A/N: Warning for language, underage drinking, mentions of violence, and some implied internalised homophobia.
Chapter title taken from Taylor Swift's 'illicit affairs', an absolutely fab song.
January 4th, 1976
"I missed you guys," Peter confessed. He sat next to James, and Sirius and Remus were on the other side of the table. The four of them were, of course, seated at the Gryffindor table, in Hogwarts' Great Hall. The Christmas decorations of a few weeks ago were vanished, replaced by golden garlands, and shimmering sparks that floated through the air like dandelion whisps. Professor McGonagall passed them by, bringing with her the last stragglers from the train. She eyed them sternly. Peter pulled his black school hat out from under the table and shoved it on his head. Remus wore his already. James waved at her, and Sirius leaned back, folding his arms across his chest.
"It would be a crime to cover this up," Sirius said, shaking out his long hair.
"It's alright, I know you don't want to get into trouble. You put your hat on, and I'll save everyone from keeling over with my hair. Win-win," James offered.
"Oh, Jamie, I don't know about that. Your girlfriend might get jealous if she sees everyone staring at your hair," Sirius smirked. He looked somewhere above Peter's head. Peter turned around.
"Oh!" It was Lisbete, and she'd narrowly dodged his hat.
"Sorry!" he squeaked. She smiled at him.
"It's okay." She leaned over and draped herself around James. She pressed a kiss to his cheek. His face lit up. He turned his head and kissed her softly on the lips. She glowed.
"Stop it, Jamie, you're putting me off my dinner," Sirius said.
"Bugger off," James said.
"Hullo, Lisbete. How was your Christmas?" Remus asked politely.
"It was alright, thank you," she said. She swung around James onto the bench, nearly squashing Peter. He jumped out of the way and bumped a second year.
"Sorry," he whispered. The second year shot him a dirty look and edged towards her friend. Lisbete's back pressed against Peter's shoulder, and she threw her legs over James' lap. Sirius snorted. Remus looked amused.
"Er, Lisbete, d'you want me to move over…?" James asked, redness creeping into his cheeks. Peter's eyes widened.
"What's wrong, Jamie?" Sirius asked gleefully. "Haven't you missed your girlfriend?"
"Er, no, I have, obviously – I missed you heaps…"
Lisbete leaned in for another kiss, and James ducked his head. Why doesn't he want to kiss her? Peter wondered. If he'd had a girl in his lap, he probably wouldn't be able to stop kissing her.
"Did your whole family end up going to yours?" he asked her.
"Hm? Oh, Val didn't come," she said, beginning to plait a few strands of his hair.
"Is everything alright?"
"She and Dad had a row. But, Jamie, I've missed you so much! I couldn't stop thinking about you." James squirmed. It bewildered Peter. Across the table, Sirius silently cackled, and Remus put his head down on the table, hands shielding his face.
"Oh, Merlin, Merlin's saggy bullocks, fuck me…" Sirius whispered. Remus' shoulders quivered. Lisbete cupped James' cheek.
"Er – Lisbete-"
Professor McGonagall stood behind Sirius and Remus. She arched her eyebrows very high. James stiffened. Peter was glad he'd put on his hat. Professor McGonagall cleared her throat. Sirius pressed his lips together, suppressing laughter, and Remus bolted upright.
"Good evening, Professor," Remus said.
"Good evening, Mr Lupin," she said, unimpressed. "Mr Black. Mr Pettigrew." Confusion struck Peter at the acknowledgement, and he scrambled to think of what to do. He waved at her, as James had done.
"Hello, Professor!" he said. Professor McGonagall ignored him.
"Mr Potter," she continued. "Miss Moult."
"Hi, Professor!" Lisbete said perkily, dropping her hand from James' face.
"Hi, Professor," James echoed stiffly. Professor McGonagall's expression did not flicker. Peter was frightened for James.
"Might I suggest you find your own seat, Miss Moult? Mr Potter, you would do well to remember our meeting last term, and the way the school expects its potential representatives to behave. Mr Lupin, you would do well to remember that as a prefect, you have been given rights and responsibilities, and are expected to exercise both." Remus paled. James' smile flickered. Lisbete's eyes bulged.
"Sure thing," Lisbete said quickly, swinging her legs off James. She jumped up and scrambled over the bench. "I'll go sit with Cathy," she said. "Bye! Love you, Jamie!"
"Bye!" James called, ruffling his hair. "Sorry about that, Professor," he added. Professor McGonagall pursed her lips.
"Mm," she said. With a sweep of her cloak, she was gone, quickly advancing on the staff table.
James wiped his forehead and laughed. Sirius leaned forward, cradling his cheek in his hand.
"So, did I hear Lisbete right? Did she say she loves you?" Sirius asked.
"Love?" Peter echoed. "Woah. That's serious."
"You know what else is serious?" Remus asked, glancing up at the professors.
"Me," said Sirius.
"Putting your hats on," Remus said, "so we don't all get into trouble again."
"She won't come back," James said easily.
"If she does, there shall be Sirius consequences," Sirius said.
"But hopefully she won't potter about the Great Hall."
"Her rage at Jamie and Lisbete's coupling should peter out soon."
"She didn't even mention the hats."
"James, you blacken my heart. No pun."
"Put your hats on or I'll take points!" Remus hissed. Peter blinked. James gaped for a moment, and then reinstated his trademark grin.
"Right-o," he said, and slapped his hat atop his head.
"Taking charge, Moony," Sirius said, putting his hat on too. Remus rubbed the back of his neck.
"Sorry," he said, quieter.
"Nah, you're fine," Sirius said.
Professor Dumbledore rose from the staff table to stand at the lectern. He raised his hands, and the Great Hall fell silent. Peter's stomach grumbled.
"I would like to welcome each and every one of you back to Hogwarts," he began. "I am thankful to see you all safely returned. When you departed at the conclusion of last term, I had nothing but the highest hopes for your happy Christmases." Sirius scoffed. "I am most aggrieved that this well-earned break has been stolen from you. As many of you are aware, the past fortnight has seen the callous murders of many muggles by a wizard or group of wizards. These murders occurred in areas where one or more muggle-born resides, with many of those muggle-borns being students here at Hogwarts. I am certain that these were not random attacks; the victims were deliberately targeted to terrorise these muggle communities and the muggle-borns who reside within them. What was done to some of the victims is unspeakable. And so, I beg you, heed my words when I say, anyone who is found to be celebrating these tragedies, who is found to be harassing students from these communities, or who is found to be otherwise inciting violence or harassment towards muggle-borns and muggles, will be punished most severely. I will not tolerate it. I urge anyone who experiences any harassment, violence, or discrimination because of their blood-status to report this directly to myself," Dumbledore concluded gravely.
Peter chewed the inside of his cheek. "Blimey," he said. "Does that mean all the Slytherins will be expelled?"
"Not likely," Sirius said darkly. "The Board of Governors is made up of their fathers. No way will Dumbledore be able to expel one of their kids."
"Nah, he will," James said. "He's Dumbledore. And this is serious shit. It's like when we're at war, and the Minister of Magic gets special powers to lock people up and make new laws."
"I've always thought that's bullshit. What if the Minister of Magic's a bad guy?" Sirius asked. James shrugged.
"Well, it probably means that everyone in Britain is bad, because they voted for him. That's when you overthrow the government," James said.
"Nothing like a good coup," Remus agreed, or at least, Peter thought he did. There were times he was tempted to carry a dictionary around with him.
Dumbledore started to speak again. The boys went quiet. "I expect this term to be one of learning, and one of joy, and one of friendship. In these times, we must band together. When dark approaches, you must bask in the light. And that begins now, with your dinner. Enjoy." He waved his hand, and the platters on the table came to life. They jumped into the air, flipping and twirling. Upon landing, food covered them. Peter's mouth watered. Juices of all flavours filled the jugs. Peter grabbed one and poured himself a cup of pumpkin juice. Then he fought Sirius for a good bit of pork.
Peter missed school dinners over the holidays. His mother had pushed herself to make extravagant dishes while Patricia visited, and most of them tasted terrible, because they were burned or undercooked or seasoned with something just weird. Hogwarts meals never had that problem; if he didn't like something, it was because of him, not because it was poorly made. He dug into his roast potatoes and pork, soaking up every flavour.
"Did they starve you at home, Wormy?" Sirius asked. Peter looked up, swallowing a mouthful. Out of habit, his tongue flicked to where the crushed mandrake leaf was stuck between his gum and the flesh of his cheek. It was still there.
"No," he said. "Mum's not a very good cook."
"They starved me. It's why I look so good," Sirius said, cool as you like. The bags beneath his eyes looked heavy. James set his fork down, an odd expression on his face. Sirius shrugged. "I'm joking. Half-joking. Merlin."
"Half-joking," James said.
"How's your boner, Jamie?" Sirius retorted.
"Fuck off."
A delicious dessert followed dinner, and just as Peter's stomach began to ache, absolutely stuffed to the brim with pudding, Professor Dumbledore announced that it was time for them to head up to their dormitories. Alice Rhysfield jumped to her feet.
"Come on, Gryffindors, let's get going! Come on, fourth years, I know you want to get to bed early so you don't sleep through History of Magic first thing tomorrow!" This elicited several groans. Peter got up, as did his friends.
"When you're in seventh year and get to make the passwords, you should just make them our names," Sirius told Remus.
"Is that the only way you'll get a girl to say your name?" James asked curiously. Sirius rolled his eyes.
"You could make it my name," Peter suggested.
"That's definitely the only way a girl will say your name," Sirius said.
"I have difficulty imagining that Lily would come round to the idea," Remus said.
"'Course she would, she loves us," James said. "We can use her name as a password too."
"Oh, yes, that'll cinch it," Remus replied.
The first years scurried up ahead of them, apparently eager to prove that they knew the way now. Rhysfield jogged to keep up with them, while Longbottom hung back. He seemed more focused on his conversation with Brown than on making sure everyone came along. Sometimes it surprised Peter how casual the prefects were about their jobs. If he'd been named prefect – not that he ever would have been, in any universe, because he was useless and everyone knew it – he would have rounded people up properly, or made like Lily and McLaggen, who moved through the crowd, politely checking in on people. All Remus did was deflect Sirius' jokes.
They reached the portrait-hole, which was open already. The Fat Lady toasted to them. Peter climbed through after James. It was exactly how Peter remembered it; fire crackling, cushions scattered, a chess set waiting to be used, and knights riding through the tapestries on the walls. A group of first years crammed themselves onto the couch. Lisbete and Cathy shared an armchair. James beelined to a table and nearly threw a chair at Peter; he grabbed it, just. Remus and Sirius snatched up the other two chairs from that table, and the boys made a row of seats, pointed towards the fire. Alice stood in front of the fire, answering rapid-fire questions and shouting for everyone to sit down.
"Is it any good?" James asked Remus. He shrugged.
"It's just a speech," Remus said.
"Anything funny?" Sirius asked.
"It's Alice," Remus replied. Sirius leaned his head forward so his dark hair formed a curtain around his face. Frank came through the portrait hole, along with Brown, and a few of the 'usual suspects' followed them – Connor and Declan O'Neill, Bagman, Jenkins. The portrait swung shut behind them. Peter wondered if he and his mates would take up their role when they graduated. They could definitely pull it off, he reckoned. Pranking, organising parties, smuggling in Firewhisky. And then everyone would look up to them and think they were awesome, even Peter, instead of thinking they were annoying or attention-seeking, like Lily and most girls apparently did. That'd be nice.
"Alright, everyone, sit down, or find somewhere to stand!" Alice shouted over the hubbub of conversation.
"I'm ready to sit down in my bed," Remus murmured. Sirius laughed.
"I'm ready to sleep in my bed," said Peter. Sirius fiddled with the stud in his ear. Peter still couldn't believe he'd pierced his ear. It was so girly. But for whatever reason, James and Sirius thought it was cool, so Peter just went along with it. Nobody sensible told Sirius he looked dumb.
"Right!" Alice barked. The room went quiet (Gryffindor Tower was never fully silent). "Welcome back. I hope you all had a good holiday. I'd like to have a good term, too. That means, firstly, nobody getting themselves locked out of the common room. First years, you've been here for a few months now, you should know better than to go around forgetting. And older students – you should definitely know! Our password at the moment is 'bonanza'. If anyone is caught passing on the password to a student of a different house, our team of prefects will not hesitate to dock a point, okay? Good. On the topic of points, remember, our prefects do have the authority to take points, and to give you detention, as do the other house prefects. Please try not to piss them off. The Slytherin prefects have been taking a lot of points, and we're not going to stoop to their level, so we need everyone to be on their best behaviour, okay?" At this point, she looked in the direction of Peter and his friends. He squirmed. "At the moment, we're last in the House Cup. Ravenclaw first, Hufflepuff second, Slytherin third. It would be mortifying for us to come last, especially when I'm Head Girl. So get your shit together, please! Answer questions in class, don't swear at teachers, don't bunk off," here she glared at Bagman, Jenkins, and O'Neill, "don't hex other students, don't blow up corridors," another glare at James, who winked, "don't sneak down to Hogsmeade, don't get caught with any of the banned items. This includes alcohol, cigarettes, drugs of any type, drug paraphernalia, love potions, hate potions, lads' mags, enchanted quills, cursed objects, poisons, weapons including but not limited to; swords, erm – firearms?, maces, spears, longbows, crossbows, daggers, axes, and flame-throwers. It's important to note that every single item I've listed has been found in the possession of a Gryffindor during my time as a prefect and as Head Girl."
"Bullshit," Sirius whispered. "I don't remember anyone having a spear. She's cracking up."
James had his hand raised. Peter frowned at him. Alice let out a long-suffering sigh.
"What, Potter?"
"Well, are lads' magazines the only type banned? What about girls' magazines?" he asked. Alice tapped her foot.
"Well – no dirty magazines," Alice amended.
"What if they're not dirty?" James pressed. "What if I'd like to buy some swimmers for – for my great aunt?"
"You're buying swimwear for your great aunt?" Alice raised her eyebrows.
"Well, I could be. Who are you to tell me that I can't?"
"Potter."
"Well, what if someone saw this fine swimwear magazine, and misconstrued it for something else? Alternatively – what if the girls in the lads' mag are a bit covered up?" The first years giggled furiously. Lisbete covered her face with her hands. That would be embarrassing, Peter thought. He was glad he wasn't Lisbete.
"Look, I'm going off the banned items list, if you have a magazine you really think might be unfairly targeted, you take it to McGonagall and have her decide."
"Not to mention, don't you think it's a bit prudish to be all about repressing ourselves?"
"You're at school, Potter -"
"Potter!" It was a new voice. Peter's head turned. Lily Evans stood up. She looked extremely cross. "Nobody cares about what you think about in bed, I promise you, so don't try to tell us, and besides, I'm sure someone as clever as you tell everyone you are can use your imagination. Everyone wants to go to bed as soon as possible, and not one person barring yourself is enjoying the sound of your voice. So please, kindly, shut up."
James' mouth opened and closed. It took him a moment. "Alice, she told me to shut up."
"I'm not taking points for that. Please shut up, Potter," Alice said. She continued on with her speech.
"What's got Evans' knickers in a knot?" James whispered.
"Well, she never likes listening to you," Remus replied.
"It's not new," Sirius agreed.
"It is, though," James insisted. "She wasn't that bitchy last term."
"Maybe it's her full moon," Sirius said.
"Gross," said Peter.
Alice finished her speech and invited Frank to speak.
"What she said. Don't lose us points, remember the password, and older guys, remember that the professors can smell you," he tapped his nostrils, "and you're not as subtle as you think you are. And there's a clear-eye spell."
"Frank!" Alice hissed.
"In case you've been weeping at the cost of renting a flat, or at your after-school prospects, like I have," he clarified. "Alright, that's all from me."
The crowd dispersed. Lily marched straight up to her dormitory. Remus rubbed his eyes.
"Are we staying?" he asked, looking at James. James shrugged.
"Yeah, why not? Just for a bit. We've gotta celebrate. After tonight, we only have two more post-Christmas-holiday-returns ever."
"Woah," said Peter. James was right. They'd have next year, and then the year after would be their very last. They only had two more Christmas seasons at Hogwarts. It depressed him. In his brain, he knew that they were over halfway through their Hogwarts journey, but he'd not really thought about what that meant. Everything was inching closer to their last.
"That's very specific," Remus said. "How many more wake-up-from-your-pre-Quidditch-training-showers do I have left?" James considered this.
"At least a hundred," he said solemnly.
"Is it too late to change rooms?" Remus asked.
A cheer went up.
"Beer," Sirius said, bolting upright.
"Definitely beer," James agreed. "I can feel it in the air."
O'Neill staggered down the stairs with his trunk in his arms. A crowd gathered. James and Sirius exchanged a glance. Peter grinned.
"Are we going?" he asked.
"'Course!" James said. The four of them got to their feet and hurried over. O'Neill howled (Remus flinched), and set his trunk on the floor. The crowd bustled. O'Neill knelt down.
"Prepare to be amazed," he warned them. Peter prepared. O'Neill flicked the latch of his trunk, and lifted the lid. There was not one article of clothing inside. Not one book. Just bottles and bottles and bottles of beer. It was heaven.
"BEER! BEER! BEER!" somebody chanted. Peter took up the cry. James and Sirius followed, and the three of them stomped their feet. O'Neill grabbed a bottle, and lifted it above his head. They screamed, feral. He twisted the lid open.
"LET THERE BE BEER!" O'Neill shouted. "WELCOME TO HOGWARTS!" Peter screamed so loud that he practically felt his vocal cords snap. O'Neill began handing out bottles, and the crowd was frantic. Someone trod on Peter's toe. He pushed in behind James. Amy Brown elbowed him in the ribs.
"I'm going to kill myself," he heard Alice say distantly. "I'm going to murder him and then I'm going to kill myself."
"Shh," said Frank. "It's all okay. It's okay."
"I'm going to disembowel him," Alice said, voice strangled.
"Why don't we go up to bed? Pop on a record, we can use that teapot Mum gave me..."
"I'm going to throw him off the Astronomy Tower."
"Shh, it's okay, it'll be okay, deep breaths."
As it turned out, they had to pay. Peter's hands dove into his pockets and came up empty. James nudged him.
"Don't worry, mate," he said, flashing a galleon between his fingers. Relief flooded Peter.
"You're the greatest," Peter told him. James grinned.
"I know." He handed the coin to O'Neill, and came back with a beer for each of them. Sirius twisted the cap off immediately. "Oi!" James said. "Come on. Cheers first." They clinked their bottles together.
"Cheers," Peter said.
"Cheers," said Sirius.
"Cheers," James nodded.
"Slainte," Remus said.
"What?" Peter asked. "You're not Irish."
"I'm not," Remus agreed, taking a sip of beer. Peter was confused.
They sat down together, back on their chairs, but one-by-one, the others drifted off. Remus entered a conversation with Vickers, the female prefect the year above them, and dashed off to change something in his History of Magic homework. Lisbete sauntered over and started laying all over James. She giggled in his ear and kissed everywhere on his face but his lips. Peter shifted uncomfortably. Wood came over and insisted that she and Brown needed to talk about something Quidditch-related, so James left, Lisbete dragging on his arm. Then it was just Sirius and Peter. He wished James or Remus were there to act as a buffer. Sirius kept quiet. Peter wrung his hands. Sirius tugged at his lower lip.
"You didn't say much about your holidays," Peter said awkwardly. No response. "Was your mum being really strict? My parents were being really strict. I really wanted to go to Vane's New Year's party. I can't believe he even invited me. I mean, I guess it's probably just because of James, and you, but yeah. It would've been so much fun. So, er, my mum's strict too. I know what it's like. If you want to talk about it -"
"Yeah," Sirius said.
"It sucks."
"Yeah." Silence reigned again. Peter squirmed.
"How's your – thing?" Peter tapped his earlobe. Sirius fingered his earring.
"Fine." He sighed. "Wormy, do you want another beer?" Peter was close to giving up on getting Sirius to give up that stupid nickname. It sucked, though, nearly as much as his mum. Why couldn't he just be called Pete? Or something cool?
"I can get it," Peter offered.
"No, it's fine." Sirius walked off.
Peter didn't expect him to come back. It was Sirius, after all. He leaned back on the couch, watching Renee Walker, a very pretty sixth year, with some interest. When he felt someone sit next to him, he expected it to be someone new.
Sirius handed him a beer.
"Thanks," Peter said, a genuine smile lighting up his face.
"You're welcome," Sirius said quietly. He took a long drink. "Better than being at home. I ran out of Firewhisky," he said.
"That sucks," Peter said. He'd had a sober Christmas too; he was allowed a little bit of eggnog, and Patricia convinced their parents to let him have one singular beer. It had been more terrifying than it sounded. It was a delicate balance between not acting drunk and then never being allowed to drink again, and not acting like he had an alcohol tolerance that would suggest he had a few drinks semi-regularly, and his parents deciding to homeschool him to stop him from becoming a baby alcoholic.
He kind of wished he hadn't been able to drink at all.
"Yep," said Sirius.
Peter watched Renee Walker twirl her hair and bat her eyelashes at Bagman, and sort of forgot about Sirius. Renee was gorgeous. Peter wished he could get with someone like her. Why did he suck so badly at getting girls? He'd had a teeny-tiny relationship with Mary Macdonald, but it had only been because everyone else was dating someone, and their kiss barely counted. His mum kissed him with more feeling than Mary had (gross). There'd been a date in third year that went nowhere, and James snogged the same girl later on, so she was permanently off the books. And now…
"Do you think Padgett really did it?" he blurted out. Sirius' drink was half-empty already. He swirled it.
"Probably," Sirius said. He glared at his drink. Peter wrung his hands.
"But…Padgett's early," Peter reasoned. "I mean, James hasn't done it. If it was normal, James would've done it."
"He has a girlfriend," Sirius muttered.
"Yeah, but…they won't do it. Not now. Padgett probably did it with an older girl," Peter said. He could see how guys would want to do it when they were younger, but no way would girls think the same. Well, he assumed. He'd never actually asked a girl, and had no intention of doing so. That would be mental.
Sirius emptied the rest of the drink down his throat. Then he gave Peter a very intense look. Peter blinked. Sirius' icy stare bore into him. It felt like it was ripping through his soul. Peter smiled weakly. Nothing changed. He tried to match Sirius' intentness. He was certain he looked dumb.
"I'm going to bed," Sirius declared, looking away. "Do you want another beer?" Peter shook his head.
"No thanks."
Sirius left his empty bottle on the floor and grabbed another two full ones before heading up to their dormitory. Now Peter was abandoned. Only a little later than he'd thought. He stood, with no real idea of where he was going, and found himself at O'Neill's trunk of beer. He still didn't have any money on him. Besides, he didn't think it was smart to drink too much on a school night. Especially when the next day was a Monday.
His seat was already taken. He looked around the room, lost. His friends were gone. Lily, who might've let him say hello, was also gone. He was running out of people. He hunted Mary Macdonald but couldn't find her either. He leaned against a tapestry and ruefully wondered if he ought to call it quits, too.
His last hope darted into view. At once he felt really stupid; was he so hopeless that he was dependent on a thirteen-year-old girl? But she was less scary than trying to hang out with the older boys, or even Marlene. Cathy Roshfinger walked past, looking bored. She was alone, so there was nobody else to giggle at him. Lisbete was with James! The realisation hit him like a lightning bolt. Not only was Cathy non-threatening, but she was also in a similar situation. Relief washed over him.
"Cathy!" he said, a little too eagerly. She stopped in her tracks to look at him.
"Peter?"
"Are you doing anything?" he asked, before his knees could give way. She pressed her lips together.
"I was going to bed."
"Oh."
"I need to talk to you, though."
"Oh?"
Cathy grabbed his arm and pulled him over to the corner of the room. Peter went along willingly. Cathy looked a bit sick; she was very pale, and her dark hair sort of stuck to her face. Her skin was cool to touch. Dale never looked well either, he thought. Maybe they were one of those families Mum talked about all the time, with 'poor constitutions'. She was always worried that Peter had a 'poor constitution'. There was always some new spell she wanted to try to see if he was feeling well.
"Lisbete didn't like James' presents," Cathy said bluntly. Peter blinked.
"Oh," he said. What was he supposed to say? He didn't know what James got Lisbete; he didn't know what James had got from Lisbete. They only talked about Lisbete to tease him. The extent of girls saying bad things about boys must've been a lot greater than he thought. That horrified him.
"We don't have class on Tuesday mornings. Don't do this Tuesday, but the Tuesday after. If it's too soon she'll know. You're going to convince James to give her a nice surprise, alright? Or he's out of luck. And then I have to console Lisbete and you have to deal with him being upset. I'm going to assume he would be upset." Cathy looked at him. It took Peter a moment to realise he was meant to respond.
"Oh, yeah," he said. "Definitely. Really upset. He'd be gutted."
"Surprise. Tuesday morning. I'm happy to help. Got it?"
"Erm, yeah. Got it." His head spun.
"Good. Goodnight, Peter." Without waiting for a response, she raced up the stairs to the girls' dormitory. Peter leaned against the wall, defeated. Was a nice, simple, undemanding chat too much to ask for? What if James didn't want to give Lisbete a surprise? Was Peter meant to tell him she hadn't liked the present? Why had Cathy gone to Peter and not someone more on James' level (Sirius)? How was he meant to get James to do something if he didn't want to do it?
He just wanted a normal night.
January 5th, 1975
The Hogwarts beds had not lost their touch. James woke from a perfect sleep. He'd drifted off as soon as his head hit the pillow, slept soundly, and upon awaking was brought to full consciousness, not that lingering drowsy half-life. The air was crisp and cool, and his head was clear. He rolled out of bed, messed his hair, grabbed some clothes out of his drawers and headed for the shower. His four roommates were fast asleep. All was right in the world, he reckoned. It felt like a good day to be James Potter. Then again, when was it not a good day to be James Potter?
He scrubbed himself from head-to-toe, and when he emerged, smelled very nice, if he did think so himself. He dressed in his school robes and wandered back to his bed. He started to shove his things into his bookbag. When he was at school, all he wanted was for classes to end, but over the holidays, he found himself wishing to return to Transfiguration class, or Defence. It was pretty dorky, but it was undeniable. He latched his bag and grabbed his wand off his side table.
He crept over to Sirius' bed and poked his wand through the curtains. Sirius sprawled on his stomach, his dark hair hiding most of his face.
"Brachiabindo," James whispered. Sirius' limbs drew closer to his body, but otherwise, there was no immediate effect. James grinned. He crossed the room and did the same to Peter. He left Dale alone – if there was one rule, it was that you didn't mess with the bloke who supplied you – and Remus too. Remus had once drunkenly told him a story about what his parents did when he was little and they were all figuring out how to deal with his condition. The long and the short of it was that James wouldn't be tying Remus up under any circumstances.
James returned to his own bed and transfigured his pillows several times while he waited for his friends to wake. He wondered how the competition would go. Even though it was a dumb school thing, he wanted to win. Even if he just got to represent Hogwarts…He didn't know many people at all who went to school somewhere other than Hogwarts, and nobody who didn't go to one of the European 'Big Three'. If he got through, the final rounds were in Australia. His parents gave him every book, toy, and broom he wanted growing up, but one thing they'd never done much of was travel. He'd been all over Britain, and once or twice to France, but Australia was the other side of the world, and he'd come nowhere close. And imagine if he won the world championship! He'd be, officially, the best student of Transfiguration of his age out of every wizard alive. It was insane.
He touched the mandrake leaf mulch he held in his cheek. Maybe I'll just transform in front of them, he thought. I'd have to be the youngest Animagus ever, or close to. Aside from Peter.
"HELP! HELP! I'M PARALYSED!" Speaking of. James threw open Peter's curtains and found him rolling around on the bed like a dropped sausage. He thrashed back and forth.
"JAMES!" he screamed. "JAMES! I'M DYING!"
"You're not paralysed, and you're not dying." Remus. He pulled his bedcurtains around enough that he could see James and Peter. He was still in bed, propped up on one elbow, tawny hair a mess. "Peter, if you were paralysed, or dying, you wouldn't be able to move around so much." Peter rolled onto his stomach, squashing his face against his blanket. He wriggled furiously, but couldn't quite flip.
"What happened then?" Peter said, very muffled. James shrugged.
"Dunno, mate. Bad luck." He couldn't hide his grin. Remus met his eyes, and arched an eyebrow. They held each other's gazes until James couldn't help it any longer. He snickered. Remus pursed his lips. Peter thrashed about again.
"WAS IT YOU, JAMES?" he shouted. James scratched his head.
"Who's asking?"
"Is it class time?" Dale yelled out, from his bed on Remus' other side.
"No," Remus said shortly. Dale's bed thumped. His curtains stayed shut.
"Can somebody make it stop?" Peter groaned. James tapped his chin loudly, so Peter could hear.
"Hmmmm…What do you think, Remus?" James asked. Remus flipped him off. James gasped. "Remus, that is very un-prefect-like!"
"What did he do?" Peter said. He began to roll onto the same shoulder over and over.
"Good idea, Pete, get your momentum up," James said.
"Thanks," Peter said, into his pillow.
"Did you do this to Sirius as well?" Remus asked. James ruffled his hair innocently and looked over at Sirius' bed. Remus sighed.
"Ooh, I want to see," Peter said. Finally, he rolled over. He gave James a hopeful look. "Free me?"
"Finite. Come on." Peter jumped out of bed. James cautiously moved to Sirius' bed. Despite the commotion, the curtains hadn't moved. James put a finger to his lips. Peter nodded. Slowly, James pulled the curtain to one side.
"PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!" James fell backwards. Fuck me, he thought, as his head hit the ground. Peter laughed furiously. Sirius stood over him.
"Good morning, James," Sirius said cheerfully. James glared at him.
"How'd you get out of his jinx?" Peter asked Sirius.
"Skill," he replied. Peter pulled a face. James tried to move his eyes as if to wave and say, 'oi, I'm still here!' "Finite Incantatem." James' joints unbound. He got to his feet.
"Morning," James said, offering his hand. Sirius shook it.
"You're up, finally," Sirius said. James laughed.
"You know me, lazy as hell. By the way, how did you get out of my jinx?"
"I already told Peter. Skills."
James messed around with charms to get Peter's pillows to hump each other while the others got ready for breakfast. Dale stayed dead to the world, and they left without him. Although breakfast had just started, about half the school was already eating, mainly younger students and Ravenclaws and prefect-types. They were the ones buzzing with excitement about the new school term.
"We're swots, now," Sirius said, looking over at Lily, her badge shining on her chest as she talked seriously with McLaggen, the sixth year prefect.
"Well, Remus is meant to be. We're just helping him," James consoled.
"I'm not a swot," Remus said. James leaned over and patted his shoulder.
"We don't mind, mate. If we did, we'd have ditched you last term."
"Kind of you."
"You're welcome."
At seven-thirty, most of the Ravenclaw table abandoned their plates and left the Great Hall.
"What d'you think that's about?" James asked. "Did one of them spot Bathilda Bagshot? Miranda Goshawk?" Remus looked over his shoulder at the empty table.
"No, it's probably the fundraiser," he said glumly. James brightened.
"Brilliant! Let's go."
They finished their breakfast and fled the Great Hall. The Entrance Hall was a cacophony of chatter and colours and singing and bleary-eyed students stumbling down the steps to find they'd ended up in a circus. Several tables lined the perimeter of the Entrance Hall, each covered in a blue tablecloth and adorned with things to buy. A handful of Ravenclaw students from the choir held their toads and sung old songs off-key. Adrian Wood, the Ravenclaw seeker, flew on his broomstick while juggling, with a donation bucket dangling from his broom.
"You wouldn't want to be hungover," James said. Sirius shielded his eyes.
The four of them wandered through the different stalls. Many of them sold notes – which apparently, was allowed (it was only selling assignments that was against the rules). Some of the girls sold crafts, and one first year boy sold signed pictures of himself.
"I'm going to be very famous one day," he told them. "You'd be getting in on the ground floor. You wouldn't believe what I can do." James and Sirius exchanged a look.
"What can you do?" Sirius asked. The younger boy smiled smugly.
"Well, I've already begun work on the creation of the Philosopher's Stone. People think it's very tricky, but that's because they don't approach it in the right way. I'm first in all of my classes, and – Potter, isn't it? – I'll be seeing you on the Quidditch pitch next year. I've spoken with Gamp and he assured me I'm a shoo-in. They aren't going to bother with tryouts – why would they, when I'm available?"
"Who are they kicking off the team, then?" James asked.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Well – maybe I'm wrong, but I don't think anyone's graduating. So you must be good enough that Gamp will kick somebody off. So who is it? What position do you play?" The boy's mouth opened and shut.
"I – I'm a seeker."
"So he'll get rid of Wood?" James asked disbelievingly, looking at the seeker in question. Wood did a loop, to a round of applause.
"Not likely, is it?" Sirius added. The boy's face shrivelled. He grabbed his ornate quill, scribbled furiously on a photograph, and thrust it at them.
"Nah, thanks, mate," James said, and ruffled the boy's perfectly coiffed hair. It fell apart at the disrupting. His face turned purple.
"Good luck," Remus said cheerfully. The four of them hurried away, and once out of earshot, burst into laughter. James wiped his gooey hand on Peter's robes.
"Ergh, what is that?!"
"Sleekeazy's," James said, recognising his father's hair potion.
"That kid's a menace," Sirius said.
"We might have to do something," James agreed.
"He's a first year," said Remus. "Go easy."
"Yeah, nothing permanent," Sirius said.
They talked Peter out of buying notes for seventh year History of Magic (the girl selling them was really fit), and had nearly finished their loop of the stalls when they came to Glen Vane's. James winced. Glen glared at him. If looks could kill. James shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to casually stroll past.
"What are you selling?"
Peter.
"Study timetables," Glen said, and tapped the rolls of parchment with his wand. "Designed specifically for O.W.L students. You simply tap the subject with your wand and then tap the study slot you'd like to insert it into. No writing necessary. You can also assign a location." He looked directly at Peter. James busied himself with his tie.
"And does it actually help?"
"Yes."
Peter shelled out for it. Glen gleefully dropped the sickles into the donation bucket.
"The future students of Hogwarts appreciate your purchase," Glen said.
"Um," said Peter. "They're very welcome?" Sirius sniggered. James smiled. Remus covered his laugh by pretending to wipe his mouth.
"Yes, I expect it's very funny to you, Potter, to think that there could be people whose father's don't make a hundred thousand galleons a year," Glen said. James sighed.
"Look, Glen, my dad doesn't make a hundred thousand galleons a year either," James said, sounding very pained. "He makes a hundred and eighty thousand." Remus choked. James realised how braggy that sounded. "No, sorry. Look. Can I have a word?"
"I'm trying to raise money," Glen said flatly.
"It'll only be a second."
"No."
Sirius, Remus, and Peter had already wandered off a few feet, so James and Glen were effectively alone. James grabbed a bit of his hair and twisted it, thinking.
"I'm sorry," he said; the words were stiff. Glen raised his eyebrows. "I'm sorry about smoking at your party. I just thought it didn't matter because we were in the shed. We tried to stay out of the way. But it was your place and your party, so…sorry, mate."
"I'm not your mate," Glen said coldly.
"Right. Sorry, Glen." James pulled at his tie. Glen pinched his nose, and then pulled out a roll of parchment. It appeared to be a list of receipts. He took his quill, dipped it in a pot of ink, and wrote in Peter's purchase. "I'm sorry, Glen," James repeated, louder. Glen looked up.
"Yes, I know," he said impatiently. James nodded.
"Good. Cool. I'm glad you know," James said. Glen said nothing. He began checking the list of receipts. James shoved his hands in his pockets. Glen looked over at another stall, and then back at his receipts. James coughed. Glen ignored him.
"Are we cool?" James asked. Glen scoffed.
"No," he said. James laughed awkwardly.
"I apologised."
"You did. That's what you're supposed to do." Without hesitation, Glen returned to his receipts. James lingered for a moment. Bugger.
"Right. Well, see you," James said. Glen unfurled the scroll further. James shrugged, and walked over to his mates.
"How'd you go?" Peter wanted to know.
"Badly," Remus supplied. "James, I don't think the bit about your dad's money…"
"I know," James said.
"It was a bit posh Slytherin," Sirius said.
"Yeah, I know," James said. "Come on. Let's get to class."
"Can we make fun of you for your tactlessness?" Sirius asked.
"Asks the King of Tact," Remus said. James messed up his hair.
"Go on," he said.
"I love you, Jamie," Sirius professed. Remus smiled slyly.
"Mr Potter, please tell us, how do you stay so humble?"
They traipsed into class a few minutes before time. Professor McGonagall collected their permission slips for the excursion and then they took their spots in the back row. The Ravenclaws came in unusually late, for them – that is, a minute early. The lesson was almost too easy. Professor McGonagall said she only expected them to start work on the spell, but twenty minutes in, James had created legs for his History of Magic textbook. It ran up and down their row of desks.
"You should call over McGonagall," Peter told him. "She'll think it's great."
"I know it's great," James said. "I don't need a teacher to tell me it's great."
"Alice wants points," Remus reminded them.
"I'll do it," Peter said. He flagged down McGonagall, who came to examine James' textbook. 'A History of Magic''s stumpy legs kicked the air. The corners of McGonagall's lips turned up.
"Very good, Potter. Very quick. Ten points," she said. Once her back was turned, James smiled too, and ruffled his hair.
"I can't believe you did it so quickly," Peter gushed.
"Well, it's not that hard, if you think about it," James said.
By the end of the lesson, James had added legs to three of his textbooks, and set them on each of his friends. He considered sending one after Glen, but decided against it with some disappointment. It would've been pretty funny. Then again, Glen was already pretty pissed off at him, and James wanted to keep McGonagall as on side as possible for now. His History of Magic book ran back and forth across Peter's desk, while Remus stroked James' Transfiguration textbook, which was perched atop his head, and Sirius conducted races between his and James' Potions textbook.
"You're cheating," James said. "You give yours a head start."
"Make yours faster," Sirius said, flicking his wand. The two textbooks sprinted towards the front of the room.
To be honest, class was over too soon. A practical Transfiguration lesson was definitely superior to History of Magic…The thought made him want to die. They'd long exhausted their sources of fun in that class. There were only so many times you could make leeks come out of someone's ears, or slowly move their things to the right so that they thought they were going mad, before it got boring. Professor McGonagall told them to practise the spell and sent them off to their next class. James slung his bag over his shoulder and hung back.
"Mr. Potter," McGonagall said, waving her wand and wiping the chalkboard clean. "You did just as I expected this lesson."
"Ah, come on, Professor, are you sure it didn't…exceed expectations?"
"Potter."
"Sorry, Professor." She began writing on the board, preparing for the next class. The title read 'GAMP'S LAW OF ELEMENTAL TRANSFIGURATION'. James frowned. That was one of his least favourite parts of the subject.
"What did your parents think of your entering the competition?" McGonagall asked, writing some background on Gamp.
"Yeah, they thought it was brilliant. I have the slip with me – hang on." He rummaged through his bag until he found it. His father's spindly signature marked the bottom. "Here." McGonagall turned round and took it from him.
"Thank you, Potter," she said. "I certainly think you have a good chance. That brings me to ask if you are intending on training for the event. Are you training for the event?" James leaned against one of the front row desks.
"I've been practising," he said. "I don't really know what to train for. Am I fighting someone? Do they give us spells to perform and then see who does best?" McGonagall set her piece of chalk down, and turned to face him.
"A little from both," she said. "You'll be given a set list of spells to perform, which will then be judged. After that, you participate in time trials, where you will be asked to perform different spells – easier spells – under time pressure, and the first to successfully transfigure each of the items is awarded the most points. Finally, you do go head-to-head against another participant, and you must immobilise them – or trap them – without the use of any jinxes, hexes, or curses. I expect to receive the list of approved spells soon, and I will pass them onto you as soon as I do," she explained.
James' face fell. "Approved?"
"I assure you, it's a long list," Professor McGonagall said. "Furthermore, I'm happy to assist you in your preparation for the tournament if you would like. We can discuss the approved spells, refine your technique, and practise effective and efficient spell use."
"That'd be brilliant," James said. "Thanks, Professor." She walked to her desk and flipped open a book of dates.
"I understand you have Quidditch practise on Thursdays?"
"Yeah, after dinner. Sometimes we practise on other days, but I can talk to John."
"No need, I will conference with Mr Brown. Would Wednesday be appropriate?"
"Yeah, that sounds great." Professor McGonagall wrote in her book. Then she closed it.
"Then I shall expect you to be here at seven-thirty on Wednesday evening," she said. "Now, hurry along to your next class." James sighed dramatically.
"Do I have to? It's History."
"Potter."
"Which I love! Fun dates, fun teacher, fun irrelevant concepts," he said. McGonagall looked at him sternly.
"Potter, you should know better than to think history is irrelevant, now of all times. Get to class."
James did as he was told, jogging to catch up with his friends. He took one of Peter's pro-offered jellybeans and popped it into his mouth. As he chewed, McGonagall's words echoed in his mind; now of all times. For some reason, it bothered him.
January 7th, 1975
Unusually, Dorcas wasn't the first to arrive in the North Tower for Divination. She popped her head through the trapdoor and saw that Mary Macdonald was already inside, talking with Professor Nicholl. Mary bit her nails, and Professor Nicholl pointed to a piece of parchment. Dorcas hesitated. It seemed like a private conversation. She looked below and saw that the others were starting to climb the spiralling stairs. She didn't want to hold them up either. She crouched on the ladder, so she could no longer see inside the room.
"Dorcas?" She looked up. Professor Nicholl peered through the trapdoor, smiling quizzically. "You can come in," she said.
"Oh. Thank you." Dorcas climbed up into the classroom. Mary stood at Professor Nicholl's desk, staring at the ground and picking at her cuticles.
"Say, Dorcas," Professor Nicholl began, "could I ask you something? And please, you're welcome to say 'no', I know how busy you are. And I mean that." Dorcas thumbed the strap of her bookbag.
"Yes," she said.
"Would you, at all, be interested in undertaking some private tutoring? I'm afraid I can't pay you, but I can make sure that Ravenclaw's hourglass is very full. It would also count as extra credit, should you wish to use it, for your marks. And you know how useful teaching is as a tool for revision," Professor Nicholl said.
"I don't need the extra credit, I enjoy doing the assignments and I do well on them," Dorcas said plainly.
"I know," said Professor Nicholl. Dorcas glanced over at Mary, whose blonde fringe hung down and hid her eyes.
"Is it for her?" Dorcas asked.
"It is."
"I can fit it in," Dorcas said. Her schedule was very packed, but there was room for this. It was practical; strengthening her Divination skills could only strengthen her Legilimency and Occlumency skills. Her progress was infuriatingly sluggish. She understood that it would need time, but never in her life had she progressed so slowly in something. She prided herself on being a quick learner. This pace felt like failing.
Additionally, Dorcas didn't want to see Mary fail. N.E.W.T-level classes would run regardless of numbers, but Mary's number would be nice to have. She was a much better classmate than Avery and Rosier. She worked quietly, came to class on time, and asked only reasonable questions. She'd never been caught hexing people for fun, as far as Dorcas knew.
"Could you?" Professor Nicholl said. "You're a gem. And I'll tell you what; fifteen gems to Ravenclaw. I'll write it down." Professor Nicholl returned to her desk, and said something to Mary. Dorcas took her normal spot, and Mary sat in the seat on the other side of the table. The other students clambered through the trapdoor; Lawrence, Greengrass, and Forsythe; Smith; Young; and finally the Slytherins.
Dorcas didn't get the chance to speak to Mary until class was finished. Dorcas finished the lesson with thirty inches of notes. She glanced over at Mary's roll of parchment, and there were barely twelve. Professor Nicholl dismissed them, and Mary began to pack up. Dorcas pulled out her schedule.
"Is it a problem with being distracted or a problem with not understanding the content?" Dorcas asked. Mary paused, her inkpot in hand.
"Are you talking to me?" she squeaked.
"Yes. Why are your notes so short?" Dorcas asked. Dorcas liked her own notes to be as detailed as possible; it saved having to trawl through her memory or ask repetitive questions. It was a point of pride that she rarely did any aimless page-flicking through her textbooks. She knew exactly what topic she needed to find, and often on what page it might be found on. In her five years at Hogwarts, every assignment and piece of homework had been handed in promptly and passed.
"Um," said Mary, pulling at her hair. "I don't know."
"Do you understand what's being talked about?"
"Um. I get headaches in class," Mary said. Dorcas took out a fresh piece of parchment and scribbled down a note.
"Just today?"
"No. A lot." Dorcas made another note.
"Have you got a condition? There are potions you can take. Madam Pomfrey has plenty of stock to deal with headaches.
"It's just a headache," Mary said tightly. Dorcas gave her a sceptical look, and made another note. Recurrent headaches, unknown reason. Could impact focus in class and note quality. Investigate, improve note-taking and content.
"I'm going to be your tutor," Dorcas said, switching over to her schedule. "I'm free before dinner on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and weekends, or after dinner on weekends. Alternatively, before breakfast any day except Thursday. What best suits you?" She paused, quill in hand, ready to write. Mary blinked a few times.
"Um…sorry. I'll just, um, have a look at my timetable…" Mary sat down again, rummaging through her bag. Dorcas glanced over at Professor Nicholl, but she didn't appear to be setting up for the next class. Mary pulled out her timetable. "Monday, before dinner?" she said. Dorcas referred to her schedule.
"We have free afternoons on Mondays. We could do two hours?" she suggested. Mary worried her lip.
"If you think so," she said.
"I do. I'll see you then, in the library." Dorcas added it to her schedule and left through the trapdoor, heading for Defence.
Most of the class was already inside, and Professor Forcier wrote the lesson plan on the blackboard. Dorcas sat in the middle of the front row, on Florence's left, while Cynthia took her right side. Next to Cynthia sat Branton Bellchant. Dorcas looked at him curiously.
"Hi, Dorlene," he said. "Do you mind if I sit here? Cynthia was just telling me the most interesting story," he said. Dorcas looked him up and down, from his coiffed hair to large, clasped hands.
"Dorcas," she said, and took out her textbooks.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I knew that, Dorcas. God, what's wrong with me? I did know that."
"He did, really," Cynthia agreed.
"Okay." She arranged her things just the way she liked them. Professor Forcier finished his writing and turned to the class.
"Good afternoon, students. Today, we're going to be learning more about the Smokescreen Spell, which can be very useful when defending yourself against another wizard…" Dorcas started writing. Florence did the same, though her notes were very unlike Dorcas' scrawl. Florence ruled a margin and frequently switched the colour of her ink. Her well-shaped nails tapped the shaft of her quill when Professor Forcier posed a question. Her elbow brushed Dorcas', and Florence glanced at her. Dorcas' heart stopped. Florence didn't move her arm. They stayed like that, elbow-to-elbow, taking notes, and Dorcas' skin caught on fire. They were touching. Florence was touching her. After an age, they had to practise their wand movements, and Florence pulled her arm away. That sent Dorcas spinning. It was so distracting that Professor Forcier had to correct her movements. Her face flamed hot. Everyone saw, no doubt, and now they all thought she was an idiot. Why couldn't she keep it together?
Class finished, and Dorcas hurriedly packed her things into her bag. In her tizz, she knocked her textbook to the ground. The embarrassment cherry on top of the humiliation cake. She knelt down to pick it up, wishing she could disappear. She reached for the textbook. Her hand brushed another's. Dorcas looked up. Florence. She smiled her angel's smile.
"Here you go," she said gently, handing the book over. Their eyes locked. Dorcas' heart fluttered.
"Thank you," she said.
"Of course," said Florence, voice low, eyes intent. Dorcas' insides fluttered. She took the book and stood up. Florence stood too, and flicked her ponytail over her shoulders. Dark rivers of hair cascaded down her shoulders. Dorcas shoved her book inside her bag and fumbled with it until she got it over her shoulder. She left the row first and let the others pass her by before she left the classroom.
Florence and Cynthia waited for her outside. Branton hung around like a pixie with a problem. They headed for Ravenclaw Tower. Cynthia chattered away about the Smokescreen Spell and how she couldn't think of when she'd ever need to use it and how she excited she was to be able to drop Defence next year. Branton laughed.
"Of course you won't need to use it," he said. "You won't be out there fighting." Cynthia tittered, but cocked her head to one side.
"Who's going to be fighting?" she asked. He shrugged.
"I don't know," he said. "My dad thinks somebody will try to fight those Death Eater loons."
"Well, that's what the Aurors are doing," said Florence, as they turned a corner. "Are you going to become an Auror, Branton?"
"No way," he said. "I'm going to be a journalist."
"Then why would you be attacked?" Florence asked.
"They always go after journalists," he said. "Nobody likes bad press. If nobody's reporting on what they're doing, then nobody knows what they're doing. If a werewolf howls in the forest and nobody hears it, did it really happen?"
"This will be all done with by the time we've finished school," Florence said confidently. "Amos thinks it'll be over with by June."
"June?" Dorcas said, despite herself. Florence frowned at her.
"Amos?" Branton asked.
"My brother," Florence said. "He has a friend who works at the Ministry, and he knows an Auror who said that they're really nearly on top of that Voldemort guy."
"Well, the Aurors would know," Cynthia said. Dorcas followed them to the door of the common room, keeping two steps behind. Florence answered the riddle and they stepped inside.
Branton headed up to his dormitory, while the girls went up to theirs. Kenna Macdougal and Rose Striding, their roommates, were already inside. Kenna pulled her shoes off while Rose flopped onto her bed. Dorcas dropped her bookbag on her bed and began stacking the books inside her trunk. Cynthia fixed her hair.
"What do you guys think of Branton?" Cynthia asked, ducking into the bathroom to adjust her headband. "Do you think he likes me?" She left the door open, and Dorcas saw her face flush pink in the reflection from the mirror.
"Oh yeah," Rose said. "I saw how he looked at you in Potions."
"He's smitten," Florence assured her, putting her hands on Cynthia's shoulders. She scanned the sink. "Wear your black headband, it'll match your shoes," she advised. Cynthia did as she was told. Dorcas patted her books to ensure they lined up, and then shut the lid of her trunk. She climbed onto her bed and grabbed her reading book off the nightstand. As the others changed, she dove into a world of fiction, only resurfacing when Cynthia knocked on her bedpost. Dorcas looked up.
"What do you think of my outfit?" Cynthia asked, stepping back. Her black velveteen headband indeed matched her heeled leather shoes. A pearl necklace brushed the neckline of a long-sleeved green dress, and long white socks met the hem of the dress at her knees. A shimmering black cloak draped over her shoulders, tied just above her necklace. She tossed her golden hair and turned to give Dorcas a different view. She looked to Florence instead. Florence smiled proudly.
"I think it looks great," Florence said. Dorcas shut her book.
"It suits you," she told Cynthia. Cynthia beamed.
"Thank you! Wish me luck. We're studying together," she said. And you need to be that dressed up? Dorcas thought.
"Good luck," she said instead, and returned to her book. Cynthia fluttered around the room a little longer, and then made a fuss of saying goodbye. Dorcas got up to see her off, discarding her book on her nightstand. She leaned against her bedpost. Florence helped Cynthia to the door and hugged her.
"Bye!" Cynthia said, waving. She left the room. The door shut behind her.
Dorcas and Florence were alone. The space between them spanned like a bridge, waiting for them to cross. The dark floorboards beneath them flowed like a river, taking them with it. Florence moved first, as she was wont to do. Her leather shoes made short work of the distance. She flung her arms around Dorcas' neck and their lips met. Dorcas stumbled. The backs of her knees hit the edge of her trunk. Florence didn't stop. Dorcas leaned back, resting her hands on the end of her bed, and hoisted herself over her trunk and onto her covers. Florence followed, jumping the trunk and landing on her knees on the bed. Her hands met Dorcas' thick braids, and gripped them tightly. Dorcas' mind burned away. She was just flesh and blood and lips and a racing pulse and Florence's cool skin against hers.
"I missed you," Florence breathed, pulling away. She undid the blue ribbon in her hair with a single tug, and her dark hair spilled over her shoulders like ink across fresh parchment. Dorcas' lungs failed her. Florence kissed her again. Dorcas held her waist. Florence's hair brushed her cheeks. Her perfume shrouded them both in a floral daze. It brought Dorcas back to the day before she and Florence really became friends, with her failed attempt at learning Legilimency.
Dorcas froze. Florence continued kissing her for a moment, and then pulled away. She brushed wisps of dark hair out of her face.
"What's wrong?" Florence asked softly, settling back on the bed.
"When did you start liking me?" Dorcas blurted out. The butterflies in her stomach turned to bats, and nausea began to leech the euphoria from her veins. Florence shook her head.
"I've always liked you," she said, voice lower. "When have I ever been unkind to you?" Never. Who could accuse Florence Diggory of being unkind? She was kind, she was gracious, she was patient, she was gorgeous, she was intelligent.
"I meant that we haven't been kissing since we were eleven," Dorcas said flatly. Florence frantically looked around the room, but they were the only occupants.
"No," she said.
"You sat with me for the first time after you passed out and were sent to the Hospital Wing," Dorcas said. "Why?"
"I don't know." Florence got off Dorcas' bed and headed for her own, tying her hair back up. Dorcas stood up.
"There has to be a reason," she said, feeling wobbly. "It wasn't just random."
"I don't know!" Florence said, throwing her hair ribbon down. "I don't know, Dorcas. I don't know what happened. I was fine, and then I wasn't, and then I woke up in the Hospital Wing with your face burned into the back of my eyelids. I don't know what happened! My name – my name was on the radio or something – I thought it was a prank…" Her face dropped. "Did you do something?"
"No!" I did, Dorcas thought. I didn't mean to, but I did. Is it all just because of that? Our being friends, our…all of it. But I couldn't have made that happen. I'm rubbish at Legilimency…it was an accident. "What would I have done?" she asked. "Cynthia was with you the whole time, except when she was with me, with the Headmaster, and Professor Flitwick."
Florence pressed her palms against her eyes.
"I don't know," she said. "I just wanted to be friends with you. And now we are." Because it happened in a moment's decision. Florence decided to sit next to her, brought Cynthia along, and that was that. Friends. Except that she was friends with Cynthia, too, but not like Florence. She'd never kissed Cynthia. She didn't want to. Her lips were only for Flo. Her mouth went dry.
"What about the kissing?" Dorcas asked quietly. Florence sighed, and rubbed her nose.
"It's – it's what friends do. For practise. I didn't wake up that day and decide I wanted to kiss you. I – we were both drunk – it just happened. It's just messing around."
Dorcas blinked. "So, we're friends?" she asked, voice hollow. Florence pressed her lips together and looked up.
"Good friends," she amended. "I care for you, Dorcas. You know I do."
"You make me feel like a child," Dorcas said.
"What?" Florence stared at her. Dorcas swallowed.
"When I'm around you I feel like I'm stupid. I kiss you and I can't think properly. You talk to me like I'm stupid." Florence stood up, and grabbed her wand. Dorcas tensed.
"I can't," she said. "I'm not doing this. We're friends, okay, Dorcas? And I like you as a friend. That's it. I'm going to the library." She grabbed her bookbag. "Please don't make this out to be more than it is. I'll see you later." She slung the bag over her shoulder and fled the room. Dorcas stared at the shut door.
Friends.
A/N: Thank you all for your continued support! I appreciate every read, review, and favourite I get! If you ever want to chat to me more about this fic, feel free to come on over to my tumblr (ohmygodshesinsane)! And Happy December.