick to say, "but I don't want my mates to think of me differently. Do you feel that way, too? With your friends?"
Daria wished she was made of stone. She wished that nothing anyone said could make her feel anything. It wasn't his fault—Lupin only meant to be kind again, and it was odd he was baring his soul to her at all—but in that moment, hot envy burst deep in her heart. A scraping, sucking jealousy that nearly made her weep. And even deeper, further in the recesses of her chest, she was humiliated to feel longing—for home, for family, for friends.
(Because she still cared so much. Daria used to be happy, once upon a time. Magic had taken all her joy and left her barren.)
No, she thought bitterly. No, I don't feel that way. I don't have friends. I don't feel like a traitor to my house. I'd gladly watch them all drown if I could.
She was no stranger to this desperate ache. Yet four years of it had taught Daria there was no use in dwelling on it. She had learned to stifle her grief with cold rage.
"No, Lupin," she said. "Unlike you, I'm not so desperate for approval. I don't care what anybody thinks of me."
After Durant coldly rebuffed his attempt to connect with her, any and all conversation came to an awkward conclusion. Remus was embarrassed and angry at her answer ("'Desperate for approval'?" he incredulously repeated to himself as he climbed up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower), but he was so taken aback he couldn't think of a single word to defend himself.
They didn't even know each other. Before tonight, Remus couldn't even say he knew what her voice sounded like. If she was at the first prefects' meeting, he could not recall her face. When he asked them, his friends could not come up with a description of the girl, though Sirius reacted viscerally to her surname.
"Durant…" he sneered, looking rather pureblooded in spite of himself. "That's some pureblood house in France, right Prongs?"
In the middle of a very one-sided chess match with Peter, James shrugged. "You'd know better than me, mate. My parents aren't nutters who made me memorize every pureblooded house in Western Europe."
"Anyway, we don't know her," said Sirius. "She's definitely a bint, though. Slytherin," he clarified for Peter.
Remus rolled his eyes. "You didn't even know she existed until I asked about her thirty seconds ago. Don't be such an arse."
Sirius barked out a laugh, taking no notice of the chorus of smitten sighs heard around the common room, and began counting off on his fingers, "She's a Slytherin, pureblooded, and French. It's—"
"The unholy trinity," interjected James.
"The unholy bint-ity," corrected Sirius, grinning. James and Peter roared with laughter, though Peter's mirth turned to horror when James's knight demolished one of his screeching bishops.
Without thinking, Remus snapped at Sirius, "Bit rich of you, judging people based on their blood."
Sirius's grin fizzled out. The laughter died. Sensing the sudden tension, James characteristically jumped in to alleviate it.
"Ah, Padfoot, you know our Moony has a chivalrous heart," he said, theatrically clutching said organ. "He cannot in good conscience allow you to impugn the honor of a lady, even if said lady is a dirty snake…"
Peter sniggered again, but Sirius only scowled more deeply.
Remus fast regretted his thoughtlessness. Of his friends, Sirius was always the quickest to laugh, but also the quickest to anger. Bringing up his family, however obliquely, was a surefire way to infuriate him.
"Go ahead then, mate," said Sirius, a very ugly look on his face. "Go ahead and be nice to some Slytherin bitch who thinks half-bloods are lower than flobberworm mucus. I don't have to prove a point because I know she'll prove it for me. Her kind always does."
Remus said nothing else, fearful of angering Sirius any further. After a pregnant pause, Peter ordered his castle directly in the path of James's queen, who decapitated it so brutally that all four boys hollered appreciatively and forgot all about their conversation for the moment.
But there was a part of Remus that resented Sirius for his hasty judgement. There was something prophetic about their argument, a sense of déjà vu for the life Remus knew he would live. For this was certainly his future: people deciding on his character before truly knowing him. The werewolf, the half-blood, the werewolf half-blood—on Sirius's sneering face, Remus saw all his life's struggles personified.
Desperately, Remus hoped this Durant would be good. He needed her to be. He needed Sirius to be wrong about her, so he could hold up her as an example.
Do you see, Sirius? There's good in everyone. There's good in me, too.
But she was a vindictive girl, that Durant. She let him expose his vulnerabilities to her, then picked him apart like he was nothing more than carrion. He felt hunted—but it was more than that. A predator doesn't delight in its prey's humiliation.
Daria Durant did.
Despite the late hour, James, Sirius, and Peter were still awake when Remus returned to his dormitory after rounds. All three of their heads were bent over the map. Fierce murmuring ceased at the sight of him slouching into their dorm.
James stood straight, pushing his glasses up his nose with a grin. "Moony! How are you, old chap?"
"It's been ages, hasn't it, m'boy?" Sirius quickly cottoned on with an eerie impression of Slughorn.
Remus merely nodded and loosened his tie in silence. James and Sirius exchanged a look.
The Marauders (as they had named themselves the year before when they began developing the map) were recognizably a band of four, but Remus would have to be willfully blind to deny that James and Sirius shared an inimitable bond. It had only grown since the summer, after Sirius made landfall at the Potters' residence when he ran away from home. Now they resembled brothers more than friends, capable of communicating with gestures as small as a half blink.
Remus supposed the connection began because they were identical when they all first met: both were the charming, confident, clever heirs to pureblooded families of great fortune and prestige.
Their similarities did not fade with time, but Remus quickly noted the idiosyncrasies that distinguished them from one another. James was friendly to anyone new he met (except for Snape); Sirius took a while to warm up. James was generous with his family's wealth; Sirius resented his and refused to spend great quantities on principle. James liked causing trouble, but hated getting caught; Sirius reveled in both. James was an easygoing athlete, a surprisingly diligent student, a mediator at heart—the clear leader of their group. Sirius was a moody creative, an idle student, a rebel to his bones, and more than happy to follow James anywhere.
They were also both terribly good-looking, though James had always been and remained boyishly handsome while Sirius grew into his dark aristocratic features.
By contrast, Remus was a half-blood from a poor family, made so by his lycanthropy. Peter's mother was a half-blooded witch who worked as an assistant at an apothecary in Nottingham; his father was a muggle and was dead. Remus was clever, he knew, but neither handsome nor rich, nor was he destined for great things like everyone knew James and Sirius were. Peter even less so.
Remus frowned. He shouldn't feel resentful of the friendship James and Sirius shared, nor of the advantages they'd had in life. They'd not once cared that he was a werewolf—only that he was alone and in pain during his transformations. They became animagi to make sure even the werewolf inside of him would not be alone. There were no greater friends to be had in the world. Certainly not for a werewolf.
Weakly, Remus joked, pointing at the map, "Not planning anything too mad, are you?"
They glanced at each other again. Then, glowering, Sirius muttered 'mischief managed' and stuffed the blank parchment into the waistband of his pajama trousers. James loudly cleared his throat.
"Course not, mate," he assured him gruffly. "Got a prefect in the room now, don't we?" Sirius scowled at the Chudley Cannons poster hanging over James's bed. Peter stared at his feet.
Remus's heart sank. Of course.
"I don't want my friends to think of me differently."
"I don't care what anybody thinks of me."
How nice for you, Durant, thought Remus viciously. How nice it must be to know you'll always be accepted by virtue of your blood. I'll always be rejected by virtue of mine.
In the face of his lycanthropy, the centuries' old conflict over blood purity seemed quaint. Being half-blood meant little when compared to being a half-breed. Nevertheless, Remus knew that Sirius, James, and Durant lived charmed lives as purebloods. If they ever woke up and decided they wanted to become Minister for Magic, they could shed the traitorous skin and return to their pureblooded roots.
Impure blood, however, could not be denied. Lily Evans could never be anything she was not, nor could Peter, nor Remus. Especially not Remus.
It was only bitterness that drove these thoughts. Remus knew being a pureblood came with loads of horrifying baggage, if Sirius's many many neuroses were any indication. He knew both Sirius and James abhorred pureblood supremacist ideology. They would never dream of turning their backs on their half-blood and muggle-born friends for wealth or glory.
But still, still—they could choose their fates. Durant could choose. Remus could not. And because he could not choose his fate, he had to be likeable.
As melodramatic as it seemed, even to himself, Remus feared being prefect for that reason. Even if it was only by process of elimination that he was chosen—James and Sirius spent too much time in detention and Peter was far too timid—Remus was honored. Singled out—him! Remus Lupin, held up above Sirius Black and James Potter! It simply wasn't done.
But what did honor and pride matter when it seemed like his friends were pulling away? What did a tiny metal scrap on his chest matter, really, if he lost his friends? Could he stand it?
No. His years of loneliness were over, left behind in his dark childhood. He would not let anything take away the light he'd begun to live in.
"Well," began Remus, putting on a grin. "I've learned a new secret passage to add to the map. They told us about it at the prefects' meeting today; it takes you straight from the Library to the fourth-floor corridor—"
"Blimey, that's probably how Filch got us after the library prank last year!" exclaimed James.
"Yes, I'm sure that was it. Not because you charmed all the fourth-year textbooks to scream 'Potter and Black are utter snacks' whenever a girl opened them," replied Remus dryly.
Sirius and Peter snickered at James's reddening ears. "I only wanted it to say my name when Evans opened one," he mumbled sheepishly.
"We did manage to get them to insult Slytherins, though," grinned Sirius, then put on a booky shrill voice, "'Mr. Snivellus Snape, tie your hair back or you'll get grease all over my nice clean pages—'"
"What if we did that to the map?" asked Remus suddenly. Wheels began to turn in his head as he thought it through. "Not screech at someone, obviously, but written out. If someone tries to reveal the contents without the right password, they get a lovely personalized bouquet of insults."
James clapped his hands once. "Brilliant, Moony! And—what about this as well: all the insults are from us?"
"From us?"
James's head disappeared under his bed for a moment, tossing out crumpled pasty wrappers, a broken quill, and what looked suspiciously like a hair barrette that Remus recalled Lily used to wear every day. He stood brandishing the many first drafts and plans of the map clutched over his head.
"Padfoot—"
Sirius already had the finished map out of his trousers and spread across Remus's bed (the only made one in the dorm). James took a moment to flatten his own bedspread to glance over old drafts.
"I mean, it's the Marauder's Map, right? But it hasn't got our names on it—our proper Marauder names," said James quickly when Peter opened his mouth in a panic. He pointed to himself, then around to his friends in a circle, "Prongs, Padfoot, Wormtail, and Moony. Messrs., actually. We're gentlemen of mischief, after all. "
"Hang on, why are you first?" asked Padfoot, half a joke in his voice but real annoyance in his pout. James shrugged.
"Doesn't matter to me," he said jovially, then repeated their names backwards. "Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs."
The boys let that sentence hang in the air for a reverent moment.
"I just got chills," whispered Peter.
Sirius grinned. "Does have a nice ring, doesn't it? 'Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs kindly ask Mr. Snape to refrain from inhaling too deeply lest he suck half of the student body up into his cavernous nostrils.'"
"I'm literally shivering now—look at my hand, Pads—"
"Gerroff, Wormy, you'll spill the ink—"
"Great idea, Moony," James said as Sirius began drawing up the plans for the new and improved Marauder's Map. He clapped his hand on Remus's shoulder manfully. "We were really worried you'd be a bit of a stuffed shirt this year, you know? Prefect and all that."
"No," said Remus at once. "I'm the same. I'm still me."
Please review! Really can't tell if people like this story or not.