A/N: TW for homophobic slurs, some jinxing, some gory-ish descriptions of violence, pureblood rhetoric, implied period-typical homophobia, implied substance abuse, implied self-harm, and, as usual, a plethora of colourful language.
January 19th, 1976
The clouds parted, the thunder eased (taking with it any chance of a lightning storm – bugger), and the golden sunshine poured over the grass and the clusters of students. The world was a swirl of colour – they'd shed their black uniforms and scuttled out like beetles into the summer, bright shells vibrant against faded brown logs. James consulted the scroll of parchment in his hands. His foot wouldn't stop jiggling.
"Now we're supposed to write about why the muggle knew to take their wands," he said. "There has to be an exhibit for that, right?" There were about two dozen exhibits, some of faded parchment, some of paintings, some of statues. The most exciting was an interactive experience inside a painted tent. He was very, very keen for that. Occasionally, someone inside screamed so loudly they could hear it. Bloody brilliant!
"There has to be," Peter agreed, nodding excitedly. James rolled up the scroll, straightened up, and looked around. The wind ruffled his hair. His robes billowed behind him. He struck a heroic pose, grinning at his friends. Peter and Remus laughed. Sirius gave him a very measured look that James suspected was concealing a smile. When Sirius got in a mood, he refused to be cheered up, but it was possible. He just didn't like to admit it.
"What think'st thou, Sir Black?" James asked. He tossed Sirius their worksheet. Sirius caught it – if he could only commit, he'd make a damn fine quidditch player, James thought. Sirius glared at him. James flashed a winning smile.
"I think I know-eth, Captain Potter!" Peter piped up, jabbing a finger to their right. James spun around. There was a statue of a woman in a long gown reaching up above her head, where a stone wand twirled just out of reach.
"I do think you may be onto something, Master Pettigrew," James said. "Brother Remus, what say you?"
"Brother?" Remus frowned. "Why am I a monk?"
"Because thee has not known'st a woman's touch," James answered swiftly. Peter snorted. James elbowed him, gently. Remus turned his eyes to Peter.
"I have known thy mother's!" Remus declared. Peter gaped at him.
"Captain Potter, can you believe this?" Peter demanded, turning on him. James shrugged happily.
"I was there, Master Pettigrew," James said, shaking his head. Peter struggled for words.
"You watched?" he managed.
"No," said Remus. "He was on her other side." Peter spluttered. James looked at Sirius. He folded his arms across his chest, but his eyes were glassy, and there was the whisper of a smirk. That was enough for James.
"No matter, Master Pettigrew, you will get your chance to avenge your mother. But now – we must alight to the statue!" He slapped Peter on the shoulder, making it a game, and sprinted to the statue of the witch. Peter shouted. James heard his feet slap against the grass – he was coming.
James loved running. He never felt more alive than he did when he couldn't breathe. The distance was too short to get much out of him. There was only a very slight tingle in his lungs and thighs by the time he skidded up to a group of Slytherin girls. They pursed their lips and glared at him.
"Morning!" he said brightly, ducking through their crowd. They sniffed and stepped back. Peter plodded down the path he'd made. James stopped at the small sign in front of the statue. It was pretty cool – someone had clearly spent a lot of time on it. The witch's dress rippled as she writhed, and her hands twisted, stretching. It actually looked as if she might finally reach her wand – but, of course, she didn't.
Peter popped up at his side, panting hard, and then Remus and Sirius arrived, late.
"Oi, Master, Brother, Sir, who wants to do the writing?" James asked.
"Monks do the writing," Sirius grumbled. James chuckled.
"Bastard," Remus said. All the same, he grabbed the parchment off Sirius and pulled out a quill. "If I'm writing, you're coming up with the answers."
"But Remus, you're the smart, responsible one," said James.
"And I'm sick of it," said Remus shortly. James' brows flicked up, but he said nothing. It seemed Sirius' grumpiness was catching. James refused to let it stop them. Here they were with a gift-wrapped perfect day begging to be enjoyed. He was thankful for it. It was a day where he wasn't expected to do revision, or go to Quidditch practice (though he loved practising Quidditch), or transfigure things back and forth until he wore himself out. The first round of the International Transfiguration Competition drew very near. It was five days away.
He'd be fine – he knew he'd be fine. He'd put in the work, he was naturally good at it, and everyone else was a bit crap. Still, his stomach clenched. Nerves. It was a weird feeling. He ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it down, and spun his wand between his fingers.
"It says that all of the people tried for witchcraft had their wands taken from them," Peter read, leaning around James to see the sign. James stepped out of the way for him.
"No shit, Wormy," Sirius said. He pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, shielding his eyes. James looked at him, a knot of concern pulsing between his brows.
"Right, Remus, get that down," James said loudly. He made little loops with the tip of his wand. He'd be fine. He was only thinking of it because of McGonagall – he reckoned he was her favourite to win, and he didn't want to let her down. But why? Peter read out more of the sign. So what if she's disappointed? He'd let her down plenty of times – with homework, with behaviour, with 'common sense'. Don't be a suck-up, James told himself sternly. Really, the main bit was that he won so he looked cool. The rest of it didn't matter.
"That sounds good, Pete," he said, not having listened to a word. "Right on. You got that down, Moony?"
Without thinking, Dorcas flung her arm out. Florence wobbled, opened her pink lips in a perfect 'o', and steadied herself.
"Are you alright?" Cynthia burst out, already at Florence's side. Her blonde hair obscured Florence in a golden cloud. Dorcas let her arm fall limply by her side. She stared at her shoes. Florence and Cynthia whispered assurances, and then they linked arms. Dorcas looked back up at the sound of her name. She remembered a second too late to smile. It was a poor attempt that showed too many teeth; she could feel it. She relaxed the muscles in her jaw. Did that look more normal?
Florence and Cynthia consulted their worksheet and set off. Dorcas trailed behind. Her mind was thick and fuzzy. Her eyelids were heavy. Her stomach was unsettled. She'd been fine on the train, at the station, as they walked through the muggle town. The first wave of nausea had risen in her throat when they stopped across the road from Auld Kirk Green itself. The wave had been tidal. Her knees had buckled. She'd offered to transcribe their answers, but her palms had left dark sweaty marks on the parchment. Cynthia had snatched it off her.
"Are you well?" she'd asked, peering at her. "You look ill. I – do you go pale? You look like you might be paler." Dorcas blinked.
"I do go pale," she said. "Most people go pale when they're sick."
"Oh," said Cynthia. "I wasn't sure. Sorry. Erm – but I'll do the writing now, you know, you should rest."
A current pulsed deep inside her chest, a second heartbeat. Her head swum. Dorcas felt as if she was burning up. Everyone else clung to their cloaks, rubbed their hands together, re-tied scarves – and Dorcas broke a sweat. It was absurd. She couldn't place the feeling, and she tried, earnestly. She cast her mind back through the other magical sites she'd visited – Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, a Quidditch match, once, when she'd been small. A museum and an art gallery, scattered, sporadic shops. None of them had evoked such a sense of…dread. It was dread. Every part of her felt as though something terrible was going to happen. Fear beat in her wrists. Her instincts screamed at her to run! She followed Florence and Cynthia to the burial ground.
Another wave of nausea smashed against her. It nearly knocked her down. Panic buzzed in her ears. Get out! Get out! GET OUT! NOW! It was too much. A shiver curled down her arms. She rubbed her temples, trying to breathe, but the awareness of her lungs opening and closing was overwhelming. She squeezed her eyes shut. People died because of what happened here. Or what they claimed happened. They were burned. Their flesh seared, sizzled, they melted away, ice cream dribbling off wooden sticks, bubbling fat, a potion boiling…
She was going to be sick.
Dorcas stumbled over to the rock wall and sat down, hard. She clasped her hands between her knees and bent her head over. Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble. The phrase taunted her in a childish, drawn-out melody. Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauld-ron bubble!
"Are you okay, Cassie?" A blonde head appeared in the corner of her eye. Cynthia put a hand on her shoulder and squatted down in front of her.
"Cassie?" Florence. Dorcas' head shot up. Florence's eyes were on Cynthia.
"It's a nickname," Cynthia explained. "'Dork', doesn't work, does it?"
"Nor does Cassie," Florence said swiftly. Cynthia stuck her bottom lip out. Florence flipped her glossy dark hair over her shoulder and put a hand on her hip. "What's wrong?" Dorcas recognised the change in her voice, from the tone she used with everyone else to the tone that was Dorcas'. Only Dorcas'. "Are you sick?"
How could she explain? Words came awkwardly to her tongue, thick and heavy. "I – it's – just – I'm, it's all so…" Her stomach swallowed up her tongue. She banged her palm against her forehead, trying to hit the words down into her mouth.
"Hey, hey, hey, Cassie – Dorcas, what are you doing?" Cynthia snatched her arm. Dorcas flailed wildly, trying to throw her off. Cynthia gasped. "What's wrong?"
"Stop touching her, Cynthia, she obviously doesn't like it," Florence said. Listen to her, Dorcas thought. The insides of her cheeks felt clammy. Florence tossed her head from one side to another. "Cynthia, go see if you can find Glen, won't you?" she said. Cynthia teetered.
"Are you sure?" Cynthia asked.
"Please." Cynthia nodded and hurried away. Dorcas and Florence were alone. Just them and the bodies rotting under the ground, bones turning to dust. Bubble, bubble. Dorcas pressed her hands against her eyes. Go away! Her gut screamed back, run! Run! Run! RUN! RUN! RUN! She felt like something was trying to Get her. She rasped, tearing her hands away from her eyes. Something itched her neck. Her heart leapt into her mouth. She retched. Florence jumped out of the way. "Dorcas? Dorcas? What's going on?" Dorcas clawed at her neck, feeling for the attacker. She grabbed a chunk of her own tight curls. It had only been her hair. Oh, Merlin, Merlin. She panted.
"Talk to me," Florence commanded. Dorcas blinked several times, trying to focus. The world blurred around Florence's nose, and then her features cleared. Her face was the shining moon in an endless black night.
"I can't explain," Dorcas managed, raggedly. Florence's face changed. Lips downturned. Eyebrows closer together in the middle. A frown, Dorcas realised.
"Okay," Florence said. Her breathing was deep and regulated. Dorcas tried to mimic it. In, hold, hold, out, hold, hold…It wasn't as scary when she was just trying to keep time with Florence. They were breathing. They were alive. And the rest of the people in the field aren't. No. She had to focus on Florence.
"Can I touch you?" Florence asked, after an age of silence. Dorcas considered this. She jerked her head forwards. A nod. Florence bent down and cupped her hands around Dorcas' cheeks. Dorcas' heart stuttered. Florence was touching her. In public. She leaned into Florence's hands. "Just calm down, please. You're fine. We're all fine." Florence tossed her head back and forth again, and then leaned forwards. Their lips met.
It was a tender, gentle kiss. Not hot and frenzied like their first, not curious and probing like the ones they'd shared when the dormitory was empty, but sweet. Dorcas kept her mouth closed. Florence didn't push the matter. She just parted her own very slightly. Her tongue slicked Dorcas' lips. Dorcas was overcome with the urge to squeeze her. To hold onto her and never let go. She relaxed, letting Florence guide her, and hoped it would never end.
It did. Florence pulled back and sharply looked around. Then she sighed. She touched a finger to her lips. Her other hand fell away from Dorcas' face.
"You don't need to worry," Florence said, standing up. Dorcas' eyes never left her. "Look, when Cynthia gets back, we'll do this part. It's fine if it upsets you. But know that you don't have to carry on about it. You can talk to me, Dorcas. You don't have to throw yourself around for me to pay attention to you." She walked off, craning her neck. Dorcas tingled from the kiss, from Florence's hands.
Carry on, she thought, once her brain had returned to her. Had she carried on? She hadn't meant to. She couldn't help it. Florence thinks I was carrying on. For her to pay attention to me. Any comfort the kiss had given her evaporated. Florence thinks I threw a tantrum. She went numb. Cynthia re-appeared, alone, and she and Florence met. They were too far off for Dorcas to hear them. Even if they'd been closer, the ringing in her ears was deafening. Florence thinks I was carrying on.
She couldn't cope. She smacked her hand against her face again, dimly registering the feeling. She shut her eyes. Her mind resumed its habit, the thing she'd been doing whenever she was overwhelmed as of late. It created a large, blank void of nothingness. Or tried to. She threw herself into the dark fuzz. She tried not to think of Florence, or of the buried bodies, or of Shakespeare's chant, or of melting, twisting, burning, sizzling, screaming, seared flesh…
Nothing. She wanted nothing. She tried to lose herself. All that mattered was the nothingness, and the potential of a box. She had to go deeper than her thoughts, into the recesses of her mind. She had to See it.
RUN! RUN! RUN! THEY'RE COMING! THEY'RE COMING! THEY'RE COMING!
Her heart jolted, but kept its slow rhythm. Her limbs were faraway and heavy. So heavy. It was blank, everything was blank…
RUN! THEY'RE HERE! THEY'RE HERE!
The blankness fell away; there was only feeling. Terror. It bound her. RUN! RUN! RUN! But she was nowhere. She could run to nowhere. RUN! RUN! Then it flipped; she was thrown into a storm of shrieks; crumbling - no. Melting. White, black, white, black; orange, crackling orange, red, blue. Heat burning virulently, then cold, freezing cold, crippling cold. Screams, but they were silent, there was no sound at all but there was screaming, somehow, some way – they were coming – night, day, terror, pain, terror, terror, pathological terror, terror beyond possibility.
Dorcas slammed into the ground. Into reality. There was grass in her hair. She was on the grass the bodies were in; she shot upright, shaking. The daylight dazzled her. She was alive. She was real. She shielded her eyes from the sun. She had eyes, and hands with which to shield, and a nose that took in the cool salt air. She'd tumbled out of a nightmare. But, she realised, feeling the ground beneath her feet, she had not been asleep. She had been trying to practice the seventh level of Occlumency. She had fallen, in whatever had ensued in the physical realm. But she had been somewhere else in her mind. She knew that, innately; it had been foreign territory. That was big. Excitement swept the terror aside; she had been somewhere else, she had seen something else, she had not been in her own mind but in the unknowable place she had read about, the place Professor Nicholl had described to her.
She'd Seen.
The half-wit dropped their worksheet. Severus prepared to commit murder, and not for the first or last time that day.
"Whoops," Avery shrugged. Severus stared at him. Was he capable of intelligent thought? It was a miracle he could put his shoes on in the morning. Severus' gaze flickered down, checking that they were on. Yes, Avery wore shoes, but they were sloppily laced. Still, it was impressive that he knew where his feet were, considering he had no concept of where his other limbs flung – he had hit Severus 'by accident' three times.
"Are you going to pick it up?" Severus growled. "Or are you incapable of using your hands?" Rosier snorted. Severus looked at him with utter disgust. "What?"
"Nothing," Rosier grinned stupidly. Severus longed to curse his face off. His hand itched at his pocket, where he'd stowed his wand. Avery squatted down, reaching for the worksheet. The wind blew another great gust. The parchment rolled up and drifted across the damp grass. Avery blinked.
"Grab it," Severus hissed. Avery stretched out, but the wind blew hard again. It tossed the parchment several feet away. Some of the ink was still fresh. Severus gritted his teeth. If it smudged and their work was lost because Avery couldn't be trusted to do something an infant could do…
"Grab it!" Severus shouted. Avery wriggled along like a demented flobberworm. "Accio worksheet!" Severus swerved his wand sharply. The parchment flew into his hand. Avery slowly got up, his mouth hanging open as if the best thing that could possibly happen in his life was that he filled up with air and got to be fleetingly useful as a balloon. Severus supposed that would be far too ambitious for him.
"I don't wish to see your digestive tract," Severus snapped at him. Avery closed his mouth, frowning.
"How are we going to do this?" Rosier asked, butting his thick head in. Severus glowered at him.
"I suppose I'll do the writing," he said. Rosier shrugged his agreeance. No, you couldn't volunteer to do that, could you? You think you're too good to write. I'll wager your hand's illegible. "What will you contribute?"
"Er, I can read the signs out to you," Rosier said. Severus scoffed.
"I wasn't sure if that would be too difficult for you," he murmured. Rosier stepped in front of him, puffing out his chest. He cleared his throat. Severus glanced up. "What do you want?"
"If you think we're so stupid and shitty, why did you join our group?" Rosier asked. Severus didn't dignify it with a response. He curled his lip and wrote their names at the top of the parchment. "Snape."
"Do you truly expect an answer?" Severus swept his inkpot back into his bookbag.
"Yes," Rosier said. Severus scoffed again. Rosier through his hands around, apparently incapable of human speech. One day, Severus would no longer have to entertain idiots like this. Once they were beyond the confines of school, his talent in the dark arts would be recognised. Fools like Rosier would end up in dead-end jobs with nagging wives and whinging children, while Severus sat on high councils and tended to six laboratories on four continents, developing new spells and potions. Of course, his talented, respected wife would be at his side, green eyes crinkling when she laughed, working side-by-side with him. Rosier could enjoy spending his adolescence soaking in stupidity, if he liked, and he could have the squalling brats it entitled him to. Severus envied him none.
"I do," Rosier pressed. Severus inhaled deeply and deigned to look at him. Rosier looked flustered. Stringing three words together with the brain of a flobberworm must be incredibly difficult. "Look, you didn't even have anyone who wanted to sit with you. We let you in with us because you're in our dorm, and we felt sorry for you."
"Sorry for me?" Severus gave him a dubious look. That must've been how Rosier was rationalising it. His overinflated ego clearly made it impossible for him to comprehend that he might be undesirable to sit with.
"Yeah. You don't seem to get that," Rosier said. Severus almost smiled. He wondered if Rosier had considered what he was saying very deeply.
"I understand the situation perfectly," Severus said. Rosier snorted. He sounded like a pig.
"So you're aware that everyone thinks you're a little weirdo? For all you shit on Avery, he's funny and he can have a conversation like a normal person. You're a creep, Snape. Don't get too high an opinion of yourself." Rosier leaned in. "Nobody knows who your father is. We all just took Malfoy's word for it, back then." He straightened up. "Write good, Snape."
Rosier sauntered off back to Avery. Write well, you imbecile. Rosier obviously was unable to direct whatever rage he had within him at an appropriate target. He was cursed with enough intellect to recognise that he had shortcomings, but not enough to know how to fix them. He was a lost cause. Nevertheless, it disturbed Severus that Rosier had chosen to prod at the topic of his father. Rosier wasn't anywhere near intelligent enough to figure it out; it was the matter of who had planted the idea in his mind that worried Severus. That person was the real danger.
"Stop looking at me like that," Sirius growled into James' ear. Peter read out a sign, and Remus dutifully took notes, his long thin fingers twisted around the nib of the quill. He held it too close to the page. It explained his handwriting.
"Like what, mate?" James said easily, turning to look at him. "I can't help that you're deliciously attractive." Sirius rewarded him with a dry exhale through his nose. James twirled his wand frantically, only stopping to practise a quick movement here and there. Sirius recognised the spells they aligned with – the ones he'd been working on with McGonagall for the Tournament. He did the same thing before exams. Before big Quidditch matches, when he thought nobody was watching, he'd flick his hands like he was throwing the quaffle and shift his weight like he was on a broom.
"It's a shit day," Sirius said, kicking the grass. James waved his wand at nothing.
"I disagree. We're not at school, it's not raining, we're all here, we're outside." James listed things off like it was an equation – no school plus no rain plus all of them together plus being outdoors equalled a good day.
"Fine. I'm having a shit day," Sirius said. James' free hand went to his hair.
"C'mon, you've gotta make the best of it. Let's do the fun bit next," James said. The fun bit. The fun bit would be getting the goddamned motorcycle and sneaking off to the pub. There had to be a decent one around. Three beers and a shot of whiskey would make it a good day.
James left him, greeting Remus and Peter with a hand on the shoulder. He bent his head and whispered to them. Peter gave it away. He looked over. Sirius arched an eyebrow, and Peter hurriedly ducked his head. A moment later, they came over to deliver his verdict. He wondered if this was how Snivellus felt when he saw them coming. But, nah, Snivellus would've pissed himself and run away.
"We reckon it's tent time now!" James declared, grinning. Peter too bared his teeth. Remus leaned, thumbs hooked on the pockets of his trousers, and gave him a look that said, really, you ought to have expected this. Prat.
Sirius jerked his chin towards the tent. "Get a move on, then."
"Don't be a grumpy bastard," James said, grabbing his arm. Sirius pulled away. Stop fucking touching me, you poof. "Right. Miss out on all the fun, if that's what you want. Doesn't bother me."
"You sound like a mother," Remus muttered. A laugh caught in Sirius' throat.
"Fine," he said. He stormed past them, forcing them to scamper behind. James caught up too quickly.
"You'll like it," James assured him.
"I'm tired."
"But you will like it. I know it's a bummer, mate, about the motorcycle, but it really is a good day otherwise."
"Doesn't fucking feel like it."
"You're drunk," James said. He stopped. Sirius stopped too, only feet from the tent. A cluster of Ravenclaws emerged, wide-eyed and all smiles, in need of a good punch. Sirius eyed James warily and scoffed.
"I'm not drunk," he said, flicking his hair out of his face. James frowned, opened his mouth, and hesitated. He took off his glasses and wiped them down. He put them back on.
"You are," he said. A statement.
"Fuck off," Sirius said.
"I didn't say anything about it, mate," James said. His eyes stayed on Sirius for too long a moment. Sirius looked away. James laughed. "It's fine, I just reckon whatever you've had is making you all pissy. Choose something else next time, right?" He chortled and slapped Sirius on the back, all forgiven. That was the good thing about James; he forgave and forgave and forgave, if he liked you. "Come on, you lot!" Now he hollered at Remus and Peter, who hurried over, Remus limping and Peter lifting his feet too high.
James pulled back the tent flaps, holding it open for them. Sirius huffed and ducked inside.
The world turned black. He couldn't see. He couldn't see his hands or his feet, he couldn't even see his own nose. What the fuck? He whipped his wand out.
"Lumos!" he cried. The tiny light at the end of his wand flickered and died. He couldn't hear James, or the wind, or the waves, or the laughter of the others in their year. "What the fuck?" he murmured. He stopped dead. He couldn't hear his own voice. He tried again. He formed the words, did everything he'd do normally to speak, but he couldn't hear it. Had they robbed him of his hearing or his voice? Some voice told him not to panic. "James?" he shouted, or tried to. Nothing. He gripped his wand tightly. He couldn't see, hear, or speak, but he could still feel. He plunged his hands into the darkness.
Nothing.
He swung his arms out around him. No contact. Sirius couldn't tell how large the space was. He couldn't tell which way he'd come in. His head spun. It's part of the exhibit, he told himself. That was the logical answer. He swayed. This is fucked. Just let me out! Fuck's sake. Of course James' idea of making the day fun would involve some mental shit like this. Why had he agreed? He aimed a kick at the ground. His toe hit stone. He swore. But that was something. Either the tent was good quality and had a stone floor, or something had gone wrong and he was no longer at Auld Kirk Green.
He glared at the darkness. Why had he let James get him into this mess?
Why had she let Potter get her into this mess?
She, Marlene, and Glen had formed a group (well, Lily and Marlene had known without a word that they would work together, and Glen attached himself to them after a very polite, smiley conversation), and had answered every question but two. Marlene teased that Lily and Glen made a good team. Lily thought they'd worked well because they were on the same page, more than anything – they wanted to get the questions well and truly done by lunch so they could have a quiet, leisurely afternoon.
"So we've got the exhibit, and the analysis one," Marlene pointed out, poking her fingers at the questions. Glen frowned. The three of them stood beneath a large stone statue. The sun curled its fingers around the clouds, warm enough to stop their shivering. Lily held her hair as the wind screamed across the shore. People slammed their hands down by their sides to stop their robes from flipping up. Those of us who dressed in muggle clothes, plus one point.
"Well, I'd say the analysis will take up most of our time," Glen said. "If we get that done now, we can do the exhibit as we please. It will be an engaging end to the day. And we can read the warnings while we have lunch-"
"I'm all worn out, though," Marlene said. "Don't you want a break yet?" The wind shuddered and sighed for now. Lily pulled her fingers through her hair, tugging at the tangles. Choppy waves slapped against the sand. It was the sort of place that would be pretty in summer, she thought. Chilly, but pretty. All the boats tethered up would be bobbling along the horizon, and all the snotty wives in their big houses would have their kids home. The beach would be alive with children playing and dozing holidaymakers and people her age riding their bikes up and down. She and her friends from Cokeworth had talked about seaside holidays before; Diane Roberts dreamed of St Ives, while Jane was in favour of Brighton. One day, one day, one day they'd go, when they were grown-ups. But now Jane's mother was dead, and she had her little brother to look after, and Sue would be having a baby. Where could Brighton fit in now?
A black streak interrupted her train of thought.
Sirius Black stormed past, James Potter hot on his heels, with Remus and Pettigrew tailing. They'd finally shown up. Lily watched them over Glen's shoulder. One-by-one, Black, Remus, and Pettigrew went inside. Potter looked around and caught her eye. He grinned.
"Are you being boring?" he shouted. "C'mon, Evans!" He waved jauntily and ducked into the tent. Glen looked over his shoulder and scowled.
"I can't stand him," Glen said. Marlene smiled awkwardly. Lily suspected they were both thinking of the New Year's party. It sounded tremendously soapy, if you asked her. On the soaps, it always got dramatic when too many town-members were stuck together at some important event. Maybe there was a nugget of truth in it.
"He's a prat," Lily agreed, "but what's new?" Why had he waved at her? What did he want? Probably just to get under my skin, like always.
"Well, that settles it," Glen said, rolling up their sheet of parchment. "We'll do the analysis now. We can't be in that exhibit at the same time as Potter and friends. They're probably smoking." He cast Marlene a dark look. Lily stepped closer to her. Frankly, she thought it was stupid that Glen had joined their group when he was clearly still thinking about his party. She and Marlene could've worked with Alisha and Amy, then. They'd offered to make it a group of five, but Amy refused to go anywhere near Glen. How wonderful it is that we all get on so well.
"No, I think we should do it now," Marlene said. "Think about it! If we wait, they'll have destroyed it. We can race them through. Keep an eye on them, too. You're prefects, aren't you? Shouldn't you investigate troublemakers?" Marlene wiggled her eyebrows. "What do you reckon, Lily?" I reckon you've got more Slytherin in you than you'd care to admit. She couldn't get Potter's stupid wave out of her head. What was he swanning about waving for? Really? Just to be a dick?
"We should investigate," she said. Glen inhaled sharply. "We have to be sure they're not vandalising one of the most important historical sites in magical Scotland," she added firmly, cobbling off Marlene's idea. They were supposed to be helping the teachers keep track of everything, so it had some basis in reality.
"I suppose he'd be the type," Glen glowered. They marched over to the tent. It was strangely silent. She'd expected to hear them laughing, or talking – Potter's voice carried, especially when he got excited. It was a constant annoyance in class.
"Come on," Marlene said. Without further ado, she hurled herself inside. Lily shrugged at Glen.
"We'd better see what the damage is," she said, and followed Marlene in.
So, yes, it was Potter's fault that she was here, but it was her own fault she'd been stupid enough to follow him. He'd clearly used some sort of darkness powder, as well as a sensory charm, to achieve the desired effect. She was sure he and Black were sniggering just out of reach. Honestly. She'd be having a word with Remus about it. She didn't expect him to be on their cases all the time, but seriously, couldn't he mark her as off-limits as far as targets went?
She tapped her foot, wearing her sternest look. It was her 'come on first-year boys, I know what you've done, it's not funny, come out on the count of three or you'll get detention' approach.
"Potter," she said, folding her arms across her chest. "Seriously. Remus? Come on. I'm over this."
The light flickered, and then she could see. Good.
"Thank you," she said briskly. She was in a stone room, with stone walls and a stone floor. A high, narrow window revealed a patch of grey sky. Potter was still hiding. She rolled her eyes and turned around. "Can you believe this?"
Marlene and Glen were not there. Her mouth dried. She swung back around. Wooden doors appeared to her left and right, emerging from the stone as if they'd been there all along. She counted quickly. Nine. One swung open. Her heart dropped through her stomach.
"Sev?"
"Lily." She was here. She was safe. She looked more confused than afraid. He strode over to her. "It's Potter, isn't it? He did this?" It had to be. Severus had seen him taunting Lily before he went inside. Lily, for whatever reason, had followed. Probably because of that idiot from Ravenclaw – it had probably been his idea. Severus wanted to curse his perfect hair off and leave him bald until the day he died. Him and Potter both. It was always the posh pureblooded prats with their precious hair that caused trouble. What was it with them and hanging around Lily? Couldn't they leave her be? What claim did they have to her?
"I think so," she said. Her eyelashes fluttered against the roundness of her cheeks. Her hair was windswept, beautiful, and there was a hint of pink in her face. "I didn't know you were in here." He had come after her.
"I didn't know what Potter would do," he spat. "You know what he's like, you know what he might do-"
"What might I do?" Severus stiffened. Potter entered through a wooden door, ruffling his hair and smiling as if he owned the world.
"Your sense of humour is juvenile," Severus spat, advancing on him. Potter twirled his wand between his fingers. He didn't even care. "Lily doesn't want anything to do with you and your foolish pranks. You're wasting our time and everyone else's. Darkness power, how innovative."
Potter laughed. "I think Evans can speak for herself, Snivellus. And I didn't do anything. Who invited you, anyway?"
Lily sighed. "Potter, give it up. I'm not going to take points." Potter threw his hands in the air.
"I didn't do anything!" he protested. Severus shook his head. He was nothing but a no-good, bold-faced liar.
"You won't get away with it," Severus growled, advancing. He fingered his wand. Lily wouldn't intervene. She hated Potter just as much as he did. She had to. And what was Potter without his band of twits? This was the best chance Severus could get. Lily'd be there to witness it all, she could tell the teachers what had happened, they'd trust her – Potter would never try anything again. He'd realise that Severus was the superior wizard, that he was the one who deserved to have Lily.
Potter laughed again. "Mate," he said. "What the fuck are you on about?"
"Potter, come on," Lily said. Severus was going to break his face. If he thought this was some game, if he thought he was bluffing, he was wrong.
"This is enough," Severus said. He drew himself up to his full height and brandished his wand. "For years, you've been terrorising-"
"Sev?!"
"Look out, Snivellus has his thing out!" Black swaggered through another door. It promptly disappeared behind him. "What the fuck are you gonna do, Snivellus? Fucking piss at us? What the fuck are you going to do?"
"Sirius," Potter said. Oh, Severus knew what he was on about. He wanted to do this himself. He was too arrogant to accept help. Fine, Severus thought. It'll do Black good to watch me curse you into hell.
"What's going on?" Pettigrew wailed, throwing himself through another door. Again, it disappeared. "What is this? Is this the exhibit? Why was it dark?"
"Yeah, why was it dark, Potter?" Severus hissed. Potter threw his hands in the air.
"How would I know?!"
"Sev, please, Potter's just being a prat. You don't have to fight him over it." Severus looked at her. She smiled glumly. She was so close. Severus could almost feel the flutter of her pulse in her neck. He could see the rise and fall of her chest.
"I can deal with it," Severus told her, voice low. She narrowed her eyes, cocking her head slightly.
"Deal with what? Just leave it," she said. He appreciated her concern, but it was misplaced.
He took a deep breath, rolled up his sleeves, and beelined for Potter.
"This is well overdue," he said, pointing his wand at Potter's throat. Someone came through another door. "You are a cocky, arrogant, self-centred, obnoxious pig and seeing as nobody else is willing to teach you a lesson, I will. You are the lowest piece of filth-"
"Expelliarmus." Severus' wand flew from his hand. The ties of Potter's cloak were barely an inch from the end of Severus' nose. He glared up at Potter. Potter grinned.
"Alright, mate? You done?" Silence rung through the air. Pettigrew's snorts broke it.
"That was pathetic!" Pettigrew cried, eyes watering. Another door closed behind McKinnon.
"What was pathetic?" she asked. She looked him up and down. "What'd I miss?" Rosier appeared too. Only two doors were left. Rage boiled in his chest. He breathed hard through gritted teeth, spittle building in his mouth. Damn you, Potter, damn you to hell, you and your friends, you scum of the earth, you abominable troglodyte –
Potter patted him on the head. "Good boy," he said. Severus screamed in frustration, spit flying from his mouth.
"WHERE IS MY WAND?" he demanded. Black laughed. Severus rounded on him.
"Moony, throw it for him," Black grinned. Lupin sighed. Severus spun. Lupin held Severus' wand above his head. He wriggled it lazily.
"Here, boy," he said, flatly. Severus was going to murder -
"Fucking hell, Remus!" Lily stormed across the room and wrenched Lupin's raised arm down. Lupin yelped like a child. Lily tore Severus' wand from his hand. "I've covered for you, this morning, while you've been doing God knows what, it boggles my mind that they chose you to be a prefect when you can't be fucked showing up half the time! I could go to McGonagall, you know, but I don't because I know your mother's sick and I want to give you the benefit of the doubt, could you not give me an ounce of something in return?" She threw Severus' wand at him. He caught it, scrambling.
"Cool it, Evans," Black drawled lazily. "You're wasting your breath defending that piece of shit." He gestured to Severus. Severus pointed his wand, but Lily rounded on him.
"Stop it! You always make things worse!" she shouted at him. Her face contorted, red and furious. His heart turned to lead. His eyes burned. She's furious with Potter. Her anger's misplaced, he reasoned. She doesn't mean it. She'll apologise. It's Potter's fault, Potter and Black and Lupin have driven her to this madness.
"Lily-"
"Shut up, mate, she doesn't want to hear your voice. Nobody does," said Potter.
"You shut up!" Marlene shouted. "Lily, this is fucked, let's go-"
"Where am I?" Avery shouted, wandering into the midst. Severus couldn't stand the sight of his stupid, fat head and his dozy cow eyes and that stupid stupid look on his face.
"Furnunculus!" he shouted. Pimples sprouted on Avery's face.
"Averitis is back!" Pettigrew shouted gleefully. A door slammed shut. The last door.
Vane stood as still as a statue, his jaw clenched, his eyes wide. He opened his mouth, and a strange, strangled sound emerged.
"What?" he managed. His eyes flickered manically across the room. "Lily. What is going on?"
A dark red light swept over them all. The sky beyond the window was dark under a blanket of black, angry clouds. An eerie orange light flickered outside.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
James made a face.
"Sounds a bit ominous, doesn't it?" he said. It was a pretty weird group they'd ended up with, especially considering you were only supposed to go in five at a time. There was himself and Sirius and Remus and Peter, then Lily and Marlene and – Vane, apparently – and then Snape and Avery and Rosier. But, hey, for now the exhibit seemed to be holding up fine. He reckoned they were nearly at the torture tour. As if being stuck with Snape and Vane didn't already qualify as torture. No, but it was probably going to be all kinds of fucked up. Truth be told, he felt queasy thinking about it.
"Why is-" Vane gestured helplessly at Avery, "-jinxed? With the same jinx that was being misused very recently." He arched an eyebrow and started walking towards James. James gave him a weird look. "Potter, if you've-"
"Merlin's balls," James said. "Why does everyone think I've done something? Did none of you read the warnings for this thing?" Silence. Lily looked bewildered. Avery scratched his face. Snape took a massive, heaving breath. He was so tetchy James reckoned he was about to explode. Marlene shrugged. James laughed nervously. "You're joking," he said, staring at each of them. "Don't tell me I was the only one to read the warnings." More silence. "You're shitting me."
"Language," Vane said. James ruffled his hair, peering at him. Was he serious? We're not first-years. "Lily," Vane continued. "What's happened? And Lupin, you're a prefect-"
"I know, thanks. I don't need a reminder," Remus said coolly. He leaned against the wall, holding the arm Lily had grabbed. James frowned. Had he hurt it during the moon? Remus rarely let them see the extent of his injuries. James hadn't brought any healing shit with him. He felt in his pockets and tapped his bags. Nope. Bugger.He was rubbish at healing magic, but if Remus knew a spell and gave him instructions, maybe he could pull it off.
"You don't need to take that tone," Vane said. Sirius stepped forward, but Lily intervened.
"Can we please stop? Everyone? Or I'll charm you all into silence," she said. Glen furrowed his brows. Snape glared at James like James had personally killed his puppy. James ruffled his hair and shot him a smile, knowing it would piss him off even more.
Outside, someone shouted. Ah yes, the angry villagers. Flames licked the window – enchanted flames, of course, nothing that could hurt them. He surveyed Peter, who wrung his hands frantically. It was probably insensitive to make light of the scenario, but at the same time, people were going to shit themselves. How had he ended up as the only one who'd read the blurb? There were three prefects in the room, and several people who probably considered themselves more responsible than him. Godric's sake.
"You reckon you can reach it?" he asked, sidling up next to Peter. Peter squinted at the window, and then shot James an incredulous look.
"No," he said. James exaggeratedly pursed his lips in thought.
"What if I give you a sickle if you manage it?" he said. Peter pulled a face.
"I don't know." James elbowed him.
"Come on, don't be a coward. A sickle. I'll make it two, even."
The chorus of shouts grew louder. He could make out phrases.
"KILL THE WITCH!"
"BURN THEM!"
"I'm not sure how accurate this is," Remus said, raising his eyebrows high.
"They wouldn't lie to us," Vane said imperiously.
"They might," Rosier grunted, from the corner.
"I didn't know Slytherins could be critical of the Ministry," James said. "I thought your fathers were all too far up their arses to be able to see clearly. You know, all the shit in their eyes."
"The Ministry's useless. Bunghole of crap," Rosier scowled. "What do they do for us? It's been overrun by blood traitors and…" James made a violent, threatening motion with his fist and the wall. Rosier seemed to decide using that word in a room where Gryffindors greatly outnumbered him was a shit idea.
The shouting grew louder and louder. The ground beneath them shook. The walls seemed to close in. No, they were closing in. Remus stumbled forward, and Sirius' back was now against the wall. Had this really happened in a muggle building? James shrugged. It was brilliant, the stuff they could come up with. The wall pressed against him and Peter. He obliged, moving forwards.
"This is weird," Marlene said.
"What part of this hasn't been weird?" Sirius croaked. "It's no surprise those Hufflepuffs were screaming."
"I'm surprised they survived the ordeal," Remus said dryly. He and Sirius were pushed closer together as the room shrunk. Vane stepped forward, leaving the wall to sweep up Rosier and Avery. Snape brooded in the corner, looking like a child on the verge of throwing a tantrum. James could've dealt with the rest if not for him sticking his overlarge nose in their business. He'd probably stalked Lily all day and crept in behind her. He was so obvious that it was embarrassing. And disgusting. Perverted creep, James thought.
The walls closed in. The shouting went up another notch.
"This is giving me a fucking headache!" Sirius said, raising his voice to be heard. James shifted, now closed in by Peter on one side, Sirius on the other, and Lily in front of him. Lily turned away, so all he could see of her was her red hair. She looked like she'd just go off a broom. He hadn't seen her fly since they'd been in first year. She'd had a decent technique, but never seemed fully comfortable. He'd offered to give her lessons, but she'd never taken him up on it.
He pulled at the collar of his robes. Sweat dribbled down Sirius' waxen face. Remus shifted, unfolding and folding up again. Peter wiped his hands on his trousers. Lily pushed her hair over one shoulder. Marlene tied hers up, elbowing Vane in the process, who scoffed and stepped aside. The wall pushed him back into Marlene. Peter, James, and Sirius were shoulder-to-shoulder. Marlene shoved Glen aside to stand next to Lily, who was getting closer and closer to James. She turned around to face him.
"Well," she shouted, as the chanting reached a fever pitch, "you've read about this, haven't you, Potter? What is this teaching us?" He scratched his neck. The whole room glowed orange. For a weird moment, it looked like it was spilling out of Lily's hair. His right side burned up as Peter squirmed, tugging at his clothes. Remus stumbled forward, and Lily stepped forward to give him room. Now he and Lily were only inches apart. A lump caught in his throat. Lisbete, he thought. And then he thought that was a stupid thing to think. It was fine, he was fine, he was just thinking of the torture. Terrible, terrible torture. He stared at the stone wall. Very unsexy. Perfect.
"Just hang on, it'll be over in a minute," he said. How close would they get if the room was meant for five people? Would they all fit? The wall pushed him closer to Lily. Way too close. Closer than he'd ever been to her before. Closer than he'd been to any girl he hadn't kissed, or who wasn't his mother. Torture. Lots of people died here. And were tortured. And it's sad. And Snape's here. Look at Snape. He did look at Snape, whose face was uglier than ever. He was squashed right up against Avery's bulbous, boil-covered face. James smirked. If they were forced together any closer, Snape's nose would end up popping one of the pimples. Snape actually snarled at him, like a dog, baring half his teeth. What the fuck? James sniggered.
He stiffened and inhaled sharply. Lily was now touching him. Actually touching him. He couldn't breathe. Oh, Godric, he was going to suffocate. Don't be stupid. She was touching him. He flattened himself into the wall. Lily leaned back on Marlene, who snaked her arms around Lily's stomach. James could feel Marlene's hands barricading the two of them. Think of Lisbete. Think of Lisbete. No – don't think of Lisbete, you idiot, what if – but then you can say honestly you were thinking of Lisbete – fuck, fuck, fuck. The room couldn't get much smaller. Surely. If it got any smaller, he and Lily would be completely pressed together.
Surprisingly, Sirius wasn't teasing him, though his face burned hotter than the room temperature, which was rising quickly. What was the point of this? To put them under pressure, as the wizards and muggles would've been? Sirius wasn't even looking at him. He stared at the roof. Remus was almost on top of him, and clutched his arm. A vein pulsed in his forehead. Sirius pulled at his earring. The wall pressed hard against James' back, shoving him closer to Lily. Fuck. Fuck. Their legs were touching. Their chests were touching – well, grazing, hers under his – oh, fuck, shit, no, no. A question appeared on Lily's face. She opened her mouth.
"Open the door!" Vane commanded. A narrow door appeared behind Rosier. Rosier slammed open the door with his shoulder. They poured through. James rushed out in front of Lily. Thank God. Thank Merlin. Fuck.
Remus had been saved. He followed Sirius out into a narrow, dark corridor. The Slytherins led the way through another door. Remus kept a healthy distance from Sirius. He couldn't explain it. Adolescence, he supposed, covered it. There was no other reason why, upon being forced into such proximity, he had started thinking of the party they'd thrown for Halloween…The very odd moments he'd spent thinking Sirius had been suggesting kissing him, not Marlene…And Sirius had been right there, and Marlene too, clinging to Lily, and it had been the most ridiculous thing to think about. He didn't know why the thought had ever crossed his mind. Sirius Black would not ever kiss him, or want to, and Remus would never have any interest in it at all. Not ever. He was completely certain.
So picturing it had been moronic.
Never mind; he passed through the next doorway. He stepped into a larger, dark chamber. A creaking chandelier hung low, candles flickering. In the place of the chanting was a deadly, eerie silence. It leaked into them. Speaking seemed irrational. The door shut softly behind them, and disappeared into the stone. They were trapped. Again.
They stayed in their little group, almost huddled. In the unstable light, Sirius appeared dead. Remus held his arm. It still stung, faintly, where Lily had grabbed it. For a terrible moment, he'd thought it had given him away. The way James had looked at him…Remus would blame it on the wolf, if James asked, but he hoped that he wouldn't. A shiver ran through them, jumping from one person to the next, infectious. The chandelier swung, groaning, and cast light into the corners. Signs explained the metal contraptions that loomed over the room, casting long shadows. In the ever-changing light, they looked almost alive. One of them, according to the sign, was a witch's bridle. Another was a tray of iron screws, used to…Jesus.
"I s'pose we should look around," James said, breaking the silence. His voice echoed.
"Do these exhibits pull us in, too?" Vane asked. James shrugged.
"You think they're going to torture kids as an educational experience?" he asked. Vane said nothing. "They've got History of Magic for that, and it's legal."
Quietly, they dispersed, reading the signs and staring numbly at the variety of instruments designed to inflict the utmost pain possible on a human. The muggle versions of the Cruciatus Curse. It was nauseating. James stuck to Peter's side. A cold draught circled the chamber. Remus tried to detach himself as he read, noting it as he might a Transfiguration formula. And so they did this to make that happen…The names didn't help. It was too easy to substitute the names for Sirius Black or James Potter or Peter Pettigrew. He supposed this was the real reason they'd brought them here. It was easy to detach at school. Here, knowing this was what really happened, hearing the stories of these people, witches and wizards and muggles alike who had been tortured and murdered, it was far more real than a textbook could ever hope to be.
He and Lily and Marlene ended up at the same place at the same time, staring at the metal frame.
"It's horrible," Lily said, swiping a hand across her cheek. "And we don't learn, do we? Only last month, a muggle was tortured with the Cruciatus Curse over something as stupid as not having magic."
"It's fucked up," Marlene said. "I mean, we learn that Cruciatus is bad and all…I didn't think about what it actually does, though. What it feels like. Just that it's bad. I didn't…" Remus knew what she meant. There was one account, just one, of a man who had been a werewolf and who had been subjected to the Cruciatus Curse. He said the pain of transformation was comparable. The only difference was that because the wolf's memory was so much more limited, you only retained the first half of the transformation, really. With the Cruciatus, you were usually conscious all the way through. They usually made sure you were conscious all the way through.
A door opened on the far wall. Without speaking, they filed through. Even Snape didn't make some snide comment. The next room was well-lit, full of facts and figures about wand-taking. They had a pile of fake wands that represented the number confiscated during the witch hunts in Great Britain. Otherwise, it was plain. A palette cleanser. Remus stared at a graph, unseeing.
"Alright?" James asked, popping up beside him. "Your arm alright?" Remus was still holding it. He let go.
"I'm fine," he said. James said nothing. "I am," Remus said.
"Alright, mate. Just say the word," James said. Then he was off again, back to Peter, who looked terribly pale.
I'm fine, Remus thought. What else can I say?
Peter emerged into the light blinking furiously. James squeezed him with an arm around his shoulders. Had it always been so bright out? He took great rattling breaths.
"Holy shit," Peter said softly. "I…I can't believe that's allowed. They're allowed to show us that."
"We have to learn about it," Remus said, appearing on Peter's other side. He still had his hand on his left arm. Lily must have been half-feral, Peter thought. And over Snape? It was beyond strange. Girls were mad. Not as mad as those muggles had been, though. He shuddered. How was he meant to get that out of his head?
"How am I meant to get that out of my head?" he asked.
"It's called alcohol, Wormy," Sirius said, catching up to James and rounding out their gang. Sirius motioned downing a shot. James chuckled and slung his other arm over Sirius. Peter reached out to grab Remus by his good arm. Remus slung his bookbag around to his left side and put his arm around Peter's shoulders. Peter was glad, otherwise he would've been stuck putting his arm around Remus' waist, because he was so much taller, and he would've looked like a poof.
"Nah," James said, as they ambled along the grass as a many-limbed beast, "you just need to take your mind off it. Let's eat!"
The school supplied dry sandwiches for them, and they each took one from Professor Abbott, who supervised the food trunk. She was cute, for a teacher. He stumbled over his words when he asked for his lunch. They were permitted to go down to the beach to eat, and James summoned a rug out of an open window for them to sit on. It was very nice, thick and shaggy and without a spot of fluff or hair caught in it. Well, that was its condition when they sat down. By the time they'd polished off their sandwiches, it was full of crumbs and hair and sand.
"Is it thieving, what we did, getting the rug?" Peter asked thoughtfully, leaning back on his hands.
"No," James said. "We're borrowing. They don't even know it's missing. They'll never know."
"I believe we've depreciated it quite a bit," Remus pointed out. Sirius laid down, pulling the hood of his cloak over his face. James scratched his head.
"We'll clean it," he said. "You don't mind, do you, Pete? You're quite good at those cleaning spells."
"Yeah, I'll do it!" Peter agreed at once, fuzzy with praise. Only when James started transfiguring rocks back and forth, and Remus took out a book, did he really think about it. And the whole underage magic away from Hogwarts thing. And the fact that they were in the middle of a muggle village. He squeezed his hands together tightly, looking over his shoulder, half-expecting a wizard from the Improper Use of Magic office to be standing behind him. But then, James was doing magic, way more magic than him, and had actually maybe kind of stole something. Even if they caught Peter, he'd have valuable information and they'd lighten his sentence, and he probably wouldn't go to Azkaban. He realised how stupid that was and tried to dismiss the thought from his mind altogether. They weren't throwing anyone into Azkaban for a bit of underage magic. (But maybe for theft? He wasn't sure. How expensive was the rug?)
After a long, lazy hour that ended up with Peter building sandcastles, doing his best not to think about the tent exhibit, and James transfiguring rocks into miniature suits of armour for them, they dusted themselves off and stood up. Sirius harrumphed.
"I've been up for longer than anyone should be," he complained. "I want to go back to Hogwarts now."
"Don't say that," James cried. "We'll be there until Easter; you've got plenty of time to enjoy it."
"With any luck I'll be there through Easter," Sirius muttered. James slapped Peter hard on the back, and he pitched forwards.
"Don't smack the life out of him," Remus said.
"Sorry mate," James said, offering his hand. Peter took it and hoisted himself up.
"I'm fine," he said quickly. Sand crusted his knees. He brushed himself off again.
"Right, well – nobody's around, so I reckon you do the cleaning spell now, and then we'll just pop it back in the house," James said. Peter nodded, swallowing.
"Okay," he agreed, clutching his fingers tightly. "Erm. Yeah. That sounds good."
"Brilliant," James enthused. "There you go, then, Pete. You have the floor!" He gestured to the rug. Peter checked that nobody else was around – yes, it was just them – and he pulled out his wand. What was the right spell for rug-cleaning? He scrunched up his face, trying to remember what his mother had taught him. Which one was it?
"Erm," he said, after a long while. "Okay. I think this is it." He grimaced and tried to pronounce the spell clearly, wiggling his wand. A few crumbs flew out onto the sand. Sirius raised an eyebrow. Peter bristled; he could do it, he could, he was good at it, like James had said. He prepared himself and tried again, putting more force behind the incantation. The whole rug wriggled, and out flung most of the sand and bits of food.
"Nice one, Pete," James said. "That'll do, I reckon. Let's put it back."
"Nice one, Wormy," Sirius echoed. Peter blinked and smiled, a little unsure.
"Thanks, Sirius!" he said, but Sirius had already slunk away with James.
They managed to send the rug back through the window and roughly into the same spot, with James manoeuvring it while Peter, Remus, and Sirius levitated the bits of furniture it had been beneath. Some of them had been upended when he'd summoned it. Sirius repaired a smashed vase, and Peter didn't tell him that the pattern hadn't stitched back together properly. He had the wrong pieces in the wrong spots.
They stayed well away from the tent as they completed the rest of the worksheet, and as the sun began to dip in the sky, they were herded back in the direction of the train station.
"We could go to the pub," Sirius said, as they trudged down the pavement. "With that whole thing down there, there has to be a wizarding family around here. We can use their floo to go back to Hogsmeade, break into Honeydukes, and go through the passage. Too easy."
"That sounds really, really, ridiculously far from too easy," Remus said. "I'm afraid Lily will murder me if I don't pull my weight this afternoon."
"You go, then," Sirius shrugged. Remus' face tightened.
"There's firewhisky in the dorm, isn't there?" Peter mumbled, stifling a yawn. He was looking forward to sleeping on the ride back. His eyes were heavy. "We can just drink when we get back if we really want."
"A bit. Not much," Sirius shrugged.
"Plenty enough, I reckon," James said, and his word settled it. Sirius dragged his feet, though, as they wandered through North Berwick to the station, taking the long way. Peter was sure they'd just done a big loop for no reason. It was fun, but he was so tired. Getting up at that time of the morning wasn't right, and they had normal classes tomorrow…oh, and he'd meant to do homework once they were back…he was going to get detention! He was meant to be trying to stay out of trouble. He'd said to his mum he'd try.
They crossed the road. That was when Peter saw it; a little blur of movement. A black rabbit hopped across the road at the very same time they did. It paused on the corner, nose twitching, and stared at them. Peter stared back.
"Look," he said, tapping James, who had started to walk up the pavement in the other direction. James stopped and turned around. "Look, it's a rabbit."
"Never seen one of those before," Sirius said seriously. Peter sniffed.
"I didn't expect to see one here," he said, pointing to it. James ruffled his hair, looking at it.
"I s'pose they're everywhere, Pete," he shrugged. "C'mon." The rabbit kept looking at them. It gave him a weird feeling. But James was right; they were everywhere. He turned away and followed them to the train, where his very long day would end, and he could finally get some sleep.
A/N: Thank you for your continued support and readership! It means the world to me. I hope you've enjoyed our little trip to Auld Kirk Green as much as I did. For updates and insights on the writing process, please come over to my tumblr under the name 'ohmygodshesinsane'. :)!