Sunday, March 5, 1978
"What are you all doing right now?" James asked, looking up from his Quidditch magazine to peer around at his friends.
"Why do I have the feeling you're going to ask us to do something that requires effort?" Sirius was stretched out on the floor in front of the fire beside Mary, his eyes halfway closed as she ran her fingers through his hair.
James grinned. "It's not a lot of effort. I, er, thought we could all write Harold Minchum a letter."
There was a beat of silence, and then Sirius burst into laughter. "Why the fuck would we do that?"
"Well, because Evans has been really frustrated lately. She's written him loads of letters, and he never bothers to respond himself – it's always his assistant bloke. And I hate to see her so down, so I thought maybe if we all write to him, one of our letters will actually get through to him. And since she's in the library, I thought this would be a good opportunity to do it before she gets back." A sheepish tone crept into his voice as he added, "And, well, it might help make up for being an arsehole to her yesterday."
Remus sighed and pulled a piece of parchment from his bag, then passed one to Peter. "Are we addressing a particular blunder, or will any of his incompetent actions do?"
"I don't think it matters," James said, shrugging. "Evans disagrees with pretty much everything he does. So as long as you're telling him he's a tosser – except, obviously, using fancier, more polite phrasing – I think she'd agree with you."
"I admire your optimism, James." Mary pushed herself into a seated position and pulled parchment, quill, and ink from her bag. "But I still don't think there's much of a chance he'll actually read any of our letters. We could write him a bunch of silly nonsense and it wouldn't make much of a difference."
"Ooh, can I tell him his mustache is bloody stupid?" Sirius asked. "How does he get the ends to curl like that – I bet if he spent less time shaping his mustache and focused instead on, I dunno, being a decent Minister for Magic, we'd be in much better shape."
"Can we tell him his name is stupid?" Mary asked. "Harold Minchum – it just sounds like a tosser's name, doesn't it?"
"Or what about that way he sort of glares into the camera?" Peter imitated the expression, knitting his brows together and pressing his lips into a tight line. "Like he thinks looking tough will impress people or something."
"Hmm." James ran a hand through his hair. "What if we all send one proper, serious letter, and one where we just take the piss?"
Sirius nodded. "Great. Prongs, you write the serious one and we'll make copies for everyone to sign, and the rest of us will write the silly ones." His hand was flying across the parchment before James had time to argue.
Twenty minutes later, James passed around copies of his letter for the others to sign. While he gathered them up and set them on the table to allow the ink to dry, his friends read out the choicest bits of their own letters.
"'You claim to be a hardliner, determined to fortify Azkaban with an arseload of Dementors, but I've heard from a very reliable source that you wear pink unicorn pajamas,'" Sirius read, nodding across the table at Peter.
"'Your cologne is rumored to smell like a mixture between hippogriff dung and Celestina Warbeck's dirty pants,'" Mary added.
"How would you know what Celestina Warbeck's dirty pants smell like, Macdonald?" Sirius demanded, snorting with laughter.
"We don't know what Harold Minchum's cologne smells like at all," she retorted, rolling her eyes. "This is hypothetical – use your imagination."
"You know what would be the perfect ending to these brilliant literary masterpieces?" Remus asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"A 'P.S. There's nothing actually wrong with wearing unicorn pajamas?'" Peter suggested.
"No, if we signed the letters with fake names." Remus twirled his quill between his fingers and looked around at them. "You know the sort of names I mean."
"Hugh G. Rection, Wilma Dickfit, and all of their fine associates?" Sirius asked.
Remus nodded, smirking. "Exactly."
Later when Lily returned from the library, James was gathering up the letters.
"I'm just going to nip out to the owelry," he said after she leaned down to kiss him. "We're sending our love to Harold Minchum."
Her eyes widened in surprise. "What?" Her finger brushed the pile of letters and a smile spread across her face. "You all did this for me?"
"Well, for you and for the state of the country," James said, shrugging. "We all think he's rubbish. You're just the most, er, vocal about it."
Lily stared at the pile of letters for a moment, her eyes earnest and full of affection, before throwing her arms around him.
"Thank you," she murmured into his ear. "It means so much to me."
He traced his thumb along her jaw and smiled, then slipped out of the common room and headed for the owelry. Smiling to himself, he recalled the names signed at the bottom of the letters in his hand: Ben Dover. Hugh Janus. Enorma Stits. Mike Oxlong. James chuckled as he imagined Minchum's assistant screening these letters. His mind drifted back to Lily and the joy on her face when she saw the stack of letters. There was no need to mention the silly names to her, he decided. Either way, the letters would serve their purpose. He let himself dwell on the happiness on Lily's face, until it filled him up and drove away any worry or stress dragging him down. Clutching the letters to his chest, he picked up his pace, eager to send them off so Harold Minchum could enjoy their contents as soon as possible.
Wednesday, March 8, 1978
Lily stepped into the workroom and shut the door behind her, collapsing into the chair and taking a moment to gather herself. The room smelled of herbs with the acrid scent of burnt potion lurking underneath. It was dim and quiet, insulated from the bustle and noise of the rest of the castle, and Lily closed her eyes as she savored the moment of peace.
When she was ready she prepared her ingredients and set the potion to stew, then took out the books and notes she had stashed under the table. Her heartbeat quickened as she scanned the notes for the cramped, untidy handwriting so different from her own. The thought of him pawing through her notes and guessing at her motives filled her with disgust, but there was also a hint of another emotion that she didn't want to examine. Her eyes traveled over the list of poisons she had compiled over the last few weeks, pausing on the few miniscule words Severus had scrawled at the bottom: I hope this means you're planning to poison Potter.
She scowled at the words, imagining the smirk curling his lips as he bent close to the parchment. Snarky git, she thought, smiling with satisfaction as she read her response: How do you know I'm not planning to poison you?
Below it he had added a new message, and she couldn't help hearing his voice as she read You wouldn't waste your time trying to poison me. We both know I'm far too clever to fall for it. Potter, on the other hand, would probably drink hemlock if you batted your eyelashes and told him it was pumpkin juice.
She rolled her eyes and repressed the smile that had spread, unbidden, across her face, then dipped her quill into the ink and wrote Sod you.
A soft hissing told her the potion had reached a steady boil, so she gave it her full attention for the next few minutes as she added several handfuls of nettles and counted twenty clockwise stirs. When she returned to her notes, her eyes were drawn to the bottom of the parchment where Severus had written a question. Her heart pounded as she read and reread the words, torn between fear that he guessed what she was up to and excitement that this might be the exact solution she had been looking for.
Have you considered aconite?
She stared at the parchment for a full minute before the potion demanded her attention once more. Once she had bottled the potion and cleaned up her work area, she returned to the parchment and reread his message. She agonized over her response, crafting three different options in her head before heaving an irritated sigh and dipping the quill into the ink.
You might be onto something, she wrote. She hesitated, her quill hovering over the parchment as she considered whether to add Thanks, Sev. It felt like such a natural way to end a note to a friend, a friend who had just helped her with an incredibly complicated and demanding task, except he wasn't her friend anymore. The memory of that day by the lake still stung, and it would take more than a couple wry remarks and a helpful suggestion to erase the memory of his cold rejection. Why am I even responding to him? I should tear these notes up, or at the very least, hide them somewhere he won't find them.
She did neither. Instead, she simply added Thanks at the end of her answer and returned the parchment and book to the hiding spot under the table. On the way back to Gryffindor Tower she stopped at the library and hurried to check out another couple of books while Madam Pince watched the clock and muttered about closing in a minute. While she walked back to the common room with her new books tucked under her arm, she considered telling James about her possible breakthrough. She could picture his face lighting up with excitement and pride as she explained her idea. The happiness would drain from his face as soon as she explained where the idea had come from, however, and she grimaced as she imagined him filling with rage, perhaps even betrayal. He couldn't find out – not yet – so she tucked the books into her bag and reported that it had been a typical boring evening in the workroom when he asked about her night.
As she lay awake that night, pressed against James as his breath tickled the back of her neck, she again wondered why she was keeping this from him. What did she have to gain from talking to Severus, and why was she even bothering when he had treated her with such contempt? She turned the question over and over in her mind, but she fell asleep before she came to an answer.
Thursday, March 9, 1978
There was a tense, urgent quality to the chatter in the Great Hall as James watched Lily spread jam on her toast. She jerked it out of the way as an owl swooped down to deliver The Daily Prophet, but the toast fell from her hand the moment she unrolled the newspaper and read the front page headline.
"Oh, God," she breathed, reaching for James's hand.
He peered over her shoulder and felt his stomach drop. A sick sense of dread filled him as he tried to concentrate on her warm fingers in his, sticky with jam and trembling slightly as she continued to read.
"Fuck, what is it?" Sirius asked, his face arranged into a neutral expression although James could see his fingers clenched around his goblet of pumpkin juice. Beside him, Mary gazed down into her coffee as she wrapped a curl around her finger until the tip began to lose circulation.
"Another attack," Remus said, looking up from his own copy of The Daily Prophet. "This one's bad. Ten people dead, and the whole building was destroyed…" His voice trailed off and he shook his head. "Things just keep getting worse, don't they?"
James glanced down at the newspaper, then looked up at Peter, frowning. "Pete, is that…?"
"It's not far from where I live, yeah," Peter replied, his face pale as he set down his fork. "I've got to write to my mum about this. You know she still refuses to read the Prophet? Bloody ridiculous."
"Can we practice dueling tonight?" Lily asked. "I know you wanted to try to get the map back, but…"
James saw tears welling in her eyes as she picked up her discarded piece of toast and dropped it onto her plate, then attempted to clean the smeared jam from the table. Her hands shook as she gripped her wand, and she only moved the jam around rather than removing it.
"Of course we can." He released her hand and reached for his own wand, Vanishing the jam before taking her hand in both of his. "Sod the map. It'll be okay, Evans. We'll train hard, and we'll figure out some sort of plan, and as soon as we're out of here we'll do something about all of this."
She looked at him, her lips trembling as tears rolled down her cheeks. He saw her pain etched clearly on her face, and he knew each loss gnawed at her as though it was her own family member found dead in an alley or dismembered in a burning home rather than faceless strangers. The raw compassion made him fall in love with her all over again, but it also broke his heart to see her so devastated day after day. We can't go on like this forever, he thought desperately. Something's got to change.
"Alright, someone give me one good reason I shouldn't nip up to the dormitory before Herbology to get my flask," Sirius said, eying Lily's newspaper with distaste. "Because I'm already fucking over the day, and it's not even nine."
After dinner that night, they blew off their homework and headed straight for the unused classroom on the second floor. James noticed a tangible difference in the atmosphere that night: the lighthearted laughter had been replaced by intense, determined focus. He, Sirius, and Lily stood back to back, battling Remus, Mary, and Seven. Peter looked on from the edge of the room, his eyes wide as he followed the spells that flew through the air. When they finally collapsed onto the ground, gasping for breath and leaning on each other, James felt a sense of grim satisfaction.
"When we go up against those fuckers, we're going to be unstoppable," he murmured, looking around at the flushed faces of his friends as he clenched his hands into fists. "Absolutely bloody unstoppable."
"Can we go again?" Lily asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.
James' legs were heavy and he wanted nothing more than to return to Gryffindor Tower and crawl into bed, but he couldn't bear the desperate, pleading expression on Lily's face, so he hauled himself to his feet and helped her up. The rest of them looked at each other and followed suit, save for Sirius who remained propped against the wall, taking occasional pulls from his flask.
James had just dodged a particularly strong Stunning Spell when he heard someone clear their throat. Frowning, he turned and dropped his wand in surprise as he saw McGonagall standing in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest. Her lips formed a thin, hard line, and he felt the force of her glare boring into him. His eyes met Lily's, and together they crossed the room to stand before McGonagall, their hands clasped together. Behind them, James heard Seven muttering to Remus while Peter and Mary suppressed giggles. From the edge of the room there was a soft clunk as Sirius concealed his flask behind his back.
"What exactly is going on here?"
The question was directed at the whole group, yet James felt compelled to answer for all of them.
Several explanations popped into his head, but he dismissed them all. There was something in the set of McGonagall's jaw and her stiff, straight posture that repelled bullshit.
"We're practicing dueling," he said, as though they had every right to be doing just that. "We have been for months now. We thought it would be prudent, considering the current state of things. I know it's past curfew and we're out of bounds, but we needed a place with enough room, and the only time we're all free is in the evenings."
He met McGonagall's gaze as he caught his breath and squeezed Lily's hand. McGonagall was silent for so long that when she cleared her throat, the abrupt sound made James jump.
"You have been doing this for months, of your own volition, for what purpose, exactly?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.
James glanced at Lily again, then looked back at McGonagall, frowning. "Well, so we're ready, I suppose."
"Ready for what, Mr. Potter?"
"Ready for anything. You saw the paper today. You know the direction things are going. I'm not going to stand by and let that sort of thing happen. If it comes down to it, I'm going to fight – to the death, if need be. And I know that sounds really bloody dramatic, but I don't think it's out of the realm of possibility – not the way things are going. So we've been practicing, and we've gotten good – well, you saw. Sirius, too, even though you didn't get a chance to see him in action."
"He's right, I'm excellent," Sirius piped up from the edge of the room.
Her lips twitched the tiniest bit, but then she flattened them into the same thin line again, and James realized he had been rambling.
"I guess you're going to have to give us detention and dock points, which is fair, but I'm not sorry for doing this, because I think it's important, even more important than school rules, which is why I was willing to risk my impeccable reputation as Head Boy. Anyway, I'm sorry for going on like that, and I'm sorry for swearing, and now we will hang our heads in shame and escort ourselves back to Gryffindor Tower."
McGonagall's lips twitched again, and then she broke into a full smile.
"Just a minute, Mr. Potter," she said before turning to face Sirius. "Black, have you been smoking in here?"
"Absolutely not, Professor. I would never pollute a classroom with my disgusting habit." He grinned and added, "Now, if you'd asked me whether I smoked out in the corridor because Remus told me off for trying to smoke in here, well, that would be a different story."
She shook her head in exasperation. "On your feet, Mr. Black."
He frowned but followed her instructions, then stood there slouching against the wall with his hands in his pockets.
"Was your previous assessment accurate, Black?"
"My previous assessment?"
She sighed. "Your previous assessment of your dueling skills, yes. I believe you described them as 'excellent.'"
"Of course they are," he said, grinning. "When have I ever overestimated my own abilities, Professor? It's a pity you didn't get to see me in action. You'd be impressed."
She gave a dubious sniff and drew her wand. "Very well. Go ahead and impress me, Mr. Black."
His eyes widened. "What, you mean duel you? Here? Now?"
He looked to James for confirmation, but James only shrugged and led Lily to the edge of the room. If the two of them were going to duel, he didn't fancy getting in the way.
"Here. Now." McGonagall's smile widened as she took several steps backward and raised her wand. "Wand at the ready, Mr. Black."
"I can't do that," he stammered. "You're–"
"I'm what, Mr. Black?" she asked without lowering her wand. "Old? Slow? Female? Don't be silly. Wand at the ready."
Sirius stood staring at her with his mouth open before he snapped out of it and drew his wand. A grin spread across his face as they faced off against each other. James took a step closer, afraid to blink and miss something. Around him the other watched, transfixed. For a moment, nobody moved, and the room was silent save for their collective breathing and Peter's foot beating an anxious rhythm against the floor.
"Three, two, one," McGonagall said, her voice even and calm as she held her wand poised, waiting for Sirius to make the first move.
She knows he's an impatient git, James thought. He can't stand waiting.
As if on cue, Sirius dragged his wand through the air and a jet of red light hurtled in McGonagall's direction. She deflected it with a lazy flick of her wand, then jabbed her wand in Sirius's direction. He blocked her spell with a Shield Charm, but his casual arrogance was gone, replaced by intense concentration. Spells flew back and forth; Sirius's movements became desperate and sloppy, while McGonagall retained her air of composed precision. She only just managed to dodge one of Sirius's spells and he let out a whoop of excitement–
McGonagall jerked her hand forward, and before Sirius had time to react, his wand flew from his hand in a graceful arc and hit the floor with a clatter. He gazed at his empty hand with a bemused smile on his face, then scanned the room until he located his fallen wand. His eyes never left McGonagall as he bent to pick it up and twirled it in his fingers.
"Not bad, Mr. Black," McGonagall said, slipping her wand back into her pocket and patting a loose strand of hair back into place. "Your spells are powerful and your accuracy is quite good, but you let your guard down the second you thought you had me. Your weakness is your overconfidence." Her lips turned up into a small smile as she added, "I can't say I'm shocked."
"I suppose that's fair," Sirius said, chuckling and tucking his wand into his back pocket. "You're not bad yourself, Minnie."
She sighed. "Black."
He shrugged. "I figure we're already in a heap of trouble anyway, what's another ten points from Gryffindor?"
The hint of a smile returned as she nodded at the door. "Back to your common room, all of you. You have homework due for my class tomorrow, and I have a strong suspicion that some of you may not be finished."
"When should we report for detention?" James called over his shoulder as he turned to leave.
A peculiar expression passed over McGonagall's face. "No detention for now, Potter."
He frowned. "No?"
"No. Unless you are looking for something to do with your Friday night, in which case I believe Professor Flitwick's blackboards could use a good cleaning."
"That's alright," James said, holding up a hand. "I'm no good at any sort of cleaning. Have a good evening, Professor McGonagall, and thanks for not knocking Sirius on his arse, because I don't think his ego would ever recover."
"Language, Potter." She glanced sideways at Sirius and pursed her lips. "I think Potter's underestimating the size of your ego, Black. It would take more than being knocked down by a slow old lady to even put a dent in it."
James managed to hold in his laughter until they were halfway down the corridor, but then he had to lean on Sirius to keep himself upright.
"It's not that bloody funny," Sirius grumbled.
"Yeah it was." Remus had tears running down his face. "Bloody hell, I wish she had knocked you on your arse. That would have been the best day of my entire life."
"Oh, shut up, Moony. Seven had you on the ground the first time she dueled with us, and she hardly weighs more than a house elf."
"Does anyone else find it odd that she didn't give us any sort of punishment?" Lily asked, frowning.
"Nope." Mary shook her head, sending a few curls flying into her face. "I'm going to consider a gift, and I'm not going to ask any questions."
"I like that plan," Peter said, grinning. "But I think we should all do an extra good job on the Transfiguration homework, just in case she changes her mind. And I'm going to need some help."
As they climbed the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, laughing about McGonagall's comments and marveling at their luck, James returned to Lily's question. He had been happy to accept McGonagall's dismissal of the punishment, but the more he thought about it, the odder it seemed. And why had she dueled Sirius? His mind turned over the issue until he resolved to follow Mary's lead and accept the gift without asking any questions.