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Chapter 2 – The Summer Before Sixth Year

Absently crinkling the pages of the journal, Harry closed his eyes in confusion. He sifted through his hazy memories of fifth year and recalled Snape's worst memory of Sirius and his father bullying the Slytherin until his mother stepped in. Harry tried to recall the words his mother had thrown at them, but could only vaguely remember their tone—hostile and disapproving. But how could that be? If his mum and dad were supposedly best friends, how could Snape's memory hold true?

Harry rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles. His back was aching from sitting in the same, hunched position for so long. He glanced around the room noting that the remaining furniture was not only covered in a grimy film, but eaten away by bedbugs and other creepy crawlies. Straightening up from his slouched position on the spindly desk chair, Harry snapped the journal shut and headed for the library. At least the chairs there had been covered and were most likely in better condition than the furniture in Sirius' old bedroom. The journal was thick enough to warrant a comfortable chaise lounge and roaring fire.

Ten minutes later, with a fire crackling in the fireplace, Harry settled comfortably into a plush settee and opened the journal once more. He was curious to see if Sirius would reveal what had happened to his father the summer before his sixth year at Hogwarts. He scanned the second entry labeled '3 September 1978.' Finally, his eyes lit upon a section that mentioned Prongs. Shifting deeper in the chair, Harry began reading.

'It was good to see Prongs again after our summer apart. We had loads to catch up on, seeing as we couldn't owl each other or even send a letter by muggle post…'

With a resounding thump, I opened my eyes only to find myself staring at the cracked ceiling of the sixth year boys dormitory. I groaned and disentangled my legs from the blankets wrapped tightly about my lower half. A quiet snicker sounded from the drawn curtains of the bed on his right.

"Ha, bloody, ha," I snarled as I flopped back into bed.

James darted a look at the bed across the room. "Shh, you'll wake Wormtail."

I shrugged. "He sleeps like Cerberus doped up on honeycakes. Nothing short of a filibuster firework going off in his pants could wake him before breakfast. Besides, you're the one who was laughing."

"I wouldn't have laughed if you slept like a normal person…in your bed," he argued.

"You can hardly expect me to control myself when I'm dreaming, Prongs."

"Another McGonagall dream?" he mused.

I shuddered. "Yeah." A beat came and went before we both dissolved into silent snickers until our stomachs hurt and we lay exhausted on our sides. A comfortable silence enveloped the room until James broke the stillness with a quiet, "I missed this, you know."

"Me, too."

He cleared his throat, "How's your uncle? Is he as bad as your parents?"

"No one could be as vile as my parents. But yeah, he was okay. Ancient, but oblivious." I avoided James' inquisitive stare and picked at the buttons on my coverlet. I could tell he was dying to ask if I'd heard from my parents this summer, but I couldn't bring myself to talk about it yet. "What about you? Did you drive your mum crazy for me?"

He grinned and rolled his eyes. "You make it sound like I try to get on her nerves. Who wouldn't go crazy after being forced to spend three months together in a tiny cottage? I had to share a toilet with her, for Merlin's sake. I've seen things, mate. Things that no man should ever see."

He had my attention. "What kind of things?"

"Girl things," he whispered dramatically. We both shuddered.

"No offence, mate, but I would prefer Uncle Dolphus and his harpsichord over your mum's nagging any day. Glad no one saw fit to haul me into hiding. It was bad enough sharing meals with the ol' codger, but three months in the same house without quidditch to distract me? No, thanks."

"I'm taken aback by your empathy, Padfoot."

"I'm a Black, remember? Icy veins and all that rot."

We lapsed into silence again, this time less comfortable than that first. Neither of us wanted to mention the hippogriff in the room. Peter's snoring picked up as he rolled to his side before tapering off again. I glanced at James and met his gaze.

"Have you heard from your dad? You told me about the owl you got before the end of term, but-"

"No." He shifted uncomfortably.

I looked away, embarrassed for both of us, but continuing, "I reckon he's been so busy tracking Death Eaters he hasn't had time to write." He shrugged noncommittally. I paused before hesitantly adding, "I'd be terribly proud if he was my father, taking on dangerous missions in the name of the wizarding world. I'd be proud of mine if he'd just Avada himself already. Save your dad the trouble."

James sat up and leaned forward on his elbow. "You don't mean that, Padfoot. He may be a dark wizard, but he's still your dad. You wouldn't wish death on anyone, would you?"

"Yes." I said fiercely. "Voldemort. My parents…" I struggled for another name to add to my list. "Snivellus."

James' eyes widened. I'd gone too far. As much as James hated Snivellus, he was too bloody noble to wish him any actual harm. Me? I'd hang him up by his nose hairs in a heartbeat if I thought I could get away with it.

"Well, maybe not Snivellus," I lied.

"I think we should lay off Sniv-Snape a bit this year," he said, ignoring my blatant lie.

"Wha—why?" I stuttered. "He deserves it!"

He flopped back on his bed and stared at the crimson hangings. "It just seems kind of childish now, these stupid house rivalries. Especially when there's a war going on out there." He nodded to the window as if we could peer out and see a battle waging on the quidditch pitch.

"All the more reason to do it!" I argued. "Give everyone a bit of a laugh in these dark times."

James rolled his eyes. "Snape won't think it's funny."

I looked at him dumbly. "Who cares? It's Snivellus."

For the first time that night, and perhaps ever, James looked at me as if he was trying to study me. As if he was really seeing me for the first time. His blue eyes searched mine for something before he said quietly, "You really mean that, don't you?"

I stared back. It didn't sound like a question. It sounded more like a condemnation. Anger bubbled to the surface. What right did he have to judge me? I'd been around filth like Snape since I was born. I knew what kind of sickness ran through their veins. They prided themselves on supposedly having 'clean blood,' but really, theirs was far dirtier than any half-blood or muggleborn's blood.

Sneering I replied, "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

He sighed. "Let's talk about this later, Padfoot. I'm knackered and if I'm going to trounce Malfoy tomorrow in Defense, I'd rather do it awake."

I snickered and mused aloud, "You probably could duel Malfoy in your sleep—and win." I grinned at the thought, my mind conjuring images of a prostrate Malfoy and a furious Snape.

"Pete could probably do it in his sleep!" James said, letting out a bark of laughter before covering his mouth with his hand and shooting a guilty look towards the sleeping marauder. Pete erupted in another loud snore and rolled over. I shared an amused look with James before settling back under my covers and whispering 'goodnight.'

It would be a long time before James would mention his father again, but his resolution to leave Snivellus alone never faded. Somewhere, in the heaviness of my heart, it felt like James was finally growing up—and leaving me, and our marauding ways, behind.