A/N: Hey guys! Just a warning for this chapter for drug use, references to domestic abuse, and my probable butchering of Hagrid's accent.
November 25th, 1975
Cold, crisp, late autumn winds screamed across the Black Lake, bouncing from mountain to mountain. Professor Kettleburn's fifth year class huddled together, hugging themselves tightly, bound up in cloaks and scarves and gloves. Earmuffs, too, though they served a greater purpose than protecting the tips of their ears from freezing off. They were borrowed, for the most part, from Professor Sprout's supplies. James' were not. His father had purchased them on a trip to Iceland before James was ever thought of, and they'd been handed down as everything of his father's was. Vibrantly dyed crimson wool hugged the sides of his head, protecting them from the silenced cry of the lime green fwooper.
It perched on the branch of a conjured tree, and its large orange eyes regarded them warily. They returned the expression in kind.
Peter whispered something. James squinted at him.
"What?" he said, as loud as he could. He could barely hear himself. Peter jabbed a stubby finger in the direction of the creature, drew a line across his throat, and then bulged his eyes. Could it kill us? James took that to mean. He shrugged, and waved a hand. Nah. Probably not. Professor Kettleburn would be onto it. Even if he wasn't, it was just a silly old bird. They could handle it.
Professor Kettleburn waved his arms – well, his right arm, and the wooden replacement for his left. James scanned the board. Yeah, all stuff that could be found in the textbook. He stepped back into Sirius. They locked eyes. James mimed chewing. Sirius fished a bit of gum out of his cloak. James gave him a thumbs-up by way of thanks, and popped it in his mouth. Strawberry. Like Lisbete.
Since his stunt in the common room, they'd been travelling along alright. She ate dinner with them, though Cathy was always at her side, all dark eyes and shifting looks. If he didn't know better, he would've pinned her as a Slytherin. She came out with a comment every now and then that made them all laugh, though, or stop in their tracks, and Lisbete told him they'd been best friends since the very start of first year, so that was that, wasn't it?
Lisbete's spare lined up with James' before Care of Magical Creatures, and they'd spent it in a nook James had found at about two that morning. It looked like an ordinary broom cupboard, but instead of cobwebs and broken broomsticks or Filch's cleaning supplies, it was stuffed to the brim with small pillows. James reckoned they were the ones used when they practised stunners or other jinxes in class. Whatever their real purpose was, it had been pretty cozy for the two of them. He stalwartly avoided the topic of her siblings; he told her all about Quidditch practise and how boring History had been and showed off a couple of new spells he'd been learning. She listened the whole time, and nodded and laughed. He turned all fuzzy and mushy.
"You're really pretty," he told her, leaning his forehead against hers. She blushed a delicate pink.
"Thank you, Jamie. You're so nice to me. And you're so handsome," she said. He kissed her then, softly, and melted into the pillows. He'd kissed girls before, of course, he wasn't Snivellus or something, but not for that long. Not any girls who smelled that nice and told him he was smart and gorgeous and talented and the best chaser they'd ever seen. It was like all the things his mum said, but he knew they were true because Lisbete wasn't obliged to say them. He'd been sorry to leave, and he walked her to class and found himself lightheaded when he stepped out into the icy gale howling through the hills.
The fwooper quickened his pace, eyes flitting between class members. James smiled at it. It didn't smile back, as it wasn't really capable. Bit of a bummer anyway. Peter hurriedly scratched down notes. James chuckled. Peter had the parchment draped over one arm, apparently trying to use his body as a hard surface to write against, and winced when he wrote. He dipped his quill in an inkwell balanced precariously atop his satchel. James sighed. Honestly, Care of Magical Creatures wasn't worth that effort. A bloody fwooper wouldn't be that hard to look up later on.
Lily, too, wrote notes, but she'd charmed one of her books to float in front of her, so she could lean against it as she jotted down the different feather patterns down or whatever. Her auburn hair bobbed in a ponytail, just beneath the edge of a black pageboy hat. James recognised it from their unit on muggle fashions. Honestly, they wore the weirdest things. What was wrong with a nice black pointed hat? It'd suit her, he thought. All the hats he imagined did. Lisbete was different; he couldn't picture her with any part of her blonde mane hidden. She adorned her hair with pink clips and headbands and that looked much better than stuffing it under something.
Professor Kettleburn continued to gesture wildly and hit his wooden arm against the chalkboard he'd summoned. Behind James, Remus started shifting from foot to foot. James looked at him. Remus wore a scowl, punctuated by the bright red tip of his nose.
'Fucking freezing,' he mouthed. James grimaced. He scanned the class and then stepped back, throwing an arm around his mate. Godric's balls, he was shivering. James elbowed Sirius. Sirius cocked his head to one side. If he'd been a dog, his ears would've flopped over. James tilted his head towards Remus. Sirius smirked, raising an eyebrow. James gave him the two-fingered salute. Sirius made a face and came closer, squishing James up against Remus. Peter looked to his left, saw the empty air, and whirled around. His inkwell slid off his satchel and cracked on the gravel below. Pete's eyes searched them. James beckoned him forth, and Peter did as instructed, shoving in. Sirius ran hot, almost burning at the touch. Remus kept shivering. In the past, they'd tried warming spells and layering him in cloaks, but nothing much worked other than body heat. James wondered if it was a wolf thing. How they'd huddle in with their packs in the cold, piling atop each other, watching each other's backs. Not that Remus was a wolf; he was a wizard, right to his core. James frowned.
By the end of class, Remus' shivers had waned to a minimum, which was something. Kettleburn advised that they could take off their earmuffs through a series of elaborate mimes. The boys happily shoved their back in their bags, and untangled themselves from the weird little keep-Remus-warm-thing they'd formed.
"Are you all dating each other?" Marlene called, as they began to disperse. Lily rolled her eyes. James grinned at them.
"You know I would never cheat on our Quidditch team!" James said. "Godric's sake, McKinnon, what do you take me for? I'm as loyal as Hufflepuff!"
"If only you could be as quiet and humble as one," Lily cut in, smirking. James faltered. Just for a second. Habit, you know. He flung his hand over his heart.
"You scar me, Evans," he whimpered loudly. She laughed, linked arms with Marlene, and they left. Peter made to follow them, slipping out from their huddle. His bobbly beanie slipped off his brow, covering one eye. James whacked it back up. Peter flinched.
"Don't be like that, mate," James said. "Anywho…oot." He looked at his friends eagerly. Remus grimaced. Peter blinked. Sirius smiled wide.
"Nice one, James."
"I know. Anyhoot, I have questions to ask of Kettleburn." He rubbed his hands together. "Give my excuses to Sprout?"
"Sure thing," Peter said. "D'you reckon he'll know what to do?" Their eyes flicked to their grizzled professor. He stroked the fwooper with his good hand. James thought the creature's expression resembled the one Mrs. Black favoured. Poor bird.
"That's his job, isn't it?" James shrugged. Remus gave him a pained look.
"Remember to be subtle," Remus said. James nodded, waving his hand.
"Yeah, yeah, of course. He loves me, don't worry, I did really well on last year's test. He's only given me detention a couple of times. I'll be right," James assured him. Remus sighed, and started to follow Pete up the slope towards the greenhouses.
James now focused on Sirius. Sirius tugged at his lips. James squinted one eye.
"Hey, keep an eye on Remus, make sure he doesn't get hypothermia or something dumb," James said. Sirius pulled a face.
"What if I get hypothermia?" Sirius asked. James laughed.
"Ah, I guess you'll have to die then. A virgin, too."
"Fuck off," Sirius grinned, hitting him. James hit him back. Sirius hit him harder, and he staggered. He drew himself up, squared his shoulders, and ran at Sirius. They crashed together and laughed. James hit him on the shoulder once more.
"No, but seriously. He can be a bit…you know." He hesitated. Look, it was a shitty thing to have to single out one of your friends as having a worse constitution than your elderly father, but…it was true. It didn't make James think any less of him. They just had to keep an eye out.
"He's not an invalid. He'll be okay," Sirius said briskly, shoving his hands in his pockets. His eyes dropped to the ground. James narrowed his eyes. Right.
"I know," James said.
Sirius nodded, and jogged to catch up with the others. James shut his eyes, and took a deep breath. Yep. Feeling good. He straightened his tie, smoothed down his collar, and strutted towards Kettleburn and his fwooper.
"Good afternoon, Professor," James said pleasantly. Kettleburn scowled. James thought that was a bit unfair.
"Potter." Kettleburn eyed him. He dropped his hand away from the fwooper. James ran his fingers through his hair.
"Where'd you get it from? Sir. If you don't mind my asking."
"No."
"No?" James repeated, taken aback.
"No, Potter. You may not have one – you need a license to keep one, which you do not have, and they shouldn't be kept as pets anyways, they're wild creatures, and, even if I was going to encourage a student to illegally keep a fwooper as a pet, the last person I would encourage would be you." Now, that was pretty harsh. James had got ninety-three percent on the end-of-year exam back in May, and he'd been hungover.
"You'll be pleased to know that I have no interest in owning a fwooper," James told him. "Not that they're not cool or anything, but that's not where the world is leading me right now."
"Thank Merlin," Kettleburn said gruffly. James gave him a questioning look, and then shook out his hair. A strong gust barrelled through the clearing. The trees shook violently. James braced against the cold rush.
"Sir," he said, when they wind died down. "I actually had a question about owls." Kettleburn blinked at him owlishly.
"Owls? What do you need me for, for owl care? Read a book, Potter, or ask one of the thousands of wizards who own an owl what to do. I don't 'do' owls. Come to me about a crup. Or don't, actually, if you can't care for an owl," Kettleburn scowled. He waved his wand to clean off the chalkboard. James shoved his hands in his pockets, and followed Kettleburn as he walked around the clearing, vanishing rubbish.
"I want to charm one, sir. It's – it's my mate's birthday soon," he improvised wildly, "and I want to charm them to sing him a happy birthday, you know. I figured you'd know how best to charm animals out of anyone, sir. I mean, I could ask Flitwick, but…" He beamed his most winning smile. Kettleburn's eyes raked over him. He sighed.
"Potter," Kettleburn said, voice low and gravelly. He ran a grizzled hand over his scarred, burned face, fingers catching the ends of his greying hair. "I'm not going to help you pull a stunt like that."
"Well," James said. "It's not really a stunt, sir. It's a present." Sort of. It was intended to honour someone. On his magic, it was.
Kettleburn fixed him with a steely glare. James' smile didn't falter. Everyone came round to him. Kettleburn was probably just in a bad mood because the class heard jack shit of nothing the whole lesson and it was a waste of an hour. That had to be it.
"Whatever it is," Kettleburn growled. "I have better things to do. If you wish to annoy someone about it, don't bother a teacher. Why don't you go ask the gamekeeper? I'm sure he'd love to entertain you." James raised his eyebrows. Sarcasm. What had he done to deserve that? Just like bloody Sirius and Remus. He lifted his chin.
"I think I will, sir. Thanks for your advice and all," James said, maintain perfect cheerfulness. Kettleburn's expression darkened. James ruffled his hair, and then clapped Kettleburn on the shoulder. Kettleburn froze, and stared at him. "Have a good one, sir!"
He broke into a sprint, leaving Kettleburn with his fwooper. He burst out into laughter as the world underfoot turned from dirt and crunching brown leaves to green grass, and the sky opened above him, wide and grey. He spun round, glasses coming askew. He stopped, and straightened them. The greenhouses stood in the distance, his class filing in, scarves a sea of red and yellow. He stretched his fingers out. Sure, he could go to class, but now he just wanted to figure out the spells. He'd get it pretty quickly of course, but Pete might need practise if they were going to be quick about it. It would take a few hours of dedicated time, and it was no good rushing it.
He made up his mind. He headed to the gamekeeper's hut, which straddled the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Smoke poured out of the chimney, blown this way and that by the endless torrent of wind. The pumpkins in the garden were twice the size of any usual thing. Were they helped along by magic, or did the gamekeeper just have a good green thumb? James strode up to the door and knocked twice.
Inside, a dog barked, and swearing echoed. The door opened. James looked up at the gigantic man whose hut it was. Hagrid beamed.
"James Potter!" he said, eyes alight. "Yeh've come to visit, have yeh?"
"Yeah, if you don't mind," James said. Hagrid moved side, holding open the door for him. James bounced in. The air was thick with the distinct scent of campfire, wet dog, freshly baked goods, and mossy rocks. Pelts of every size and colour hung from the rafters. The fire roared. A bottle of whiskey, half-full and opened, sat on the table beside a plate of scorched biscuits. A huge dog jumped out of its basket and bounded up to him. It leapt, and put its paws on his shoulders, licking him up the face. James laughed, scratching the dog behind the ears, even as it smeared saliva across his glasses.
"Geh' down, Crusher! Down!" The boarhound obeyed. Hagrid shut the door behind him. "Don't mind 'im, he's a bi' exci'ed yeh're here, he is."
"Can't blame him. I'd be excited to see me too," James said, bending down and patting Crusher's head. Crusher leaned against him, and James stumbled. Hagrid laughed heartily.
"Si' down, then. Fresh ou' o' the fire, they are," Hagrid said, pointing to the biscuits. James took a seat at the table, and bit into one of them. He winced. He ran his tongue over his teeth, checking that they were still whole.
"Merlin, Hagrid, how long have they been cooking for?" James laughed. Hagrid scratched his whiskery cheek.
"A li'l while," Hagrid said, sitting down on the other side of the table.
"I'll say," James said.
Nevertheless, he kept eating the biscuits, and let Hagrid go on about his vegetable-growing and his latest forays into the Forest and who he'd met down in the pub recently. James laughed at everything and wheedled him into teaching him a drinking game with nearly nonsensical rules. Hagrid's face turned pinker and pinker, and eventually James found himself holding a (small) mug of whiskey.
"I actually wanted your advice," James said, sipping at his drink as if it were tea. Hagrid's face lit up.
"Did yeh?" he asked, brushing the crumbs off his shirt. His smile reached his ears, splitting his great big bushy beard into two.
"Yep. See, it's – I wanted to pull a bit of a joke, just for fun, nothing bad, y'know. And I want to get a few owls together, and make them sing. With a charm, probably," James said. Hagrid eyed him for a brief moment, and then nodded.
"I see, I see. Well, I go' a method fer doin' tha', I do. Nothin' special, mind, jus' a li'l somethin' I do from time ter time." James bit into another biscuit with the side of his mouth, crunching it on his back teeth.
"That'd be brilliant, Hagrid," he said, chomping the charcoal. "Could you teach me by Friday?"
"I could teach yeh now, if yeh like," Hagrid said, patting his furry beard. James swallowed a bit of rock-hard biscuit.
"Legend."
November 26th, 1975
The Hogwarts bells chimed twice, marking the half-hour. Severus glared out the frosty windows. Night enveloped the castle, shrouding the trees outside in spilled black ink. The ghostly grey branches shook under the force of the wind. It tore away the last russet leaves and smashed them against the glass panes. Flames crackled from candles and fireplaces alike, but it did not mask the screeches of nature's attack. In the common room, the greater concern had been the water. Currents churned only inches away from the leather couches. They'd spotted all kinds of debris shooting through the water, on a path to kill. Padgett said the Slytherin prefects had alerted the Headmaster of the conditions, but what could Dumbledore do? He didn't control the tides.
He turned sharply, and strode past several aisles, full of books and lacking in readers. The shelves stretched to the ceiling, passing chandeliers and narrowly avoiding someone's lost owl. Severus eyed the bird. How did an owl get into the library? He sniffed. With his luck, it'd see fit to poop on him. It'd turn the library, a sanctuary, into the Owlery, shit-stained and stinking. He glared at it. In its disarray and disorientation, it ignored him. Insolent creature.
The world grew darker as he reached the back corner of the library – that is, the back corner of the library excluding the Restricted Section, because even Slughorn had denied him a slip, advising him to focus on his O. instead. Lily would have gotten the signature, he was sure, but asking for her help seemed…unwise. Besides, he wasn't doing anything wrong. While it was usually considered unnecessary and overly ambitious for a fifteen-year-old, it wasn't wrong. Not at all; they owed their whole world, every wave of their wand, to the people who did what he was going to do. What he had done before.
Back here, there were no markers as to which shelf had books on each subject. In spite of that, he found what he was looking for quickly. Both books. He'd thumbed the Latin one for years, learning the origins of the incantations they learned, teaching himself a few simple phrases and pronunciations so he could insult Potter with something Potter knew he didn't understand. Severus' wit was often lost on him, but the Gryffindor git didn't seem to realise. By October of first year, Severus had made Lily promise to kill him if he ever sounded like as much of a moron as James Potter.
The other book, leather-bound, had only become his companion in March. He and Lily had quarrelled over Macnair (he'd been a seventh year Slytherin, and so Severus had no choice but to respect him, to do as he said, and steer clear otherwise. Lily had insisted he ought to cause a fuss, rally others to call him out). He'd retreated to the library, desperately wishing she hadn't heard their conversation. By the end of the school year, he had a solution. Muffliato. It quickly became a favourite of his house. An invention that had given Mulciber, and Jugson, and the rest a reason not to treat him like dung on the bottom of their shoe. He was greater than just some skulking fifth year with no heritage and no wealth. He had something to offer, for the first time in his life.
But he knew that one lousy spell wouldn't keep him safe until the end of school. He had to do better. Had to do more.
The gossip about Potter and his list spread absurdly quickly; word that Severus had pissed himself during the Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw match made it look like the muggle mail service. It wasn't true, of course, but get Brown to believe that. Or Wood. Or O'Neill or Bagman or Yaxley and Selwyn. Even the notorious twit of Ravenclaw, Lovegood, who looked as though Lucius Malfoy had discovered psychedelic drugs, homelessness, and syphilis in one weekend, sent him funny glances. Severus hexed him in the middle of the corridor. A few Hufflepuff airheads frowned and whispered, but nobody cared about Xenophilius Lovegood. And to think Lovegood had considered himself a step above him. Severus twitched.
He set himself up amongst the rows of mostly-forgotten books, avoiding the larger congregation of tables and desks where many whispered and turned pages and tapped their feet or their fingers as they studied for their first round of examinations for the year. Some of them appeared to have only just started, as they hopelessly consulted long lists of topics to revise. Personally, he was of the opinion that if you hadn't started by mid-November, you were just hoping to fail. Especially for those in his year. These were the last exams before their mock-O. . If you wanted to have any notion of how to approach the mocks, you needed to work now.
One last thing. He added a battered Potions textbook to his workspace. It was a hard twenty-five years out of date, missing recipes that now made up a good portion of the curriculum, listing ingredients long since replaced. It was basically trash. Effectively worthless. Next year, when he actually needed it, Hogwarts would provide. Even now, if he wanted to look something in particular up, he could come to the library, where they kept a healthy supply of all the required textbooks. Severus refused, even as the pages crumbled at his touch and the ink faded.
Warren Avery had a chain necklace that he wore under his robes, and Raimund Rosier a ruby ring he slipped on at feasts and on his birthday. Perseus Padgett had the owl he'd been gifted when he started at Hogwarts, and chocolate frog cards his great-uncle collected for him, and his father's dress robes. Severus Snape had an old textbook his mother had dug out from the bottom of a tiny trunk in the cupboard and handed to him with shaking hands. Her favourite subject had been Potions. It was the only thing she'd saved from her school days, or indeed her magical life at all.
Entitled pureblooded pricks could have the newest, fanciest copies in the world for eternity, for all he cared. He would keep his mother's book and use nothing else, no matter if it was unreadable.
He inhaled deeply, taking in the aroma of candles burning their last, and old books, and dust, and cinnamon. Then he began. He skipped pages and skimmed, remembering roots and keeping his intent at the forefront of his mind. Some chose to start with a movement. They were the sort who worked intuitively, magic flowing like a river. Severus did not wield his magic in that manner. Some warned against forcing it, against precision; those who believed in namby-pamby crocks of shit like divining the future, or those who had never doubted themselves and their abilities.
Severus simply hadn't the time to waste on keeping 'in touch with his emotions', as Lily liked to urge him to do. He would find the exact words to create a precise incantation, each syllable perfect, and then would carefully devise a movement in close consultation with tradition and the most effective practises. His Muffliato Charm worked thoroughly and only required a point of your wand. If you left it up to some bumbling hippie moron, it would've required a song, dance, and trapeze act. Magic was a tool in much the same way a newt's eyes or a toad's heart was. Best to use it as intended and move on.
He considered the Latin, scribbling down various combinations in the back of his mother's book. He tasted it on his tongue, formed the words with his lips. Tried to imbue it with meaning. It could take a while. There would be no finished spell at the end of the night. It could take weeks, slicing thin parts of raw magic and mastering it, controlling it. He just needed something that could work as a base. Something with the potential for power. That was the crux.
He hacked sounds in the back of his throat. Rummaged through his mind, crafting a sketch of how the spell would work, what it would do. What it would feel like. He pressed his fingers into the hollow of his throat. Potter could choke. Potter could shut up. If only Potter could do him a favour and fall off the Astronomy Tower, and then he'd be silenced forever. It would only serve him right. Justice.
Latin would not do, he decided. He returned the book to its rightful place. He carved the words into a fragile page and stared. It stared back. He curled his tongue, squished it between the roof of his mouth and his teeth, and then bit it. That would do. His hands itched for his wand, to try it here, now, on whoever happened to pass. That was the foolish bit of him. The teenage part. He dug his nails into his palm and let it recede. He wasn't an animal, unhinged and wild and reckless like Potter and Black. That was the distinction. He could control himself. Yes, he fantasised about hexing people, making them hurt, making them pay, but he didn't do anything unless they deserved it. Even if he did, he'd have more of a right to it than them. What had ever gone wrong in their lives?
It wracked him. He cleared up his things. It shook him to the bone, and he needed a clear mind to do anything useful. His fingers curled. He hated this. It started as a pulsing in his wrists and then it made his shoulders heavy and his stomach bubble and it made him worse than shit, ensnaring his senses until he couldn't button a shirt. Stupid, stupid, typical teenage tripe. Just like everyone else. He could get all the awful parts of being like everyone else, it seemed, but never the good.
He left the library a minute before closing, and stormed down to the dungeons. A scream caught in his throat. He forced it down. Stupid. How weak could he be, for one thought to derail him so? Pathetic. God, Merlin, fuck. The next flight of stairs cramped his legs. He tripped. Because of course he did. Cold stone froze his hands and his arse, stinging like he was a little boy being punished. He pummelled his fists into the ground. Fire burned across his face. What are you, two? Throwing a fit? What if Potter or Black see you now? What if Mulciber sees? He snarled and twisted and got back to his feet, shoving back hot tears.
His eyes darted from statue to alcove to shadow. Had it been a Tripping Jinx? He ripped his wand out, pointing it at every patch of darkness. Potter? Black? Potter? Black?
He wanted Lily. He wanted to claw his face off. Lily was his courage. She'd shout and stomp at shadows even if it made her look like an idiot and she'd walk him down to the den of snakes, most of whom would hex her into oblivion if he turned his back, and she'd tell him how clever he was for what he was doing and smile and her dark red hair would fall across her shoulders and she'd be beautiful and brave and would squeeze his hand and ignore the tears.
Lily was probably up in Gryffindor Tower, laughing with her friends. He was probably the last thing on her mind.
He gathered himself, lit the tip of his wand, and looked over his shoulder at regular intervals. He made it to the stretch of stone he needed without further incident. His legs moved without command, and soon enough he was in his bed, curtains pulled tight, forehead pressed against the satin sheets. He sunk his fists into the covers. Stupid, stupid, stupid. His throat closed up and only loosened when he'd thoroughly soaked and beaten his pillow. He rolled onto his back, hot shame prickling his skin. He thought of Spinner's End.
You have to control it. You have to control it. You have to control it. Successful men did not lose their tempers. They did not lose control of their emotions. Not all men mastered it. Those who didn't worked six days a week in grim, dark pits, and came home and fucked their beaten pulp of a wife.
He didn't sleep that night.
November 28th, 1975
Class dragged on for an eternity. The warming charms overcorrected the temperature, and they sweltered inside even as it plummeted closer to freezing outside. Only Remus kept his cloak. James spread his legs wide, leaning back on his chair, loosening his tie. Lily fanned herself furiously with her hand, where Sirius enchanted a piece of paper to do the work for him.
"This is getting ridiculous," sighed Professor Forcier, pushing back his carroty hair from his face. His sleeves bunched around his elbows. Too right, it was. Practically winter, and here they were, boiling like a frog in a cauldron. It wasn't even part of their set-up, but it was definitely working in their favour. Pete wriggled in his seat, catching James' eye. Every second took an age.
The corridors were cooler, but not by much.
"Has someone beaten us to it?" Pete asked, frowning. He scratched under his shirt collar. James laughed, looking around. Many of the portrait subjects gathered in one frame, a large landscape of a lake, and paddled round in all their painted finery.
"Not to McGonagall's," James said confidently. "There'd be way more of a ruckus if they had. Besides we're the only ones with any reason to. People will think we've done this, by the end of the day."
"What, they'll think we turned the castle into a heater? I'm sure they'll love us for that one," Remus said dryly. James sighed dramatically, flinging his hand against his head.
"Oh, Moony. 'Course they will," he said. Sirius barked a laugh.
"They will if it gets so hot we have to start stripping down," Sirius added, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Remus pulled a face.
"D'you think it'll get that hot?" Peter asked eagerly.
"You pervert, Wormy," Sirius chided. James snorted. Peter's smile wavered. James glanced between his mates.
"Ah, don't worry, Pete, Sirius is just hoping Snivy'll take his clothes off," James teased. Peter brightened. Sirius flipped him off, gawping.
"I would never, James. I'd have to commit myself to St. Mungo's if I ever saw that. Merlin's balls. I think I'd kill myself before I made it to hospital," Sirius said.
"Are you that scared of his wand? It's probably the size of a pea, it can't frighten me," Remus said. Peter cackled.
Time passed in a drawn-out, lengthy, sweaty, humid blur. James scratched the sweat furrowing into his scalp for an hour and ten minutes and stumbled up the hill towards the castle feeling queasy. Sirius fashioned a joint out of something and somewhere and they spent half hour smoking in a secluded corner. James and Peter erred closer to the side of sobriety while Remus' eyes turned red and Sirius dissolved into giggles.
"It doesn't seem so hard when I'm high," Remus informed him, breathing out smoke.
"Your dick?" Peter said. Sirius laughed. James wiped his glasses with his robes.
"Just – stuff. My legs. Covering for you," Remus said, a brief frown twitching across his lips. James eyed him. As the moon waned, the lines across his face lightened, and his lanky body seemed to unfurl, shrugging off its hunch. His frown relaxed into a smile where it would've tightened a week ago.
"So long as you're feeling alright, mate," James said. Remus nodded, and shut his eyes. Sirius laughed again. He jabbed a finger into Remus' hollowed cheek. Remus twitched.
"Bugger off, pureblood," Remus said lightly.
"Bugger off, werewolf," Sirius grinned. Peter inhaled sharply. James' gaze flickered, and then he laughed when Remus flipped Sirius off.
Sirius and Remus finished their joints and the four of them headed up to their dorm to get their supplies. They already had their wands, of course, but there was a lot more than that needed to make sure everything came off right. James rummaged through his trunk, pulling out his Invisibility Cloak and the scraps of map they'd made and a spellbook and a variety of Zonko's products. He proceeded to stuff them into Remus' satchel, which he was borrowing for the evening.
He stood, rubbed his hair, and looked around. Sirius held his wand in his mouth as he filled his arms with fireworks. Remus cast a sweet-smelling spell on himself and affixed his prefect badge to his chest. Peter tossed his robes onto his laundry pile and wriggled into a short-sleeved, striped shirt. He wiped his sweaty hands on his pants. James slung the satchel over his shoulder and bounded up onto his bed. He flung his arms out.
"Gentlemen!" he boomed. They stopped to look up at him. He was fairly average in size, with only an inch on Sirius, so it left him with a buzz, standing above the others.
"Good sir," Peter said. "Whatever is it?"
"Do tell, mighty Lord," Sirius added. James bounced on the balls of his feet. The mattress squeaked beneath him.
"The plan," James said. "We do know the plan, don't we, lads?"
"Act like McLaggen," Remus said drolly, biting off the head of a chocolate frog.
"Drink and be merry," supplied Sirius.
"Don't get shat on," said Peter. James clasped his hands together.
"Right we are! In the name of mischief and marauding!" James declared.
"In the name of mischief and marauding!" The others echoed. They stopped for a moment, looking at each other, and then burst into laughter.
"That was so good!" Peter said.
"Perfect unison." Sirius shook his head in disbelief. "You can't teach that."
"Well, you can," Remus said, raising his eyebrows, but he joined them in their rejoicing.
They went their separate ways. Lily was in the common room, luckily, and Remus sat down next to her, delving into a discussion on practical charms and their upcoming patrol. James waved goodbye to Sirius at one of the passageway entries, and saw Peter off on his trip across the grounds before doubling back and heading upstairs. Thanks to the heating problem, students fled into the start of sleet. James faced only empty corridors. Perfect.
But first, he had to go back to the common room. He slipped through the portrait hole and located his target by one of the windows, flipping through an old issue of 'Which Broomstick?' James jumped onto the window seat beside her. She looked up.
"Potter," Livia McLaggen smiled. "Want some gum?" It squished in her mouth.
"Oh, yeah, that'd be great!" She fished a stick out of her pocket and gave some to him. He popped it in his mouth happily. It then occurred to him that he probably smelt like weed. Legend, he thought.
"What's up?" she asked. He beamed from ear-to-ear at her thick Scottish accent.
"I need a favour," he said. "It's for something good. I just need you to come up to my dorm for a minute." He glanced around the common room. He wasn't doing anything wrong, but it was something he'd rather not have his girlfriend here. No sign of her or Cathy. Brilliant.
Livia squinted. "Does it involve pissing off my brother?" she asked, closing her magazine.
"You bet."
When James left the common room, he was accompanied by his owl, Ignotus. Many said that pets resemble their owners in looks; in this case, Ignotus took on James' personality, too, so he was the obvious choice for the task. If James did say so himself. He hurried through the castle, clutching an empty envelope in one hand. If anyone asked he was off to the Owlery. He had a very important order to make, see, and two owls would be needed to bring the parcel back. Cheaper postage if he sent both there. There was such a thing as being wealthy and money-wise, and James Potter was the epitome of both. He did actually believe that, it wasn't just an excuse.
He passed through the corridor peacefully. He narrowed his eyes, and checked his watch. Right. Okay. He could work with that. A little under two hours to go. He threw the Invisibility Cloak over himself and Ignotus and sat down in an alcove. He drummed his fingers on his knee while he waited. His stomach growled. Dinner was an uncertainty in their equation, but he dearly hoped it became known. Godric, he ought to have just stayed smoking cigarettes before pulling something like this. He'd remember that next time.
He stroked Ignotus while he waited, murmuring an old story about the Fountain of Fair Fortune. Ignotus smiled at him, with his eyes, the only real way an owl could, he supposed. He loved his owl, but he thought it was easier to tell if a cat was happy or pissed off. A shame. What about people who bought toads to school, though? They'd be worse than owls. What did toads do but croak? James would've offed himself if he'd been forced to bring a toad. Toads always belonged to the dorky or fat or scrawny ones. He pulled a face.
Finally! Peter appeared. He was straight out of a kid's comic. His arms were eagle-spread, with three owls perched on each. He held another two cages, each with one bird, and one sat on his head. James threw his hands in the air, groaning. He then realised Peter couldn't see him. He pulled off the cloak.
"We're two short!" he whispered furiously.
"She might've got ten," Peter said weakly. One of the owls hooted. James tugged at a loose curl.
"No, she would've got twelve, for sure, she's bloody McGonagall. Can you go back for more?" James tried. Peter's face fell.
"James, one of them shat-"
"I'll do it," James decided. He chucked the cloak at Pete, who struggled to grab it with his hands full and his arms weighed down. "Just get everything hidden, alright? Sirius should be back soon. Then we'll set up proper. And look after Iggy." Ignotus preened.
He left Pete with the owls and strode through the halls, smiling and perfecting the art of looking casual while his feet moved as fast as they could. He narrowly dodged Lisbete, who was moaning loudly to Cathy about something. He broke into a sprint when he reached the bottom of the Owlery stairs, and his head spun wickedly when he got to the top. Bloody hell. He gasped down a few breaths of crisp, cold air. It was so sharp and clear that it left his lungs with papercuts. Nevertheless, he stumbled about and secured the final two owls for the job. Not that hard. The journey back was slower, what with trying to keep them from flying off.
The corridor was empty when he returned, just as it ought to have been. He waited. A sharp whistle pierced his ears. An owl hooted. He turned to his right and waved. Peter ducked out and into the realm of visibility, cheeks pink.
"You made it," he said, breathless. James snorted.
"'Course I did. Is Sirius here?"
"Present," Sirius' disembodied voice chimed in. James nodded, and rubbed his hands together. Excitement sparked in his stomach. They were so close. He flexed his fingers. Now they just had to pull it off.
He handed the birds over to Peter and scrounged out a list they'd been working on. It noted where their teachers usually were at what times. Professor McGonagall had a schedule for Friday that James was envious of. Plenty of time to do as she pleased. Good for her, but it left a gaping hole in their knowledge. He shoved the parchment back into his pocket.
"I'm going to go see if she's in," he told them. "I'll make sure we get shot of her when we need. Sirius, Pete, d'you reckon you can keep this clear of everyone else? Tell them something creative, or just hex them or something."
"Okay," Peter said, paling.
"Sweet," Sirius said. James knew he was smiling.
He knocked at the door, leaning against the stone wall. He ruffled his hair and started to pant. He tugged at his tie, loosening it further. Thanks to the heating charms, there was no need to fake the sweat collecting at his hairline and collar. The door opened a crack. It only allowed a sliver of the inside of the office to be seen – just the bookshelves, really. So she was in.
"Who is it?" Professor McGonagall asked sharply.
"Your favourite student!" James chirped. She sighed.
"I assure you that isn't the case, Mr. Potter." James clutched at his heart, leaning into the gap.
"You wound me! Come on, Professor, it'll stay between us," he nobly vowed. She tutted.
"Why are you here? If you wish to discuss your progress, I would appreciate more notice in future. I'm afraid I'm busy," she said, words clipped.
James improvised.
"Oh, no! It's not that, don't worry. I know I'm improving," he said. She inhaled sharply. He stuck his face through the gap. "There was just a bit of an incident downstairs." McGonagall put her quill down. She looked up at him, brows drawn together.
"An incident?" she asked.
"Yup."
"If it involves Mr. Snape again, I -"
"No! No, it doesn't. It was – two first years, I think. A Gryffindor and a Slytherin. I mean, you know, the jinxes weren't too bad…they don't know much. Yet." He leaned against the doorframe. She got to her feet.
"Two first years were duelling?"
"Yeah."
"And why, exactly, did you not intervene? Did you think it wise to leave them alone together while you came to fetch me?"
"Well, Professor, last time I intervened in something and Sniv – Snape got his nose broken, you told me I ought to stay out of other people's business and not whip my wand out on every occasion. So, you know, I just wanted to follow your advice."
"Don't be smart, Potter. A point from Gryffindor."
"Professor! Isn't the whole point of coming to school to be smart?" She ignored him.
James jumped out of the road as McGonagall crossed her office, abandoning whatever she'd been working on. He stopped his panting. She strode past him. She flicked her wand and the door to her office slammed shut. He stayed hot on her heels, fixing his eyes on her emerald witch's hat. Rather stylish. He was impressed.
"Now, Mr. Potter, where did you say they were?"
"In the quad, by the clock tower," he supplied helpfully. A thought struck him. He reached into his pocket and withdrew his wand. "I'm happy to help, Professor, sorry about before. I reckon if I just give them the ol' -"
"That will not be necessary, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall said sharply. She whirled around. Her nostrils flared furiously. He made a show of gulping. She still had an inch or two on him, which helped. She sighed. "Can you not find something else to amuse yourself with? Surely Mr. Black can devise some method of entertaining you." It took all of his courage not to look out of the corner of his eye, to check if she'd somehow seen him. He laughed, and scratched his head, and made his muscles relax. Even if she did see him, it'd be fine. It would be.
"Only if you're sure you don't want my help," he said, twirling his wand. McGonagall snorted.
"Absolutely not."
"Alright then. Good luck!" She disappeared around the corner in an instant. He shut his eyes. One, two, three footsteps…they faded. He pumped his fist.
"We're on, then?" Sirius asked, stepping into view. James' eyes sparkled.
"We're on."
A thousand billywig stings couldn't compare to the thrill of enacting a prank. He felt high. And drunk. Okay, so maybe the high stuck around from earlier, but he'd been sober for like, a few days. Pete was put on stalling detail – you'd never pick it with all his stammering, twitching, sweating nervousness, but he could be a bloody good liar when he needed to be. James and Sirius stuck to the magic.
And magical it was. Sirius mastered the fountain spells, and had a steady supply of alcohol to draw from. Through a little of James' transfiguration abilities and a lot of Sirius' charmwork, they set up a working model. Then came the owls, led by Ignotus in their flight path and choir – truly led by Livia, though. Sirius bought with him a horde of food. Some they set out on enchanted platters and others zoomed through the air, ripe to cheerfully change colours or chase children. They primed their order from Zonko's, setting it with timing spells. They finished in perfect time. James spun round, arms flung out.
"This is the fucking best!" he declared giddily.
"We're pretty good," Sirius agreed.
"You know it!" It was carefully organised chaos – just the right amount to keep eyes off the office at the end of the corridor. They joined Peter, ducking through the magical curtain of charms they'd conjured.
"All ready?" Peter asked, waving off some nosy second-years. James beamed.
"Ready as ever! We just have to knock down the concealment charms and it's all good," James told him. Peter swallowed. The three of them went over the incantation and the plan, and then set their wands to work.
They bought down the mess of charms – though James thought they'd done pretty well considering they'd never been formally taught how to do them. There was their handiwork, in all its glory. Livia's voice echoed from Ignotus' beak – she'd broadened her normal accent, and it oozed through every syllable.
"There where the hills are sleeping,
Now feel the bloods a-leaping,
High as the spirits
Of the old Highland men!"
Eleven other owls followed him. Tied to each of their legs was a mock-up of an O.W.L transcript – a perfect one, of course, courtesy of Professor Flitwick so kindly handing out examples. And courtesy of Remus for bothering to keep it. Their fountain of glittering amber Scotch flowed beautifully, and was strong enough to give a killer hangover from a whiff at six feet away. Haggis, black pudding, and an assortment of porridges whizzed through the air, bristling at the opportunity to entice an unsuspecting student. Tartan banners hung from the ceiling, blowing proudly in an artificial wind.
"It's a bummer we can't see how it all plays out," James pouted.
"Yeah," Peter agreed. James shook it out of him.
"We have to do this for Remus, though," he said firmly. "That's what's important. This is just a distraction…a really good one."
"How much time do you think we'll spend in detention?" Sirius asked casually. He stopped by the scotch fountain and cupped his hands. He scooped up a mouthful and drank it quickly. James laughed.
"You got more on your moustache than in your mouth, mate," he teased. Sirius swiped at his upper lip, scowling at the droplets clinging to the grove of black hair.
"It won't be ages, will it?" Peter asked. "Mum and Dad don't really think it's very good for me to be in detention all the time."
"Nah," James assured him. "Not long."
Sirius slipped into McGonagall's office first. Peter hurried after him. James snuck a last glance at their corridor of chaos. A group of Hufflepuffs stood wide-eyed. A haggis attacked one of the smaller ones, ramming them repeatedly. The little Hufflepuff cowered, throwing their arms up over their head. Another pointed at the owls, counting them. None of them looked his way. James fought furiously to keep a straight face until he was safely inside. The laughter bubbled and burst. He doubled over, letting it take control.
Then he straightened up. "Alright," he said, wiggling out the last of the giggles. "Let's do this."
It was remarkably odd to be breaking into Professor McGonagall's office. Over the years, James had been accused on numerous occasions of lacking respect for authority. He disagreed. He respected authority when they had earned it. Professor McGonagall was one such person. Yeah, okay, she was strict, but she was the best teacher he'd ever had. The best Head of House, too – he hadn't had any others, but he didn't need comparisons to know she was the best. Ferreting through her things was kind of low. But it was for Remus. There wasn't any other way. And if helping one of his best mates meant disrespecting a teacher, well, the teacher was just going to have to be disrespected, even if it was someone he admired as much as he did Professor McGonagall.
Peter got right into it, opening up the top drawer of her desk. Sirius opened a tall cabinet. James tackled the bookshelves behind her desk. He groaned.
"What is it?" Peter asked quickly. James shook his head.
"They're ordered alphabetically by author," he sighed. "How am I meant to know who wrote about what?" He could have used the word-searching spell, technically, but he wasn't sure how complex McGonagall's intruder alarms would be. Could they detect foreign magic? But then, what if she tutored kids in here, or helped them with something, and they used their wands? Did she disable it? Too many possibilities.
He resorted to skimming the titles. Fortunately, most authors tended to write about similar subjects. He bypassed one woman who appeared to write only cookbooks. He couldn't imagine Professor McGonagall donning an apron and getting into the kitchen, frowning over squash. Weird. It was just a bookshelf, but it felt like reading her bloody diary. Not that he could imagine her keeping one. She'd probably think it ridiculous. There were books on gnome maintenance, psychology, Russian history, muggle politicians, poetry from the war against Grindelwald. Did she really sit down and read poetry? His mind boggled.
"Any luck?" Sirius asked, shutting the wooden doors of one cabinet and moving to the next.
"Nah," James said.
"Nope," Peter said.
"Me neither," Sirius grumbled. "She has a collection of terrier dog figurines, though."
"What?" James chuckled. Sirius shook his head. "She transforms into a cat."
"And why wouldn't it be in a display cabinet?" Peter pointed out.
"Maybe she's ashamed of her secret preference," Sirius said, wiggling his eyebrows. James pulled a face.
"Mate."
"Not like that, you filthy bastard!" Sirius guffawed. Peter snorted.
The racket outside grew. James suspected Peeves' involvement, and he could hear a lot of whooping. The scotch was sure to get students on side – most of the older boys would drink it to prove their manliness, and the younger students would simply take whatever they could get to look cool. And the flying haggis would be funny if you weren't the target.
He forced himself to focus. This wasn't just a prank for the sake of showing off, or even honouring McGonagall. They had to find this shit so that they could transform. So that Remus didn't have to spend another moon alone. James quickly sobered up. What Remus did every month – kept on top of his grades, made them laugh, did his prefect duties, shredded his skin and broke every bone in his body – James couldn't. Simply put, he wasn't built for that life. He'd never needed to be. Remus seemed worn down, all the time. James liked having energy, playing Quidditch and firing off spells and living and loving life. He'd hate to be tired every second of his life. He was happy to be busy, to fall into bed and into a deep, blissful sleep, but that was a satisfied tired. Not fatigue. Not fatigue from just existing. Running the risk of sounding like his mother, it broke his fucking heart to look at Remus sometimes.
That was why they had to do this. James didn't know how to lift the fatigue or the fog, but Merlin couldn't stop him from being at Remus' side and at least attempt to help.
"I've got something!" Peter said. James nearly dropped his wand. He spun around. Peter was in the third drawer, and held up a handful of letters. James clapped his hands together. The racket grew.
"Nice one!" James said. "What do they say?" Sirius joined them, looking impressed.
"Merlin's beard, Wormy, you did find something," Sirius said, taking the letters off him. James elbowed him, craning his neck to see the writing. He squinted through his specs. 'The process of creating the potion necessary to become an animagus is very time-consuming,' one sentence started.
"You did!" James shouted, jumping into the air. Sirius burst into laughter. James flipped him off, and threw an arm around Peter. Peter's whole face lit up.
"I know!" he said. James grabbed his wrist and hoisted his arm into the air. There was even a sound like the roaring of a crowd.
"Victory is awarded to Mr. Pettigrew!" James boomed, affecting a voice. "For being the best invader of privacy in the United Kingdom!"
"Oi!" said Peter, wrenching his hand away. He smacked it into the vibrating drawer in his haste. Wait. James stared. The vibrating drawer. The roaring, vibrating drawer. The roaring, vibrating, looking-and-sounding-and-acting-as-if-it-was-alarmed drawer. The roaring, vibrating, looking-and-sounding-and-acting-as-if-it-was-alarmed, teeth-growing drawer.
"Pete!"
"Wormy!"
"Ow!" Peter flung his hand into the air. Faint red teeth marks marred the back of his hand.
"It's alarmed!" Sirius exclaimed. The drawer growled. Sharp, pointy teeth glinted along the sides of the drawer. It rattled furiously, and began slamming back and forth into the desk. Peter stumbled backwards, clutching his bitten hand.
"Fuck!" Peter shook. The drawer shrieked, baring its teeth. James smoothed back his hair. She'd already know. It couldn't get any worse.
"Geminio!" He flourished his wand and tapped the letters. They doubled instantly. He grabbed them and stuffed them into the inner pockets of his robes.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
"What the fuck is that?" Peter shouted. Sirius ripped the letters out of his hands. One tore clean in half.
"Shit!" Sirius swore. James pulled out the letters from his pockets. He rifled through them.
"What's it say, what's it say?" he yelled, over the screaming of the alarms. BANG! The fireworks, James realised. One for every year Professor McGonagall had worked at the school.
"Uh, fuck, fuck – trophy? Trophy on the third line!" Sirius said. James flipped through the letters. Where is it? Where is it? Girls squealed on the other side of the door. Shit. Fuck. He raked his eyes over the pages. Where is it?
"Got it," he said breathlessly. He duplicated it again and gave the copy to Sirius. Sirius shoved it back into the desk with the rest.
"I SMELL SOMETHING BLACK AND POTTY!" Peeves howled. James froze. Peter wrung his hands together, eyes wide. Sirius slammed the drawer shut. He whipped out his wand and set fire to the torn letter.
"The cleaning charms, Pete!" James shouted. Peter nodded furiously and began shooting spells across the room, destroying the evidence that they'd been there. James flung himself against the door and looked through a tiny crack. BANG! Showers of red and gold sparks obscured his vision. Peeves scooped up the scotch in a bowl and tipped it on a girl's head. She screamed. 'Scotland the Brave' bounced off the walls, accompanied by owl droppings.
"This is wicked!" Billy Pomfrey declared, grabbing a bowl of porridge out of the air. James smiled. It was pretty awesome.
Something smashed. He whirled around. Sirius' hands bled. Glass littered the floor.
"It's fucking Peter's fault!" Sirius shouted, jabbing his wand at Peter. Peter resembled a wax figure.
"I don't care! Quick! Reparo!" James' knees buckled as he cast. He stiffened them, grabbing the doorframe with his free hand, keeping himself upright. No time for this shit. The glass door of the cabinet repaired itself. Thank Merlin. "Come on!" Sirius and Peter joined him at the door. He opened it a sliver, and shot out a Jelly-Legs Jinx. It hit a Slytherin twenty feet ahead. Peeves pointed and laughed.
"WEAK AT THE KNEES FOR A LION?" Peeves taunted. The Slytherin boy gave him the two-fingered salute. James caught Remus' eye. A very rumpled, harassed-looking Lily Evans scowled next to him.
Suddenly, Remus threw his wand arm out.
"Look out!" he bellowed. Across the corridor, a window shattered. Some of the first years screamed. James double-took. Had Remus' lips moved? Was that a non-verbal spell? He leapt out and took the opportunity. Peter and Sirius crashed on top of him. They fell in a heap. James jumped up, pushing down the swirling sickness in the pit of his stomach. He ran for it.
BANG! BANG! BANG! Fireworks exploded overhead. He supposed they were meant to have more room. His ears rung. The world turned to red and gold. It stunk of scotch. His feet ere wet with it. Ignotus nobly continued singing – screeching, really. Livia's voice distorted. Peter grabbed James' sleeve. Remus shouted. Lily yelled, red hair whipping around her face. BANG! Peeves' laughter echoed.
A spell whizzed past him. He turned to look. Sirius stowed his wand in his pocket. Sybil Gamp, a wiry Slytherin girl the year above them, fell arse-over-head. She landed in a puddle. A mixture of owl shit, brandy, and black pudding. She squeezed her eyes shut. Her face turned red. She opened her mouth. A perfect circle. And then she screamed loud enough to be heard in Hogsmeade. In London. To wake the banshees across the North Sea and get them screaming, too.
James skidded to a stop. Peter slammed into him. Billy Pomfrey clapped his hands over his ears, and Alastor Gumboil ran for it. BANG! Another firework. The world sizzled crimson. Gamp kept screaming. James' guts twitched. Nausea drowned him.
BANG!
This firework hit their scotch fountain. It exploded. Their spellwork meant that the fountain itself disintegrated under such force. The brandy did not. James smacked his glasses into his face. The blast knocked him flying.
James had been to the seaside a few times, but not regularly. Between visits, he forgot about the true nature of the ocean. They'd arrive, he'd tear his shirt off, throw his glasses down, wiggle his toes in the sand, and sprint down to the water. He dived in. Every time. He often hit the bottom. He'd pop his head up, spitting out saltwater, eyes stinging. He'd swim even where he could touch, paddling out, letting the gentle roll of a tiny wave lift him up and set him back a few feet. He went out past the whitewash. He'd go to where he could sit his chin on the top of the water if he stood on tiptoes, and he'd wait. Eyes gleaming. Smiling wide. A great big wave would come in from the horizon, growing stronger and stronger, gathering strength. He didn't flinch. He'd done this before, and it hadn't been that bad, had it? He didn't swim in with the others. He didn't prime a board. Didn't get into position. He watched, ad watched, and watched.
And then it hit him.
It bowled him over entirely, sent him tumbling, reeling. He didn't know which way was up. It tore through his swimming trunks, ripped out a handful of hair, smashed him into the sand and then catapulted him through pure water. He'd smash his chin on a rock or cut himself on sharp shells. One time, something stung him. He didn't know how long it lasted. He came to on wet sand, teeth gritty, lungs full of water, aching. His parents stood over him. His mother clapped her hands over her mouth. His father's wand poked out the end of the sleeve of his shirt.
It was kind of like that, but it wasn't his mother standing over him when he opened his burning eyes. His skull hurt more. His head flopped limply, avoiding her gaze. An angel, ringed by dark, furious flames, stood in the middle of the room, by the screaming demon. It raised its staff.
"SHUT! UP!" the angel commanded. "SILENCIO!" It wiggled its staff gracefully. The demon was rendered mute. James sighed. The angel trembled, and turned to face him. He squinted. Two fierce, cut emeralds popped out of its head. Basilisk eyes.
"Sorry, Professor," said the angel, voice soft. "It was getting on my nerves." James' spine grinded as he turned his head. Above him stood God, wearing a surprisingly fashionable witch's hat.
"Mine. Too."
A/N: Thank you guys so much for all of your support! 3 The song Livia/Ignotus sings is 'Scotland the Brave' :)