A/N: content warning for animal death + cruelty, slight gore, general unpleasantness, religion, and public displays of affection.
November 7th, 1975
He traced her outline in the air with his finger that night, long after the others had fallen asleep, and hugged her words to his heart like a first teddy bear. Around one, he crept into the bathroom, ran a cold shower, wet his hair, and slammed his palms against the tiled walls. Stop. Stop. Stop. He couldn't bring himself to worry about the whispers, he could barely bring himself to worry about his girlfriend. In the end, he conceded to let himself have one night, but the ache of guilt in his chest refused to let him have peace. He slept fitfully, waking up at every false alarm of red or green, fearing it was her hair, her eyes, only to realise it had been a Christmas wreath.
He woke earlier than the others, but that wasn't unusual, and took another shower. The old watch around his wrist indicated that it was about five-thirty. Rolls of parchment littered the floor, alongside spilled ink and forgotten or broken quills. Dale, to his credit, asked no questions. James dressed quickly and stowed his wand into his pocket, as well as a folded page of a book. After pulling on his shoes, he went downstairs, chucking a 'hello' to Peeves, who blew him a raspberry.
It was still dark out, and so he lit the tip of his wand and stowed it in his shirt, making his chest glow. He smiled, and started into a jog. He rounded the perimeter of the school and then went up a familiar set of stairs, lifting his knees to his chest with each step. James stopped at the top, bending over, hands on his knees, catching his breath. A path squared off the training grounds, lit with a few floating torches, and it led back to the tower connecting to the castle. When the sweat began to freeze on his cheeks, he walked the path. Figures on broomsticks shot through the sky above, calling to one another and throwing a quaffle. It took him a moment to recognise them; Slytherins. More specifically, the Slytherin team who had smashed Gryffindor last weekend. The ones they'd resolved to follow around. To track their movements. He fingered his wand. Amongst them was Regulus, throwing the quaffle half-heartedly. Or, if he was actually trying, quite shittily. But he figured it was probably the former; Sirius did the same. If he wasn't practising specifically for his position and there wasn't a bet or a challenge involved, he might as well have been asleep. Why try when you don't need to? Yeah, James had been raised as the heir to a multi-million-galleon fortune, but his father had worked for the money, not just - well, who knew what the fuck Sirius' father did. Sirius said his only contribution to society was single-handedly propping up the cigar businesses. Maybe that was the difference between them, the slim margin. James did try - he couldn't help it that everything came naturally to him, but he did put effort in.
James silently snuffed out the light of his wand tip. "Huh," he said. He hadn't been sure it'd work. Regulus shuffled back on his broom, and let a quaffle whiz straight past him, making no attempt to catching it. A girl's voice yelled something, and he returned in a lazy, cold tone. James ran his hand through his hair. Marlene wasn't someone he would've picked to start rumours, honestly. He wouldn't have put her on the 'bitchy' end of the spectrum. Sirius had to have seriously pissed her off. He considered that as he watched his sworn enemies streak across the pre-dawn sky. He considered Lily telling him not to be a prick, and his stomach hurt, and he wished she hadn't spoken to him at all. She could've shouted at Sirius, couldn't she? It was his fault. James grabbed a tuft of his hair, groaned, and tapped his wand against his leg. No point in pissing off Sirius at the minute - he was kind of a necessity. But Regulus sat on his broom the same way, spoke in almost the same cadence, the same voice, if a little quieter and with different words.
He feel Lily, by the fire, curled up behind his chest. Her every word beat flames through him, and planted another flower in the garden of guilt that strangled his lungs. Don't be a prick to her. He didn't want to be; Godric, he was trying not to be, really, really fucking hard. And there Regulus was, lazing on his broom like it was a throne he was born to, and he let a perfectly good pass tumble towards the clipped grass on the training grounds. James stretched his fingers. Fuck. Fucking Regulus, and his stupid arsehole mates, and - fucking fuck!
"Regulus!" he shouted, before he could think. Every Slytherin eye turned to him, but his wand was already out, pointed. "Harden up! Duro!" Chasers had good aim. Everyone went on about beaters' aims, but they could always follow the bludger up and bash it again in the right direction. Most people didn't want to intercept bludgers, either, not even other beaters if they were going at too great a speed. Chasers had one shot to get the quaffle where it needed to be, to make sure it wouldn't be intercepted in its course, to make sure the other person could catch it, and there was no follow-up - as soon as you threw, you were flying ahead, going to the next place you might be useful for a pass. You had to trust your first throw.
James had great aim.
The spell hit Regulus' hair, not his head, saving him serious consequences. Immediately, the carefully-combed, meticulously-gelled hair turned to stone. Heavy stone. It was difficult to look so high and mighty with a rock on your head, and sure enough, Regulus' neck bent under the weight. The other Slytherins guffawed and jeered at him. James grinned, adjusted his grip on his wand, and took off running.
"Potter!" Lucinda Talkalot shouted, pointing at him, and his feet only moved faster, pounding the stone. None of them had their wands in the air with them - against school policy, and it looked like they were following it - but they all dove to the ground at once. He could hear them landing, throwing their brooms down, and shouting at him. Someone must've grabbed their wand from their bag, because a flock of purple butterflies flew towards him and circled his head, flapping their wings furiously. He waved his hands, knocking them out of his line of sight, and dashed through the door to the tower, panting. A hex hit the door hard, and it wobbled, but remained strong and sturdy as ever. He locked the door with a quick spell, and returned to Gryffindor Tower for his third shower of the day before dawn had broken.
Lisbete found him at breakfast, and kissed him on the cheek. He felt ill. She slipped herself between him and Sirius. She'd pulled her golden hair into pigtails that tumbled over her shoulders, and he wished she hadn't, because it made her look rather younger than she was.
"I like your hair out," he said, and touched his fingers to one of the pigtails. The Slytherins kept shooting him dirty looks, and they weren't the only one; two fourth year girls had got up and moved when he and his mates plonked down next to them.
"Thank you," Lisbete said. "I'm matching with Cathy today. A bit of fun, to celebrate the weekend."
"Oh," he said. "Right. Er - that's cool."
"I like your hair," she said, and began brushing through it with her fingers. It felt nice, actually, and he half-shut his eyes, letting the sensation wash over him. Her fingers were careful, pressing into his scalp on occasion, but always purposefully, in a sort of massage. Someone giggled. He guessed at random and sent a rude gesture in Peter's direction, and Peter outwardly laughed, so James figured he'd guessed correctly.
Hoots rang through the Great Hall, and Lisbete stopped her administrations. James sighed, opening his eyes.
"That was really good," James forced out. Why was it forced? He meant it, he did, really, honestly, truly. It had felt really nice.
"Thank you," Lisbete said.
"That's your owl, mate," Sirius cut in. Ignotus, sure enough, circled over himself twice before arriving at the Gryffindor table, perching carefully on edge of a glass pitcher. Vaguely, James registered that it was a miracle he hadn't tipped or broken it. A letter was clutched in the eagle owl's beak, and a package tied to his legs. The guilt in his stomach turned to worry. He grabbed the letter from Ignotus' beak and quickly replaced it with a bit of bacon. James carefully put down the letter by his plate, and made himself untie the package. He tore through the paper with one finger. Sweets peeked through the slash. His stomach felt like solid rock.
"Here, help yourselves," he said, pushing the package towards Sirius.
"You're the best, James," Peter said.
"Marry him, why don't you?" Sirius quipped, ripping off the rest of the paper. A cache of treats spilled out - eight small packs of gum in various flavours, which everyone reached for, a box of Sugar Mice than Peter swept up, a variety of Chocolate Frogs (which Remus went for first and received the 'Paracelsus' card from), Fizzing Whizbees, Peppermint Toads, Sugar Quills, Fudge Flies, Toothflossing Stringmints, and wrapped pieces of brownie and rocky road. James grimaced as his friends cheerfully made piles.
The letter was either going to bring very good news, or very bad news. The way luck had been taking him, it was probably going to be very bad.
Lisbete sucked on the end of a Sugar Quill. "Are you going to open it?" she asked him, removing the quill from her mouth with a pop.
"Yeah," he said easily. She kept looking at him. "Not right now. I'm busy, aren't I? It's just my mum." Lisbete laughed and he tucked the letter into his robes. Later. His fried eggs stared up at him accusingly with their beady eyes, and he stabbed one yolk so viciously that pieces of yellow went flying. Lisbete sniffed and picked remnants of egg from her pigtails.
The letter remained in his robes for the morning, but he didn't forget about it. He felt it shift in his pocket each time he cast a spell in Transfiguration, winking mugs in and out of existence with the vanishing spell. Potions was mainly spent loudly discussing their rankings of the boys in their year, and declaring Snivellus was at the absolute bottom of the list and that they'd all rather off themselves than have to breathe the same air as him each time he walked past. Lily glared at him for this the fifth time it happened, but she didn't go off and comfort Snivhead, to his surprise. Not that it mattered, either way. She was perfectly free to be friends with little tyrants-in-training.
Care of Magical Creatures was its usual lark, apart from the downright filthy looks from the girls (and not in a good way), and then the rest of the day was free. Remus wanted to study and so they let him go to the library to join the try-hards and the ugly Ravenclaws (the good-looking ones studied in public). The trio slipped through a hidden passageway into a small, disused and dilapidated office. An old desk sat squarely in the center of the room, its top surprisingly clean. Upon it was a decent-sized cauldron that bubbled scarlet, and a full potion-making kit, with scales and knives of different sizes and half a dozen jars, all filled with ingredients. The bookshelves were half-full, not with books but with parchment - diagrams, copied passages of books, lists, brainstorms of what they thought might happen. Sirius lit a cigarette as soon as the door shut behind them, heading for the desk chair they'd repaired a few weeks before, lifting the peeled leather back to its original place and softening the seat. Peter fiddled with the jars, checking the ingredients against a ranking-less list on a piece of parchment. James took the only other seat in the room, opposite from the door. He suspected it was once a chair children sat in to be chewed-out; it was nowhere near as comfortable as the leather chair behind the desk, and its armrests were considerably more worn down than the rest of it.
"Whose potion is that?" Peter asked, frowning.
"O'Neill's," Sirius said. "I led him here blindfolded, it's fine. Filch found his last spot and confiscated his cauldron. Slughorn's given him one to borrow, but only for class."
"What's he making?"
"Not hooch, from the smell of it. I told him to be out by today. His loss. Clean it out, Wormy."
"Tergeo."
James reached into his robes and withdrew the letter. His mother neatly spelled out his name on the front, with no sign of shakes or blotting tears. That counted for something, probably. One point on the board for nobody being dead. He turned it over and pulled at the crimson seal. A neatly-folded piece of parchment stuck out, and he took it out carefully. It was just the one piece. His mother wrote whole novels sometimes in her letters, but this was just one page.
James grit his teeth, and unfolded it carefully. The page was divided in two, a thin, dark line separating two short letters. His heart raced. He checked the signatures; the first was his mother's, and the second too shaky to determine with a glance. He traced out the letters in his mind, and then realised - his father had written to him, too. Probably a good sign. Unless -
"Don't be stupid," he said, under his breath. His father had been fine since he got out of St. Mungo's, and was back up to his usual critiques of The Practical Potioneer and corresponding with the handful of university students he mentored. Maybe all the sweets were just really, really early birthday presents. That he'd given away to his mates. And were unusually lacking, for a birthday.
"So," Sirius said. "We still need to figure out a recipe. A method. We have everything else - histories, accounts of what it's like, copies of the Ministry rules, though to be perfectly honest, I don't know why we need those. "
"Are we sure about doing this?" Pete asked. "I'm going to be honest, I keep getting a bit confused about what this is. Is this the follow-the-Slytherins-around plan or the let's-pretend-not-just-James-is-good-at-Transfiguration plan?"
"Fucking damn it, Wormy. Would we be working on follow-the-Slytherins-around if Remus isn't here?"
"I don't know, I get confused!"
"Well, that's great, just what we want, for you to let it slip in front of Remus -"
"Oi," James cut in, looking up. Sirius raised his eyebrows. James returned to the letter. He rubbed his thumb against his mother's signature, and it smudged ever so slightly.
'Dearest James,
Your father and I miss you so much. Do you read the paper? I'm considering submitting an article about how much I love you. I know that's just what you'd want. I might get this Lisbete to edit it for me. I know I sent a lot of sweets, but they're for you and Lisbete - do something nice for her. Be romantic, James. Not too romantic, though - I don't want you to need any of those things your father didn't want you to pack. Speaking of, he's doing well, as he'll tell you himself. I know you were worried about what happened last month, but I'm pleased to report there's been nothing else strange. You worry about your girlfriend and your O. . Send our love to Sirius, Remus, and Peter. Give Sirius and Remus hugs from me. They always look like the need one, the poor dears.
All my love,
Mum.'
'James,
I called in a favour from Auror Moody and he reinforced the wards around the house. He agrees with you in that we can't be too careful, but I want to stress that it was just a fall. Don't let the news get to you, James, you're still a boy, and your chief concern should be your studies, not some criminals. Do try not to get any more detentions, alright? You said you have exams next month, and please take them seriously. The best thing you can do right now is to do your best at school. Criminals like these 'Death Eaters' are usually uneducated and foolish, hence their stupid name. Those without the ability to think for themselves are the sorts who get themselves into trouble. You're a smart boy, James, so use it.
Also, you'd best treat this girl very well, James, or I'll be having words.
Love,
Dad.'
"For fuck's sake!" James exclaimed. All that - worry - for nothing. Merlin's arsehole on a stick. Why was he being such a girl?
"It's not that bad," Sirius said. "I mean, sure, they probably have Aurors posted outside, but we're good at Defence, and it's just the Department of Mysteries, I mean, who's going to care -"
"What?" he shoved the letter and its torn envelope back into his robes, and strode towards his mates. Peter was pale. "We're breaking into the Ministry?"
"I think it'd be quicker," Sirius said blithely. "They'd definitely have the recipes, maybe even the potions premade. We can get round a few aurors." James snorted.
"They're not all soft like our families. Auror Moody'd kill us just for looking at him wrong. Well, you two. He knows me."
"He wouldn't kill a Black," Sirius said, affronted. "I suppose it would just be Wormy, then."
"You two are on your own," Peter said.
"I thought you said you were going to start getting the recipe together back at the start of term," James said, resting his hands on the desk.
"I have been," Sirius said. "I've done a lot of thinking about it." The words hung in the air for a bit. James pushed his weight back off the desk. He ran his fingers through his hair.
"How are we meant to help Remus if our only option is to break into the Ministry? It's not as if we have a shitton of time, not if the Slytherins are running around fucking up the castle and showing up outside my fucking house!"
"What?" Peter demanded. James swore. That particular theory had stayed between him and Sirius.
"Yeah, have you met the Slytherins? They're a bunch of fucking losers. Reg's one of them and all he does is cry about things to Mother, I'll bet. All of those wannabe Death Eaters are bullshit and will never make the cut. I'm telling you, if someone did show up outside your house, it wasn't some kid like Selwyn - not for your family, not for Potters. Of anyone, it was probably-" Sirius stopped abruptly. James inhaled. "Probably Bellatrix," Sirius finished, staring at the cauldron. "Or her fucking weirdo husband."
James pressed his palms against his forehead, lacing his fingers through his dark curls.
"Right. Animagus shit," he said aloud. "We can do it without breaking the law, I reckon. Well, aside from becoming illegal animagi. And maybe a little bit more for fun. Okay, we can do it without doing any Azkaban-worthy crimes."
"I thought you could go to Azkaban for being an illegal animagus," Peter said.
"Well, yeah, that's what they say, but would they prosecute? No." Probably not. No, they wouldn't, don't be a pussy, James. "Would they prosecute us if we break into the Department of Mysteries? I'd say, maybe, probably, if we got caught, and we're getting a bit tall to all fit under the cloak."
"Fine, I won't come up with any ideas, then," Sirius said, ashing his cigarette.
"We could go into the Restricted Section again," James continued. "They've got heaps of stuff in there that might give us a clue. Even if they don't have the recipe, they can point us in a direction that will."
"We could hold Slughorn at wand-tip and make him brew it for us," Sirius said. "Though I think it can take a few months. We can bring snacks."
"We could ask Professor McGonagall to tutor us in more advanced human Transfiguration - say we want to do well on our O. - and then ask her questions once she trusts us," Peter piped up. James pointed a finger at Peter who looked pleasantly surprised.
"That is the most sensible idea any of us have had," James said.
"Oh - thanks!"
"That's exactly why we can't do it. How long will it take? Months? Years? I mean, I go way back with McGonagall, but I still think she'd clam up a bit. Wouldn't want us getting ideas."
"Oh."
"So, what I'm gathering is that we'll accost Slughorn at the next possible opportunity," Sirius grinned.
"Or we could go raid the Restricted Section," James said. Sirius snorted.
"The library. Sounds fun."
"Right then, you can go down to Slughorn, and I'll go to the Restricted Section, first one to get the recipe wins."
"Right. I get Peter."
"What?" James and Peter said in unison. Sirius took a last drag of his dying cigarette, and exhaled.
"I get Wormy. As a sidekick sort of thing."
"I'm not a sidekick," Peter said.
"Don't be a dick," James said lightly. "You don't get to claim him, he's shared."
"No, no, no. I'm not shared," Peter insisted.
"So we rip him in half?" Sirius asked, quirking a brow. Peter threw his hands in the air.
"No. You ask him who he wants to go with, to which he says -"
"I dunno, might get a bit annoying."
"I think it's fair for me to get Wormy - you can take your girlfriend."
"Lisbete?" James stopped.
"What, you've got two girls?"
"No," James said, slightly affronted. That would be a dick move. His mother would murder him. The world didn't need more murder at the minute, as far as he was concerned. Especially not of handsome young men. "Lisbete - I couldn't bring Lisbete along. What if we got caught?" Lisbete, as far as he knew, didn't have the same lengthy history with detention, or letters home, or sneaking into the castle at night. It felt kind of...corrupting, to even think of dragging her along. What was she going to do, look so pretty that the books jumped towards her?
"Well, you could just say you were looking for a place to snog, and the prefects might feel sorry for you," Peter said. James eyed him.
"Pity the prefect who pities me," he said.
"No, I'm busy. So, I get Wormy, and you take your girlfriend along," Sirius said. "Done."
A nice spread of food sprawled out across the picnic blanket, even if most of it was more suited to high summer rather than late autumn. Lisbete's pigtails now hung in plaits, and she beamed at him, nose scrunching.
"Jamie," she gushed, standing on tip-toe. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he kissed her gently on the forehead. Her skin was smooth and warm, and her fingertips tickled his nape.
"You've done really good," he said, pulling away after a long moment. "It all looks great." If James had to put together a picnic, it wouldn't've looked anything like this. He probably would've transfigured something into a ratty blanket and thrown down a sleeve of crackers and a couple of butterbeers.
"Thank you," Lisbete beamed, and took his hand. They sat down together, his foot nudging a wheel of cheese. There was just - so much food. How did she think of all this? Never, in a thousand years, would James have thought to take dip to anything, let alone three kinds of dip. He leaned back on his hands. Lisbete smoothed down her skirt, and looped her legs over his.
"How's class?" James asked, leaning over to grab a grape. He popped it in his mouth. Lisbete twirled one of her plaits.
"Um, it was good," she said. He raised his eyebrows, still chewing. She sighed. "Jamie - people were talking about you. In class." He swallowed his grape.
"I'd talk about me too," he said. "I mean, if I wasn't me, I'd probably be obsessed with myself." He flashed a grin at her. She stuck a finger through a gap in her plait.
"They were saying bad things," she said. Bloody hell, Marlene. Why was he copping Sirius' flack? And then he heard Lily again, talking to him last night. He bunched his robes in his fist.
"People say bad things about people they're jealous of," James said. "I know what they're talking about. It's not true."
"Oh." Her face relaxed. "I knew that."
She'd procured sandwiches for them, little finger ones, and James ate heartily. She talked a lot as he chomped through lunch, about Cathy, about her classes, about Total Witch, a little about her siblings. With a jolt, James realised he'd never given much thought to her family. She'd just appeared at Hogwarts out of nowhere, he'd supposed, arm-in-arm with Catherine Roshfinger. She had two brothers, he discovered; an elder one in Ravenclaw, a prefect, who he could sort-of maybe picture when he concentrated really hard, and recognised as one who was always keen to dock him points. Her little brother had a name he at least remembered from the Sorting Ceremony at the start of the year, and he had joined Gryffindor.
"And my older sister finished school in June," Lisbete said, head on his shoulder. "She was in Slytherin. Valencia. Do you know her?"
"Valencia," he said aloud, racking his brain. Valencia, Valencia…"Oh! Not Val? She got with most of those try-hard terrorists in Slytherin."
"What?" Lisbete demanded, sitting up. Shit. James faltered. She shifted away from him.
"I - it's probably not true." He'd never given it a thought before. That was just what people said - Val from Slytherin went through the gang of boys that roamed around hexing muggle-borns. Once something got repeated enough, it was basically fact. He grimaced. What did that mean for him right now?
"Why would you even say that?" Lisbete sniffed.
"It's just what people used to say," James said.
"Is what you used to say?"
"Fuck, I don't know - she's a Slytherin, I mean, if there's shit to talk about them, I'll talk it, because it tends to be true."
"So what? If I was in Slytherin, you'd spread awful lies about me?" She'd moved almost to the edge of the picnic blanket, and her rosy lips pouted. He threw his hands in the air.
"You're not a Slytherin, though, because you're a good person, so it doesn't matter." They'd been having a great picnic all of two minutes ago; couldn't they just go back to that?
"Not all Slytherins are bad people," she said, getting to her feet. "Most of my family's in Slytherin." James got to his feet, staring at her.
"I wasn't having a go, just leave it."
"No. Do you really think all Slytherins are bad?"
"You sound like Lily!" he shouted. The words rung in his ears. His face collapsed. "No, no, I'm sorry, Lisbete, I didn't mean to yell -"
"Fuck off," she said. "I worked really hard on this picnic. I don't need you ruining it." Her face was hard, but tears glittered in the corners of her eyes. He took a step forward, dodging a plate of biscuits.
"I'm sorry," he said again. He felt sick to his stomach. He put his hand on her shoulder. She flinched.
"Please, Jamie," she said, looking at the ground. He wrung his hands together. Why had he bought up Lily? He didn't even like her anymore. She was a childhood crush, and he was fifteen now, nearly an adult, really. It was the sort of thing she'd say.
"There was something I wanted to ask you about," he said, truthful. She fiddled with her plaits.
"Ask me later, then."
"Right. I will." She still wouldn't look at him. He waited, but she just twisted her hair.
Girls. Impossible. And now his mum was going to kill him.
November 9th, 1975
Lisbete didn't seek him out for the rest of the weekend, and so he left her to it. He was busy, anyways. Friday night saw the girls in the common room glaring at him so ferociously that he and his mates ended up crouching under his Invisibility Cloak to duck out for a smoke, crossing their fingers that nobody would see their shoes peeking out. On Saturday, it rained again, and so the boys stayed up in their dormitory playing Gobstones and chess and daring Peter to eat ten Pepper Imps in a row (and then convincing him he didn't need the Hospital Wing, no way, and just needed to chug water). Sunday saw Quidditch practice for most of the morning, which meant dodging Marlene's bludgers, because apparently he and Sirius were one and the same. Mental. In the afternoon, he reconvened with the others in their dormitory.
"We can't be the first to try this," Sirius said, looking up from his notes. "No way. The school's been around nearly a thousand years. I'm sure at least sixty-three first years have wandered into a passageway in the castle and never came back. That wouldn't look good for Hogwarts, they would've tried to make maps to give out to younger students sometime after the twenty-sixth one was sacrificed to Hogwarts' hallowed halls."
"Sixty-three?" Peter asked, swallowing.
"I'm probably low-balling it," Sirius admitted, sighing. James tossed his parchment aside.
"Or, putting it out there, nobody cares about first years, and we're just brilliant," James suggested. Remus looked at him a moment, and then poked him in the cheek. James swatted at him. "Oi! What was that for?"
"Deflating your head," said Remus.
They debated back and forth; had it been done before? Had it been tried before? Sirius stood up, pacing the room, and lit a cigarette. Only a few moments later, he stopped, and it dropped to the floor. Peter grabbed it and Sirius took it from him without looking.
"My great-grandfather was the Headmaster," he said, and then turned, eyes shining. "If anyone had a map, it would be him. He was the Headmaster for nearly thirty years."
"Isn't he a bit...erm, dead?" Remus asked.
"A touch," Sirius said. "But who is his direct heir? Me. Who is currently the head of the Black family? My grandfather. Does he hate me? Not as much as my parents do. Will he assist if I write a convincing letter? Most likely." His eyes crinkled in a proper smile. James grinned, and got to his feet.
"We are the backbone of this dormitory, aren't we?" James said, shaking his hand with mock-pomposity.
"Indeed," Sirius smiled.
"You lot just get the luck of being related to rich and famous people," Peter grumbled.
"Envy's a sin, Pete," James informed him.
"So's pride," Remus said, raising his brows.
Sirius retrieved his best quill and glittering sapphire ink, and sat down at the desk between Sirius and James' beds. James sat on the edge of his bed and read over Sirius' shoulder.
"How thick are you going to lay it on?" James asked, after reading the first two lines, which began, 'To my esteemed grandfather, Arcturus Rasales Black, Order of Merlin, 1st Class.'
"He has an Order of Merlin?" Peter exclaimed.
"Yes, he does," Sirius said, dignifying only Pete with an answer. James flopped back on his bed.
"What if your great-grandfather didn't have a map?" James asked.
"No, shut up, I need to be convinced that he did, otherwise I can't get myself through this," Sirius said, ferociously dotting an 'i'. Remus said down on the bed beside him, and wordlessly handed him a scrap of parchment. James propped himself up on one elbow and examined it.
'Trick the castle. Lines, not walls.'
Beneath it was the shape of a pentagon, with five rectangles sprouting from each straight line. He looked up at Remus, who just smiled mysteriously. James returned the scrap.
"I'm losing my identity," Sirius announced, midway through his letter. "If I start calling people mudbloods or growing an affinity for green, smack me upside the head, please."
"You already have an affinity for green, mate," James said.
"Bastard," Sirius muttered.
"Well, I wouldn't be surprised, my mother's nearly as good-looking as me, she could have her pick of men."
"You're a marvel," Remus said, shaking his head. James beamed.
"Yeah, I know."
Sirius finished his letter up and attached it to his owl, Thutmose. "I have deeply disgusted and shamed myself,' he said, feeding the bird a treat. "Go on, inform my family how far I've fallen." Thutmose soared out the window without further instruction. Sirius slammed it shut, and took a long drag from his cigarette. He'd gone pretty much a whole pack in one day. It was almost impressive.
With that taken care of, they spent a few spare minutes talking in circles about nothing important, and then headed down to dinner. Alisha Chaise fixed him with a glare as they went past. He waved at her pleasantly. She pulled a face, and then dove into conversation with Nessa Borden and Renee Walker from the year above. Marlene sat next to Lily, and looked right past him at Sirius. James turned his head. Sirius stared at the teachers' table and gave Peter one-word answers out of the corner of his mouth. Bloody brilliant. Whatever the fuck had happened when Sirius and Marlene had gone to hook up - he figured they hadn't quite got there, given the absence of any gloating - what did it have to do with him? He didn't mind people talking about him, but it was weird to have Gryffindors angry. Unless it was about the losing house points thing. He doubted it, though.
"Everyone's looking," Peter groaned, stabbing his dinner. "I wish I was a whatsit already." James' eyes goggled. He ran a finger across his throat. Sirius scowled.
"A whatsit?" Remus asked, amused.
"Um," Peter said. Sirius sighed, pushing peas around his plate.
"Fucking hell, Wormy, that's a kid's story. Nobody can turn invisible at will. You aren't a demiguise, are you?" Sirius said. James relaxed. "Well, you might have the brains of one."
"Wanting to be a demiguise is very admirable," James assured Peter. Remus pressed his lips together, and got that look he always got when he tried not to laugh. James puffed up his chest and continued. "Is that why you're taking Divination? You're really playing the long game."
"What?" Peter said. James widened his eyes again. "Ohhhh."
"Trust me, you don't want to turn into anything that's not human," Remus said.
"Painful?" James asked.
"Oh, unimaginably so," Remus said off-handedly, cutting into his meat. James' forehead creased. "Ah, no, I was joking. It's fine."
"Right," James said slowly. It could be hard to tell with Remus. James sipped his pumpkin juice, and filed that one away for later.
"Well," Peter said, after a while. "I...um...I do really want to become a demiguise. And James, Sirius, you did say you'd help me...and the weekend's nearly over. So. Um. I was thinking maybe you could help me tonight?" Remus frowned.
"Is this what you lot talk about when I'm not around?"
"We also talk about what a ladykiller you are," Sirius said helpfully. Remus rolled his eyes.
"Ha, ha. Am I also invited to help you with your demiguise transformation? Given that I have more experience than you three combined on the topic."
"No," Peter said quickly. James hit him lightly.
"Pete!" Remus' expression turned murky.
"I see."
"Good one, Worm," Sirius said darkly. Peter narrowed his eyes.
"Don't call me that, you're being mean."
"And you weren't?" Sirius snapped, lifting his goblet to his lips. James banged his fist on the table.
"Do we all have to be pissed off with each other?" he said.
"I'm not mad," Remus said, not meeting his eyes.
"Me neither, I'm completely fucking delighted," Sirius said, raising his drink. "Cheers me, James." James did so, without a smile. Sirius clinked their goblets hard, and James' sloshed down the side and onto his hand. He held it out to Peter, who cleaned it up with that handy charm of his. The rest of dinner passed with only an occasional remark.
They stood to leave about the same time as everyone else, and James felt eyes on him. He returned each gaze he picked out with a grin, and a wink for some of the girls, who either looked jubilant or murderous with no in-between.
"Well, I'd best be off, I have droll homework and prefect reports that need doing, and as those are my sole interests, that's what I'm going to do," Remus announced. James reached an arm out to him.
"Mate, come on, Pete didn't -"
"It's fine. They do need doing," Remus said, shrugging off his arm. James pulled back, frowning.
"I'm sorry," Peter said.
"I'm sorry Peter's a cunt," Sirius elaborated. Remus gave Sirius a small smile, grimaced at James, and walked off without so much as a single glance at Peter, who slumped. James thumped in on the back as they left the hall.
"Perk up, Pete. We need to come up with a better excuse next time. And not be so blunt about it. We're trying to help him, we shouldn't be making him feel shitty in the process," James said. Peter nodded.
"I'm going to come with you tonight," Peter said, more self-assured than usual.
"Righto," James said. It wasn't as if he'd had the chance to ask Lisbete to come anyways. Sirius looked up.
"No, you're not. You're coming with me. I need a word," Sirius said. Peter stepped closer to James.
"Come on, Sirius," James said. "One fuck-up."
"One? He nearly gave us away to Remus, and do you know how shitty he would feel if he knew we were doing this? And then he fucks up the cover I gave him by being a complete twat. Remus will know we're all lying to him, and I, for one, don't want him to feel like the scum of the earth because Wormy's too thick to keep his mouth shut!" Sirius folded his arms across his chest, but James didn't miss the movement that allowed the tip of his wand to poke out from his sleeve. He stepped between Peter and Sirius.
"He's not thick, he made a mistake," James said. "Look, everyone needs some time to cool off. Pete's gonna come with me."
"Maybe if you made him talk for himself he'd be able to string a few words together," Sirius said, stepping closer. His eyes were dark, narrowed. James knew that look. He could see the tremor in his jaw, the hitch of his breath.
"Sirius," he said softly, so not even Peter could hear. They locked eyes. Sirius broke away first. James relaxed. Then he shook his arm, and drew his wand, pointing it..
"No -!" James grabbed Peter, pulling him behind. A section of wall turned black on the opposite side of the corridor from them. Sirius tucked his wand away.
"I wish it would crumble," he said.
"Nah," James said. "You'd get a detention, then."
"Oh, well, that'd be new."
"Definitely. But, seriously, everyone's been in such a fucking mood lately. All of us tonight, Lisbete, Marlene -"
"Marlene?" Sirius looked at him oddly. James shrugged. Everyone's putting their feet in their mouths, too.
"Yeah. She was a real bitch at practice today. Don't blame her, I can't believe the Slytherins won," he said, affecting gloominess.
"Fucking Slytherins. Come on, Wormy, let's see if we can run into Snivellus on the way and teach him what happens when you make up rumours in such a dim-witted, uninspired way. We'll meet you later, James. I'll be good." James raised a hand in farewell, and Sirius stormed off towards the stairs heading to the dungeons. Peter threw James one last worried look, and James nodded encouragingly, so he scampered after Sirius.
James headed to the common room, rather than the library. He took the long way, thinking, thinking, thinking hard. His parents always told him to do just one thing, and do it thoroughly; when he'd got older, he'd become a fan of the phrase, 'kill two birds with one stone'. And then, he'd come to a realisation: why be limited to just two birds? By the time he reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, he had a plan.
He withdrew his wand and shut his eyes, focusing hard. He inhaled strawberries, pictured pink swirling skirts, sunlit days, heard the tap of shoes, felt her lips against his.
"Orchideous." He spun a quick circle with his wand. He opened his eyes again. A bouquet of pink flowers burst into existence, and he grabbed the stems, held together with a rose pink ribbon. Perfect. He sniffed them, and sure enough, they were sweet-smelling, with just a hint of fruit. He grinned. He stowed his wand away and smoothed down his hair, attempting to get it to lay flat. The Fat Lady giggled. "Furorem," he said.
"Mm, it's taking over, isn't it?" she said gleefully, swinging open. He climbed through the portrait hole. The common room was near full; most spent their Sunday nights catching up on homework due the next day, not wandering around. Remus wasn't there, he noted. All the girls from his year were, though, and at least three-quarters of every other year. It was perfect.
He cleared his throat, and cut through the crowd, heading for the stairs. However, these stairs weren't the ones he knew like the back of his hand; they were the girls'. From experience, he knew there was no chance of going up there himself - another time, he might've tried regardless, but it wouldn't work in his favour tonight even if he did get access. Instead, he stopped Loretta Flint, one of Gryffindor's reserve chasers. She eyed off his bouquet.
"Loretta, do you think you could tell Lisbete to come down here?" he asked. She looked from the bouquet to him and back again.
"Okay," she said, deadly serious, but he caught the smile on her face as she ran up the stairs. He brushed off his robes and straightened up. A few people had noticed him, standing at the bottom of the staircase with his bunch of bright pink flowers. He pretended not to notice them, focusing his gaze on the stairs.
"She's coming!" Loretta squealed, flying down the stairs and running past him. He didn't get the chance to thank her, for Lisbete appeared at the top of the stairs. Her golden hair shone, though it looked slightly damp. She'd changed into her pyjamas already, but they weren't at all sloppy - the grey silk of her top glittered.
"Jamie," she said, sounding breathless. He beamed up at her. She took a deep breath, and then flung herself down the stairs. If nothing else, the commotion made people look. She launched at him, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him. The flowers got a bit squashed. He kissed her back, putting his free hand on the small of her back, pulling her closer. He lost himself for a few moments, heart pumping, and then she withdrew. His hair was definitely ruffled now. Her face was alight.
"For you," he said, loudly, handing her the flowers. She gasped, as if it hadn't occurred to her before, and took them.
"Oh, Jamie," she gushed. He sent her a tight-lipped smile. This was the planned bit, but now that he was here, he felt a bit bad..
"Lisbete," he said, raising his voice, eyes sweeping across the room. A few people were looking, now, though some noses were crinkled in disgust. What, was a long, loving kiss with your girlfriend that bad? "I want to apologise. I know you've been cross with me, and a lot of people have been, lately - I don't know why they are, but I also don't really care. Your feelings are what matter to me. I could never think of anyone else when I have you." The last bit rung hollow in his ears, but he did his best to swallow it. Lisbete looked a bit surprised.
"Thank you, Jamie. You didn't do anything wrong. I'm the luckiest girl in the world." They kissed again, and he heard a few younger girls, including Loretta, 'aww'.
"There's more,' he told her, when they broke apart.
"More?" She looked amazed. He nodded. More people were smiling, now, though Alastor Gumboil looked like someone had spat in his drink. You couldn't please everyone.
"Come on," James said, taking her hand. He led her through the common room, and people made way for them. There were definitely smiles. He beamed. Even Marlene didn't look super pissed off, just a bit solemn. Lily sat next to her on the couch, legs crossed, immersed in a book. She glanced up as they passed. He looked her in the eye, by accident, and she gave him a bemused smile before returning to her book. He wove through the couches, Lisbete following. Right by the portrait hole was a double desk, occupied by default by the senior prefects. Alice looked at him sternly and tapped her watch.
"Don't go breaking curfew," she warned. Frank grinned from next to her.
"And be safe, Potter!" he said. Alice elbowed him.
"Frank!"
"You know I hate to think of anyone in our house being unsafe. What would happen then?"
"Stop," Alice said, lips twitching. James wiggled his eyebrows at them both and pushed open the portrait hole. Once he was through, he helped Lisbete, hand on her waist. It shut behind them.
Lisbete scanned the corridor, and once satisfied it was clear, pulled him into another kiss. He took his time, fingers in her hair (it was still a bit wet), pulse racing. Only when exhausted did they part.
"There's more?" Lisbete asked, eyes wide. James laughed, and scratched the back of his neck.
"Yeah," he said. "More. I want to show you something."
November 9th, 1975
Peter was sure that the disillusionment charm would wear off at any moment. All too often, he was sure he'd caught sight of his sleeve, or his feet. He'd make a noise, and Sirius would whack him lightly. The pair crept through the dungeons, sticking by the cool stone wall. For all their caution, it seemed most of the Slytherins had returned to their common room for the night. When Peter had pointed this out, however, Sirius had just told him to shut up.
He didn't get the point of this. Sirius' plan was obviously stupid - they couldn't really just march into Professor Slughorn's quarters and demand he helped them. That was ridiculous. Now they were just stalking around the dungeons aimlessly. He was tired, and they had Transfiguration followed by History of Magic and Potions in the morning, which promised to be difficult. And he had homework to finish.
"Can we go yet?" Peter groaned. Sirius elbowed him. "Ow."
"Be quiet," Sirius hissed.
"We're not even getting anywhere."
"Are you slow? I said, be quiet."
"But what's the point?"
"Shut up!" Peter fell silent, but crossed his arms and made a point of stomping as they walked. Each time he did, Sirius would sniff sharply and increase his pace. It came to the point that Peter began to pant trying to keep up with him, and he no longer knew where they were, either.
"Sirius -"
"Quiet!" Sirius hissed, slamming him into the wall. Pain shot through his face. Bit of an overreaction, he thought sourly. But Sirius always got what he wanted. Imagine if Peter had gone bossing about Sirius like that! Sirius would have murdered him. Peter frowned into the stone. Sirius didn't let him move, and he wriggled furiously. Sirius just pushed harder.
"I'll tell James," Peter grumbled. No response. Seriously? He wiggled again. Sirius didn't even react. What the hell?
And then he heard the footsteps. And the voices.
"Why won't you just tell us?" Peter didn't recognise the voice, but it was coarse and rough.
"Because we have more important things to worry ourselves with," a more even voice said.
"Like?" Boy One demanded.
"Hexes," a third boy supplied. Peter froze. If not for Sirius' hand pressing lightly on his back, he would've thought he'd vanished. He tried to keep his breaths steady. Just what they needed; running into Slytherins in a dark corridor. He really, really hoped their disillusionment charms worked. He really wished he'd gone with James under the cloak.
"Life's not all hexes and listening to Mulciber," said Boy One. Sirius jolted. Peter held his breath. Was this what Sirius had wanted to find? What about the animagus recipe?
"It isn't," Boy Three agreed. "But if we want our life to be any good, we'd better do that first. I can't fathom how we're supposed to ever relax when the castle's crawling with mudbloods."
"Ask Snape, he manages with that loon from Gryffindor," Boy One laughed. The others joined in. Lily. They mean Lily. He turned his head very slightly to look at Sirius, but realised that was dumb, because Sirius was invisible. Well, see-through. There was a bit of a technical difference. If he concentrated really, really hard, and Sirius was moving, he could maybe tell that he was there.
"I don't see why they invite him. I've never even heard of the Snape family. Malfoy said they were from the north, so I expect they're poor. It's insulting, I think, to have a Snape in the same circle as a Black." Peter really wished he could see Sirius' face. They had to be talking about Regulus, right? The footsteps grew fainter.
"Or a Selwyn," Boy One added loudly, his voice echoing. Peter shuffled further around, trying to see where they were. Sirius grabbed a fistful of his robes and pulled him forwards. The right side of his face tingled with pins and needles.
They followed the boys through the dungeons, and Peter copped an elbow every so often when his footsteps or breathing got too loud. Unfair, he thought; he could never do that to Sirius. Still, he went without voicing any complaints. Their invisibility spells held well, and after a bit, he stopped checking so often.
The dungeons turned from unfamiliar to completely alien. He shuddered. For some reason, the torches didn't cast much light. The boys' shadows seemed longer. Pipes roared through the walls, water rushing. He couldn't make out Sirius' outline anymore, not even when he concentrated. He bit his lip. Finally, the boys stopped in front of a door. It looked like all the others they'd passed. He wondered what sort of things were kept down here, in the dark depths of the castle. Monsters? There was a myth about one. Werewolves? His sister had told him that, but considering Remus, it seemed unlikely. Whatever it was, Peter was devoutly thankful he hadn't been sorted into Slytherin. This place was a maze, and gave him the creeps besides.
The quiet boy - a prefect, Peter thought - put his wand to the doorknob and whispered something. It clicked open.
"Finally," Boy One said. "Fucking hell." He entered first, followed by the prefect and Boy Three. Something touched Peter's hand. He cried out.
"Shut up!" Sirius hissed. Oh; of course. The door remained open. Sirius tugged on his arm, and Peter stumbled towards the doorway quickly, trodding on Sirius' ankle once or twice. As they got closer, a strange buzzing rang in his ears. A curse? Something to detect intruders? He stopped short. Sirius didn't, and pulled harder. Peter swallowed. Damn it, no. He crossed the threshold anyways, and barely dodged as Mulciber slammed it shut.
"Close the door behind you, Yaxley," Mulciber ordered. The buzzing subsided as soon as they were inside. Sirius steered them to a corner of the room, and they sunk into a little spot between a stone bookshelf and the meeting of two walls. Peter took a few deep breaths. His heart thumped. That frightened him even more. He always felt like he was going to have a heart attack, whenever he could feel his pulse. It made his body feel all squirmy. Squirmy Wormy. He resolved to never let Sirius know that.
A circle of chairs, either summoned or very well conjured, took up most of the room. All of them were boys, and most of them were Peter's age or older. There was Mulciber, of course, and Jugson, a tall, mean Slytherin prefect. Yaxley was the blond of the three they'd followed. He couldn't match all of the faces to names, but if he had to guess who the others might have been, he would've thrown out names like Goyle or Rosier and he would've probably been right. Three boys from his year were there - not Padgett the prefect, but Warren Avery, and Raimund Rosier, and Snivellus, of course. Peter wrinkled his nose.
"Look at him, he's just sitting there," he whispered to Sirius. "We could jinx the daylights out of him. Oh! What about that Chicken Jinx?" They'd learned it in Transfiguration, and James had been the only one to master it in the first lesson. Sirius had figured it out after a bit, though - Peter knew because he'd been the target a few times. Sirius had joked about turning him into a chicken on the full moon and sending him in with Moony. Well, it had probably been a joke. Hard to tell with Sirius.
"No," Sirius said shortly. Peter was surprised. The Slytherins were right there, and he was just going to watch? And then he followed his friend's gaze, all the way to Regulus. Ohhh. That made more sense.
Regulus was accompanied by his usual friend, who Peter sometimes felt was the Slytherin version of himself, if Regulus was the dark reflection of James and Sirius in popularity. Gibbon, wasn't it? Gibbon's eyes were saucer-wide, where Regulus' were narrowed. They both wore dark robes, not their school ones, and a pointed hat perched atop Gibbon's head. Regulus wrung his hands together. He and Sirius did look alike - if they dressed or acted alike, you'd be hard-pressed to tell the difference.
Mulciber coughed. Peter returned sharply to reality. Here they were, crouching in the corner of a far-flung dungeon filled with wannabe Death Eaters. His blood ran cold. He wished he could see Sirius. It rather felt like he was alone, and very much at the mercy of people who hated him - or at least, hated his friends - if he was found out. And he hadn't mastered the Chicken Jinx yet. Why, why, why couldn't he have gone with James? Surely he would've made better company than Lisbete.
November 9th, 1975
James broke from the kiss, panting. Lisbete's face was flushed pink, and her hair grew fluffier as it dried and they roamed about the castle. They could only go a few metres before accosting each other once more. As a result, it was taking sweet time to get to the library. James did his best to keep his priorities straight.
It was exhilarating. Like winning a match, or beating his best time around the pitch. Like being drunk, but good drunk, when you were all light-headed and felt like you could do anything. Well, he usually felt like he could do anything, but not so light-headed. He took her hand and they stumbled along merrily, her still holding the flowers, him doing his best to keep the cloak over both of them. He'd never asked what the Hogwarts policy on public displays of affection were, but he figured it was better to be discrete. And everything seemed more fun when you had the cloak. He was glad he'd taken it to dinner.
After far longer than the journey had any right to take, they ended up outside the library, and Lisbete halted. James squeezed her hand.
"Is this where our adventure is leading?" she asked, looking up at him. He grinned, taking his wand out.
"Yup," he said. "Surprise!"
"Are we having a study date?"
"Ah, not quite," James said, tapping his nose. "Come on. Shh." The library doors were open - there was still another hour before closing. Really, they could've gotten away without the cloak until now, only at risk of disturbing the portraits and fellow students, but...where was the fun in walking around normally?
Inside, a few people sat around, finishing off last minute homework, for the most part. He ruffled his hair, and tip-toed around the occupied tables. Lisbete copied him. They crept past the regular aisles, with shelves stretching up three times his height, and towards the Restricted Section, guarded with a sign, a rope, and the watchful eye of Madam Pince. James rubbed his hands together.
"Our first bit of mischief-making together," he announced, eyes sparkling. It was different, with Lisbete along, and he felt like a tour guide. It was cool.
"How do we get through?" she asked.
"Bit of Potter magic. Ready?"
"I hope so!"
He winked at her, and approached the rope carefully. He cleared his throat and stood up straight. She looked on eagerly. He stretched his arms out as far as possible without the cloak lifting, and then crouched, ducking under the rope. He beamed up at her.
"Ta-da!" he said. A funny look flashed across her face, and then she smiled.
"Did you think of that?"
"Ah - no, actually. Remus did. Come on." The cloak was a bit stretched, with her still standing. She ducked down and crawled under the rope. He cupped her cheeks in his hands, and kissed her gently on the mouth. Then they stood up.
"I've never been in here," she confessed.
"Well, I'm glad to be the first one to show you," he said cheerfully.
It wasn't an overly large section of books, just a couple of aisles, really. He took her down the first one, arm-in-arm. A few books snapped at them, and Lisbete clung tighter. He patted her arm.
"It's alright, really," he assured her. "But see those books? If you open them to a random page, they'll sprout arms and try to give you a good punch. It's supposed to make sure you read from start to finish. They gave Sirius a black eye, once."
"Wow," Lisbete said. "I'm not going near those."
He walked her down every aisle, pointing out particularly nefarious or cool books, and recounting a handful of anecdotes about him or his mates. He handed her one book, and she took it nervously.
"Go on, open it up," he said. "Trust me." She very carefully opened it, and looked up at him. He nodded, bouncing on the balls of his feet. She looked down again, and a dozen butterflies burst from the front page, and flew around her head. Her whole face lit up, and James beamed, watching her giggle in delight.
"I never knew there were so many things in here," Lisbete said. "I thought there would just be dusty old textbooks."
"Do you really think I'd take you somewhere boring?"
November 9th, 1975
More than anything, Peter wanted to be in the common room, eating chocolate frogs and bothering Remus about homework and watching James trick someone with a clever jinx. The dungeons were cold, and damp, and the Slytherins were scaring him, as much as he hated to admit it.
There'd been a lot of talking at first, mainly by Mulciber, about the stuff in the papers and mudbloods, and then they'd paired off to practice hexes and jinxes. A couple of spells shot off and hit the bookshelf. Each time, Peter ducked, and curled closer to the corner. Once, he thought Yaxley looked at him, and that he was caught. Yaxley returned to his partner - Selwyn - without coming over. Peter thanked his lucky stars.
Sirius remained silent. Peter figured he was looking at his brother.. That made sense, but it wasn't overly interesting. Regulus exchanged hexes with his friend in the corner. Peter had to look twice at his face. For a moment, he'd been the image of Sirius – that bored, impatient, vaguely disgusted look he adopted in class whenever they reviewed a concept or learned something he already knew. As if it was a personal insult, as if it was being done solely to irritate them. That look, that lip curl, the sharp eyes, it had burned itself into the back of his brain, as well as the remarks (which were always a little more posh than usual) about how idiots would know such a simple thing, and if they didn't, well, that was their own problem and it shouldn't eat into his time. Peter had often been the one benefiting from the revision, or from being taught. It had a special way of making him feel like complete and utter shit.
The Slytherins strode about like they owned the dungeons - they sort of did, honestly. After a bit, his heart couldn't keep its sprint, and slowed. The knot in his stomach became comfortable. His knees hurt. His eyes were heavy. Would they have to watch the whole meeting? It could go for hours. James would wonder about them. They weren't getting any animagus insight here. Peter slowly, quietly, carefully shifted his position, trying to relieve his numb feet.
Hours passed, or so it felt. Peter's neck cramped. He wondered if Sirius had snuck off without him, already disappeared. His idea of a prank. He'd come back to collect Peter in the morning, shaking with laughter. Hilarious. Peter leaned his head against the stone wall, and shut his eyes. If they hadn't noticed him yet, they probably wouldn't. His limbs were heavy. Just a few minutes…
He jolted awake, nails digging into his arm. His heart raced. Spots blotted his eyes. He squeaked. They dug deeper. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. He blinked furiously, trying to make sense of it. Who was it? Nobody was there. It took him a moment to come to his senses. Sirius. It was Sirius. They were disillusioned.
"Ow," he hissed, hitting where Sirius' hand roughly was.
"Look," Sirius whispered. Peter rubbed his eyes, and then focused. The Slytherins had finished hexing each other, and formed a circle in the middle of the room. It looked like a Quidditch huddle, only without the brooms. He could only make out low voices. There was probably an eavesdropping spell, but he didn't know it. The murmurs stopped, and then the Slytherins brandished their wands. Each of them ended up cupping something in their hands. They backed away and spread out. Regulus came towards them. Peter flattened himself against the wall. He could feel Sirius' warmth beside him.
Gibbon trotted up behind Regulus. They put their heads together. Peter frowned.
"I don't get it. They can't expect us to use the curse. Do they?" Gibbon asked, fidgeting his fingers around whatever he held.
"I don't expect so," Regulus muttered. "It's esoteric. We don't have enough emotion built up. No, Mulciber will be looking for creativity."
"Oh. Well, that's good."
"It's messy," Regulus corrected.
Hot breath hit his ear.
"Go, Wormy. The disillusionment will wear off soon."
How had Sirius known where his ear was? Peter covered it with his hand, bumping Sirius' – nose, it felt like. Peter swallowed.
"They'll see me open the door," he whispered. Sirius sighed in his ear, and pulled him closer. Peter eyed Regulus and Gibbon nervously.
"I'll distract them," Sirius said.
"No, they'll see me. I don't want to be on the wrong end of those jinxes."
"Go. I'll have an easier time getting out of here without you."
"But I could help."
Sirius said nothing. For a moment, Peter thought he'd won. Then his face fell. He shoved Sirius. He smacked into the bookshelf. Peter froze. The room stopped dead. Regulus' eyes raked over him. Peter held his breath. Please don't find me. Please don't see me. Please, please, please.
"What was that?" Gibbon asked, frowning.
"Someone getting too jabby with their wand, I would expect," Regulus said. "Tell me again why they give mudbloods wands when even pure-blooded wizards struggle to use them at times." He sighed, and bent down. Peter scuttled back, fearing for a moment Regulus would touch him, but instead he put the thing he'd been holding on the ground. A rat. The little thing turned in a circle and then looked up at Regulus.
"What are you going to do?" Gibbon asked eagerly.
"This is distasteful," Regulus declared. He shut his eyes, took a breath, and opened them once more. He brandished his wand at the rat. It stared up at him, eyes wide. It was only small. Not far off being a baby, Peter thought. His mother hated rats, so he always shooed them out of the house. It was probably hungry –
"Confringo!"
Peter's hand hit him in the mouth. His lip curled around his teeth. His teeth hurt. Tiny pieces of rat peppered the stone floor. Like salt on chips. With ketchup. Tiny flecks of ketchup, some clinging to the salt, some spilled onto his hand – or so he guessed, based on feeling, and the fact it seemed to be hovering in the air in front of him. People talked, saying words, Regulus moved his wand again, Peter pressed his back against the wall, shut his eyes, waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting. He did not burst as the rat had. He just waited.
Sirius grabbed him and they stood, and Regulus and Gibbon weren't there, and the door was ajar and they exited and Sirius lead him to Gryffindor Tower, their charms gone by the end. Sirius said the password and they climbed through the portrait hole and into their dormitory, avoiding Remus' stern gaze. Peter climbed into his bed, and thought of the rats in his house. Their twitching noses. How he scooped them up and dumped them at the far end of the field, warning them not to return.
Sirius said nothing. Peter didn't break the silence.
November 10th, 1975
Not all wizards prayed. Many were irreligious – the Crouches, for example, and the Flints (well, perhaps the current Mrs Flint did, but there were far too many to keep proper track). Nobody fussed themselves over it as much as muggles did. It seemed such a silly thing to argue about. The Blacks prayed, mostly – mainly at Christmas, or at Easter, or when someone very old got Dragonpox or when it otherwise suited them, such as if a religious family like the Abbotts came to visit and the Blacks needed to ensure that the Abbotts did not think themselves too high or mighty. In that instance, a great bout of prayer would take place before dinner, and a reading from the Bible might be insisted upon, and Sirius and Regulus would be made to learn a hymn and they would trot out and sing, accompanied by a chorus of instruments their mother bewitched. Sirius often begged off, moreso lately, but Regulus didn't mind. His mother would beam from ear to ear, and he felt like God was listening to him.
He couldn't sing now, regardless of whether it might amplify his feelings so that God might hear. The other boys would give him such a ribbing that Hell could never frighten him again. Instead, Regulus muttered prayers under his breath while others talked over breakfast, while they moved between classes, when he flopped into bed. If Adele Abbott had heard him, she would've surely been impressed, and the match their parents had long wished for might've come to fruition. She didn't. He made sure of it. Her parents hoped for Sirius anyways, not a second son.
Instead, he laid in bed, lips moving silently. It had happened so quickly. He'd thought of the spell, and what he needed to do to make it work, pointed his wand and said the incantation. That was it. It had been simple practical work. He'd been more concerned with not blowing up the bookshelf by accident. The rat's life or death had mattered only insofar as his success or failure. Animals didn't have souls, at least, not like people. Mother told him that once, families had taken to transfiguring the very slow or the very insane into animals permanently, so that they didn't feel sad at their state or have to suffer the indignity of their sorry existence.
And yet he still felt guilty. Guilty for ending a life that would've been extinguished otherwise for the sake of a potion, or simply to keep the place clean. Guilty for ending a life that had been born from the tip of Mulciber's wand just minutes before. It wasn't so bad as killing a natural-born rat, he figured. It had served its sole purpose in life. It knew nothing else but that dark, damp dungeon. Perhaps it wasn't sentient at all. He'd never asked about the animals conjured for their spell practise in lessons – whether or not they were truly alive. He stared at the forest-green canopy above him, and wondered when sleep would come. There was no use in wondering about the life and death of a rat already dead a hundred times longer than it had been alive.
He rolled onto his side. It had come so easily. Following orders; doing what was expected. Had it just been because it was a rat? A rat, and newly bought into existence? What if it had been plucked from the corners of the dungeons, or if it had been someone's pet? If it had been a toad, or a cat, or a lion? Lions wouldn't need the spell to be so focused, he thought. Practicality, again. Could he have blown a lion up so easily, without a second thought, had Mulciber asked him? What if it were a person? He hadn't thought of anything but doing as he was told. Promptly. He gripped his blanket tightly, and whispered into his pillow.
"Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name…"
A/N: Hey y'all! Sorry it's been so long. The summer got away from me and was super busy, but weirdly enough, now that I'm back at school I can't stop writing. Procrastination, I guess. Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Sometimes I worry the pace is too slow - it probably is - but I have such fun writing it that I can't help myself.