HELLO HELLO LOVELIES!
I'm sorry it has been so long, I was planning on updating this much earlier in the month, but RL got in the way and I've been juggling a bunch of things. Either way, thank you all for your patience, you are lovely.
I know I haven't responded to them all, but YOUR REVIEWS were the best, I've read them all and they made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside *hearts*. Thank you SO, SO much.
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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.
Saturday, February 26th, 1977
The Three Broomsticks
Hogsmeade Village
"Oi! Potter! You know your lips would look real nice, wrapped round me cock," a voice said just beside Hermione, and the smile on her face instantaneously died. The witch's lip curled into a sneer laced with thick disgust, and she swivelled her head to her left, only to see Wesley—a Seventh Year Ravenclaw that she only knew of in the vaguest of senses and that was due to the fact that he was a Chaser.
"I beg your pardon?" Hermione quirked a brow, leaning forward and placing her elbows on the table, her expression clearly daring him to continue voicing his inane thoughts.
"Don't worry 'bout choking on it, love. Once you're sucking me off, you won't even be thinking about that," the boy winked.
Dark brown hair, dull brown eyes, crooked front teeth, a mole on his left cheek, an awkwardness to the way he held himself—as if he wasn't quite comfortable in his own skin—yet, he was in peak physical condition. As far as she surmised, brawn was probably all he had going for him, as brains certainly were not on the table.
Thank goodness the boys are getting our drinks, Hermione mused. It would be rather inconvenient if they beat the shite out of him, blood would probably get everywhere and Rosmerta would have temporarily ban us. Not to mention Minnie's reaction to the whole debacle.
The Three Broomsticks was packed: wix were shoved into the pub like a tin of sardines, barely enough room to walk about uninterrupted, much less get service with how bogged down Rosmerta was. So, the boys braved the crowd, and headed for the bar to try their luck.
Despite it not being an official Hogsmeade weekend, the elder students (fifth, sixth and seventh years) were allowed to go down to the village for one weekend of their choosing every month. The only stipulation was that they notified their head of house several days in advance, and that the same rules that applied on official Hogsmeade days were in effect. (You could go twice a month, but that was only if a Hogsmeade weekend fell in that month as well.)
The Professors saw it as an easy way for the OWL and NEWT students to get a bit of a breather from their heavy workload and the stress that automatically accompanied it.
"Why? Cause it's so small?" Hermione asked primly, and at the same time, Lily snidely snarled, "I suppose you've had plenty of experience in that field yourself, so you should know."
Hermione and Lily were accompanied by several other witches at the moment—which is another reason why she found it so amusing at how brazen the Ravenclaw had been. Marlene, Mary, Riley, Pandora, Dorcas, Emmeline, and Alice—who was holding her burning cheeks, sandwiched in between Hermione and Lily in the booth.
Earlier Lily had errantly recalled the bet that Kira, Nancy, Alice, Lily and Hermione had made in their second year: regarding when Sirius and Riley would become a couple.
Which after some deliberation on the original terms, they came to the conclusion that Hermione, Lily and Alice were the victors, as Kira had bet on sixth year, whilst Nancy said fourth. The two witches were however not here to defend themselves so they would have to revisit the conversation at a later date.
Then, as if she had just realised she'd forgotten her manners at home, Lily apologised multiple times to Riley for her insensitivity since Riley and Sirius were no longer an item. Riley had shyly smiled and told the redhead that it was fine.
Emmeline was here because Lily had befriended her sometime around the beginning of the school year, and the frosty haired witch had brought Dorcas along with her.
The witches from every house (and vastly different backgrounds), were simply enjoying themselves as they awaited their beverages, and then, Wesley arrived.
All the wind had been knocked out of Wesley's sails, his shoulders slumped, and his face was red all the way to the tip of his ears. The boy retreated as the girl's boisterous laughter giddily chased after him.
Wesley's presence did not go unnoticed, as the boys had just slipped through the thick crowd, and they caught sight of his burning face and sheepish demeanour before he returned to his own friends.
"What happened there?" Remus asked, quirking a brow as he skilfully slid a few drinks across the table to the girls; it had been a balancing act, but with magic and numerous hands the boys had pulled it off.
Hermione happily grabbed a hold of her butterbeer, but before she took a much coveted sip, she paused and said plainly, "he's a cocksucker."
The boys looked about the group of girls in pleasant befuddlement as the witches burst into a bout of raucous laughter.
Despite their confusion, the boys passed out all of the drinks, and then Remus slid into the booth beside Hermione, with Draco following him. The wix were tightly packed onto either side of the booth, but they couldn't care less. They didn't care that they were tightly squished together, nor did they care that the stuffy, stale air hotly wrapped around them and made them perspire more than a little bit.
They were far too occupied with the ice cold drinks that quenched their thirst, and cooled their parched throats and bodies. The teenagers were concerned with the jokes, and light banter that was hurled back and forth amongst their friend group.
Briefly, Hermione once again wondered where Peter, Nancy and Kira were (they'd promised to meet them here), but the thought fled her mind when Remus rested his chin on her shoulder. Hermione heard the smile in his tone as he lowly recited an excerpt from a poem in her ear:
Now if you listen closely
I'll tell you what I know
Storm clouds are gathering
The wind is gonna blow
The race of man is suffering
And I can hear the moan,
'Cause nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.
It sounded terribly familiar, but she couldn't quite place it. She also wondered why he'd chosen that particular passage to recite to her. Hermione's brow puckered, and she licked a bit of foam from her butterbeer off of her upper lip, "who is that by? I don't think I know that one."
"Oh, something Hermione Potter doesn't know?" Remus teased.
"Moony," Hermione hissed, which caused Draco—who'd been eavesdropping—to loudly snort before taking a prompt swig of his own butterbeer.
"It's called 'Alone' and it's by Maya Angelou. An American, and a witch," Remus said, tugging playfully on one of her shorter curls.
The corner of Hermione's lips turned down the moment that Remus said the woman's name. Of course it was. "Really? I know her! How in Godric's name did I miss that?" Hermione asked, scolding herself.
"It happens to the best of us," Remus replied, patting her hand sympathetically, "plus, in all fairness, the poem is only a couple years old."
Hermione made a noise and threw a playful glare at him as he tried to hide his smug expression. For you it is, for me it's…well I suppose that doesn't really matter. It's strange to think that there are so many iconic things I grew up with that haven't happened, or don't even exist yet. Like the Breakfast Club…I need to introduce all the boys to it whenever Draco and I end up back in the future.
Hermione's mouth opened to make a snarky retort, but her attention was captured by Sirius, or more accurately, Sirius rather loudly declaring that he had a question.
"What, Pads?" James laughed brightly, finishing off the last of his butterbeer—a thick moustache of buttery foam was left behind, and Lily shyly pointed it out (they both ended up with slightly pink cheeks, something that made Hermione smile to herself).
"We're still on for tomorrow, right?" Sirius grinned toothily, raising his glass butterbeer mug into the air.
Draco barked out a short laugh, "of course."
"What are you lot up to?" Marlene drawled, but the spark in her eyes belied curiosity and bemusement. She asked Hermione the question directly, never once looking in Draco's direction.
"Just have to wait and see, won't you?" Hermione winked.
Sunday, February 27th, 1977
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
"You have to admit it is kind of beautiful, it almost looks like coloured snow," Sirius sighed in soft content.
"Well, we didn't really think Hufflepuff through, did we? It looks like a giant took a piss in the 'snow'," Draco said thoughtfully, his head tilted to the side as he examined the inside of the Great Hall—what they could see anyways.
Draco and Remus had worked on a neat bit of spellwork that caused a harmless, fine powder to gently cascade from the already charmed ceiling. Additionally, the powder was different colours depending on which house table it was falling over; yellow over the Hufflepuff table, blue over the Ravenclaw's, red over Gryffindor and green over the Slytherin's.
It was an innocent prank, a spot of fun, and its true purpose was simply to act as a distraction.
Whilst everyone was preoccupied with the large mounds of coloured powder, the Marauders had other plans: James, and Hermione were going to sneak into the Dungeons and fill the Slytherins' Common Room with green jelly, Remus and Peter were going to do the same to the Ravenclaws' Common Room (except it would be dark blue), and Draco and Sirius had the honour of enacting an identical fate upon the Hufflepuffs' Common Room with yellow coloured jelly.
The tricky bit had been to get the password to the Slytherin Common Room. Thankfully, James and Mary had made up and were now really good friends, so the animagus had batted his eyelashes and asked Mary if she happened to know what it was (since her best mate was Marlene, who just so happened to be a Slytherin).
With quirked brow she informed him that she did, but it would cost him. The youngest Potter had asked what the price would be, and Mary had just winked and said she would call for a favour sometime in the future.
The auburn haired girl also refused to tell him the nature of said favour, but as he figured Mary would never wish any harm on him, James eventually agreed to a blind cheque that she could cash in at a later date.
Hermione had snort laughed, and said that if Mary decided to have a bit of fun, namely asking him to do something ridiculous like dress up in lingerie for an entire day, it would be his own fault. Sirius cheerily tacked on that he would pay good money to have Prongs strut about in fishnets. James's only addition was a light chuckle and a bemused, "maybe I will one day."
After a few more words exchanged between them, Draco and Sirius hurried towards the Ravenclaw Tower. It was almost time for Breakfast, and the Common Room would be empty for the most part, all they had to do was find a comfy alcove and wait.
An hour later, all of the Marauders were back in the Gryffindor Common Room, relaxing and sharing about several platters and baskets of food that they'd politely requested the House Elves to send up a little bit ago; pranking was tiring business after all. Hermione had just tossed a croissant at Sirius's head when the portrait hole jerkily swung open, and a furious Minerva McGonagall blew into the Common Room.
"I see that the Gryffindor Tower is fine, not a drop of red jelly in sight," McGonagall's hands found her hips, her brow furrowed, and her pointy boot covered foot tapped impatiently on the ground once she reached them.
Not one of the six teenagers moved an inch.
"None of you have anything to say for yourselves?"
"Muffin?" Peter asked, taking a bite of a blueberry muffin whilst holding another one up intheir Head of House's direction—his hand was trembling slightly, but one could chalk that up to nothing more than low blood sugar this early in the morning.
"We have croissants too, but sadly, no jelly," James jumped in, holding up the small basket of the golden, buttery pastries. James pursed his lips in thought as he glanced down at the pastries, "well we do have strawberry jam, but we can only spare a little since strawberries aren't in season right now and it would be irresponsible to use it in excess."
"That is not what I am referring to, Mister Potter," McGonagall said crossly, a jagged sharpness to her tone. The jade green glade trapped in her eyes was swirling with emerald shards of fury.
"What is this about jelly now, Professor?" Draco yawned, adjusting the collar of his emerald green dressing gown—which was unfastened, so his bare chest and black bottoms were exposed. He looked the picture of tranquillity as he leaned back against one of the couches, with one knee bent, and a piece of bacon in one hand.
Hermione was kneeling between him and Remus, nibbling on a piece of toast slathered with blackberry jam. She'd taken the blackberry jam hostage, and refused to share, even when Remus's bottom lip jutted out in a tiny pout.
"The other Common Rooms are filled with jelly, and for some reason, vanishing spells aren't working on them. So there are students stuck outside their Common Rooms or trapped inside their dormitories," McGonagall replied testily. "Though I am sure you already knew that, Potter."
"Which Potter are you talking to, Professor?" Hermione asked, eyes wide, her toast making a crunch sound as she bit into it.
"Miss Potter, you are treading on very thin ice right now," McGonagall warned, pushing her inky black, tidy braid—that came down to her waist—over her shoulder. The witch was still in her nightgown, with a crimson red robe tied tightly around her waist.
Despite her fury, Draco briefly let the thought of how pretty their Professor was roll around in his head. McGonagall was only now in her early forties, but she didn't look a day past thirty. It was also why when they first got to Hogwarts, Sirius had a legitimate crush on the Transfiguration Professor.
"I think the cold is the last thing those poor souls need right now, Minnie," Hermione said sincerely, sighing heavily as if she was deeply perturbed by her fellow schoolmate's predicament.
"Is that to say that with heat the jelly will melt?" McGonagall inquired, her razor sharp gaze panning over the Marauders; it was as if needles were poking and prodding at their skin.
"One may be inclined to believe such a thing," Hermione hummed, popping the last bite of her toast into her mouth. The witch turned to Draco and wiped a bit of jam that had gotten on her finger right across his cheek.
Draco's eyes narrowed to the point where they appeared to be closed, and without a lick of warning, he dove forward and tackled Hermione onto the ground.
As if Minerva didn't have enough reason to be irritated with them already, now the six had delved into a full on tickle fest and they were wandlessly throwing simple spells at each other (with the exception of Peter, tiny barrages of sparks burst from his fingertips, but they were highly ineffectual).
She might have almost been impressed if she wasn't so miffed at them.
"As of tomorrow evening, you all will have two weeks detention. Be in my office at eight o'clock sharp and be ready to get your hands dirty. Hagrid mentioned he needed some help around the grounds," McGonagall said primly.
The lions froze, limbs entangled, faces flushed from laughter. There was a moment of complete and utter silence. Then the words came gushing out of them all at once, protestations and charming pleas.
"Remus's birthday is the tenth next month, the detentions will run into then."
"We didn't do anything wrong."
Then, in a calm voice of unshakable determination, Hermione Potter suggested, "one week of detention, and we'll clean up all the jelly."
Hermione made no mention of the powder inside the Great Hall, because something told her that that had yet to be discovered.
"We'll do what—" Sirius started, but Hermione cast a venomous look his way which silenced him instantly.
"Deal. In addition, you all also have to write a foot and a half essay by Friday about why it is so difficult for witches and wizards to master non-verbal spells," McGonagall said bluntly, there was no warmth nor cheer to her tone.
"Done," Draco piped up before any of the others decided to whinge about the punishment. It could be worse, and this way they would get to celebrate Moony's birthday next month properly.
"Now off you get, those Common Rooms won't clean themselves," McGonagall tsked, and begrudgingly the six teenagers got up and made their way to the Portrait Hole, dragging their feet and grumbling the whole way.
Draco paused—the last to leave—and glanced over his shoulder at his favourite Professor, "you have to admit it was a neat bit of spellwork."
"If you'd transfigured something, perhaps," McGonagall said stiffly, but there were small wrinkles around her eyes and a trace of quiet amusement.
"Next time," Draco winks, and before she could respond, he stepped through the Portrait Hole.
The lioness's chest stuck out as reluctant pride coursed through her veins. One thing could certainly hold true after all these years; it was bound to never be boring with that lot around.
It seems only fitting that it happened on a bridge. As if the setting itself had set in motion the rekindling of their friendship.
The crisp remnants of winter are holding fast to the weather, stubbornly holding it hostage. There have been spurts of icy showers over the last few days, and Draco Potter was caught in one said shower bright and early on an otherwise uneventful Monday morning.
The wizard had been out for a morning run with his brother (they wanted to get some exercise in since they had detention every evening this week), when he realised that things were oddly quiet; James had vanished into thin air. Draco was about to turn around and go in search of him, when the sky began to aggressively spit at him.
Draco pelted across the cobblestones of the Clock Tower courtyard, and if he was being honest with himself, he wasn't quite sure how he'd arrived here. He spotted the Covered Bridge, and for some reason the tips of his ears began to tingle. Some invisible force dug its heels into his sides; its sharp spurs sending him forth.
Draco's lungs burned as he reached cover. As Draco was dragging his fingers backwards through his hair, whilst absently striding forward—blinking away the raindrops that had gathered on his eyelashes—he hastily came to the conclusion that he was not alone.
"A girl can't have even a few minutes of peaceful solitude without being interrupted by someone," the blonde witch said sardonically.
"Sorry, I can...leave," Draco offered, in spite of the fact that the freezing rain was the last thing he wanted to go back into. His shoes made squishing noises as he came to an abrupt stop.
"Don't be stupid. I'll leave," Marlene rolled her eyes, pushing off of the railing that she's been leaning against as she looked out at the Black Lake. The witch strode with purpose towards him, but halted when Draco opened his mouth.
"You'll get soaked," Draco said dumbly, instantly feeling rather foolish at the obvious statement.
Marlene tilted her head to the side just a smidgen, and stared at him as if he was a strange being. She stared at him as if she was truly seeing him for the first time. "I think that may be the thickest thing you've ever uttered aloud in my presence."
Draco sent a light glare her way, "I know it was stating the obvious, but that does not change the validity of the statement."
Marlene began to tap her foot against the weathered wooden boards beneath her feet, and she gazed past him, out into the courtyard, and her jaw twitched as she weighed out her options.
"Why jelly?" Marlene asked after some time, clasping her hands together in front of her. Her gaze dipped to her expensive, swanky, pointy black shoes. She was probably only staying as to not ruin them. Though knowing Marlene, it was a surety that there was a water repellent charm on them.
"Why not, jelly?" Draco countered, shaking his head much like a dog as it tried to rid its coat of moisture.
When he straightened up, he combed his hair back with his fingers and upon noticing the blatant look of disgust she was shooting him, he grinned like a radiant star.
Marlene's nose crinkled for a moment, but as she opened her mouth to speak, a devious grin found its way onto her face and her canines practically gleamed in the faint morning light, "I must admit it was marvellous watching you clean it all up yesterday."
"I'm sure it was, Marly," Draco smirked. He didn't even think about it, the nickname rolled off his tongue like a raging river tumbled over a cliff's edge. It was effortless, easy. It was as if they hadn't had a massive row that ended in them severing all ties to each other mere months prior.
Marlene's bottom lip quivered, and a murderous look stabbed at him as she angrily approached him. She stopped inches away, and it fully hit him then how much he'd missed his friend.
Draco's heart was no longer encumbered by any romantic notions towards the blonde witch, but that didn't change the fact that he still loved her; his love for her was purely platonic of course. A hole had been carved out inside of him by her absence, by her sudden loss, and just breathing in the jasmine and honey was filling it back in again.
In recent times they had both gone out of their way to avoid being alone together. One time Marlene had rounded a corner, head in a book with a furrowed brow, and upon spotting her Draco had yanked Hermione into a nearby alcove. Hermione had quirked an eyebrow at him before they engaged in a languid snog and heavy petting session; which caused the pair to be tardy for their next class.
The light pitter patter of the rain on the sagging roof rang in his ears as Marlene's walls crumbled down right before his eyes. The next thing he knows his arms are full of the petite witch, and her hands are fisted into his shirt. Draco shushed her, and held her tightly.
"I really missed you, you wanker," Marlene wailed, burying her face into him; most likely in an attempt to hide her tears.
"I missed you too, Marly."
Marlene's muted sobs blended in with the wind and the rain.
Draco poked his right canine with the tip of his tongue, and warred with himself for a split second on whether to tease the witch about her uncontrollable weeping or not.
"I can hear you thinking," Marlene hiccoughs.
"It's just—we spend some time apart, and now look, you're a complete mess without me," Draco teased light-heartedly.
Marlene jerked out of his grip, stubbornly wiping away her tears, "prat."
"You wound me," Draco said, feigning hurt.
The corner of the witch's lips turned upwards, "good."
The pair were late for classes that day as they spent a good while mending the emotional and mental wounds they'd inflicted on each other; not forgetting, but merely forgiving.
Hidden underneath his Cloak of Invisibility, a raven haired wizard (a soaked one at that) nodded happily at his handiwork; he knew Marlene came out here some mornings to think as the two of them had gotten closer over the past few months.
That evening, James Potter was sneezing, sniffling and coughing incessantly. Hermione pressed the back of her hand against his forehead and confirmed he was running a fever, and she volunteered to escort him down to the Infirmary.
James didn't mind that he caught a cold, he was just happy that his brother had repaired his friendship with Marlene. Plus, it didn't hurt that as an added benefit he was going to get out of this evening's detention.
That night, the other Marauders served their detention out with Hagrid by scraping barnacles off the bottom of the boats (by hand as they were not permitted to use any magic) down in the Boathouse.
Their arms ached, their eyes burned, and utterly fatigued they all trekked back to the Castle; Hermione was so exhausted and bleary eyed, that she followed the boys up to their dormitory and crawled right into Draco's bed. Within moments she was passed out on her stomach, dark raven curls half covering her face, and she didn't even crawl under the sheets.
Draco cast a cleaning spell to get the majority of the grime off of her, and then did the same to himself before he fell into bed beside her.
Wordlessly, Sirius and Remus crawled into the bed as well, and Draco grunted as the three wizards shifted so they were all comfortable—all whilst ensuring that they did not rouse Hermione. Peter smiled meekly and wished them 'goodnight,' before he scurried off to his own bed.
It had been an odd couple of days, but then again, with the six Marauders, when wasn't it?