Chapter III: "You Smell Like a Dumpster"
It was 3:26 AM.
Or so his alarm clock was telling him; at this hour of the night, consumed in total darkness, it was hard for him to see the little white numbers properly. Early enough that he could hardly see, and already his stomach was a boiling mass of total excitement.
In the silence of his room, James had plenty of space for his mind to stretch out and try to touch the Universe's edge with his imagination. Maybe that wasn't even enough to contain the nervous energy bubbling up from his very core. There was nothing that he wanted more than to finally grab hold of his wand again and dive into the world of magic. It was a world he'd been brought up on, sat down on his father's knee to listen to thousands of wonderful stories about. It was on today, September 1st, that'd he be experiencing the world for himself.
Moonlight flooded through the windows at his side, sparkling occasionally between floating tendrils of clouds, teasing and taunting the satellite, causing lines to crease across the carpet of his floor, as though his window was stretching itself thin trying to protect him from the light. In just a few days, he'd be seeing the moon from an entirely new perspective, high on the astronomy tower with his new golden telescope, squinting out against the constellations. The thought only made it harder for him to get to sleep, and so James scratched a hand through unruly hair, and rolled to his feet, tugging one of lighter covers over his shoulders. The carpet was soft against his bare feet, but he tugged the creaking door open, and tiptoed through the hallways, past his parent's door, and down the staircase. Past the kitchen he went, the raw wooden floor like ice against his uncovered toes.
The door of his closet groaned like an old man's back in protest at his forcing it open, just to catch a glance of all of his school things one last time. His parents had told him to take his robes, not to wear them, so he didn't draw attention to himself (or more attention, he should say). He was desperate to get them on, see the hem transform into a spiralling display of red and gold, see the patch above his chest swear his allegiance to the bravest house of them all. In his excitement, at 3:35 in the morning, James began to pack his things away into suitcases, tucking the wand into safety, between an extra pair of jeans and an old t-shirt that he was probably only going to wear when he was too lazy to allow his things to be washed.
Hours later, when the sun was on the rise, James could be found smoothing down Balthazar's sepia feathers, the lovely owl ruffling himself with the importance of an old movie star; and he looked like he'd just come from the latest blockbuster, eyes golden and shining, beak nibbling affectionately at James knuckles as he nervously stroked down the owl's head for probably the sixty-third time.
As the sun began to emerge from it's game of hide-and-seek, his parents began to stir as well, and James, with bags as large as his bulging suitcase under bright, excited eyes, and hair that looked like a rat had temporarily taken home around his scalp, came bouncing down the hallway towards their room, feeling refreshed and ready as ever. Through their down, he leapt, and all but tackled his father's rising form, pinning him down to the bed before the man could gather the energy to try and sit up again.
"Do you know what today is?" It was more of a screech than a cheer, and he was giving Periwinkle a run for her money (especially when she was hungry).
"Yes?" Still drowsy and slow with sleep, Caric Potter drew the words out to the best of his ability, hazel eyes still trying to clear the dream-haze from his vision. Movements were as elongated as his words, as though his entire mind was working through wading through molasses. From the left came a soft noise that meant that his mother was beginning to catch on, as well.
"It's September First!" James plunged off of his father's legs, which awarded him with a curse from his mother as she sat up quickly. Having landed quite successfully on his feet, James hopped off towards the door. "We have to go soon!"
"Mmm- yes it is…" his father replied, two hands going over his eyes, just before the rest of his body folded back down into the pillows.
The next that James saw of his parents was for breakfast, both of them down several cups of coffee with a flash of anticipation in their eyes to match their son's. Neither of them were awake enough to make breakfast, however, so James had several slices of toast, and at eight o'clock sharp, he was ready to be off to the train station. Rosemary fussed with his shirt first, and then looked through his suitcase (and packed his toothbrush, which he'd "forgotten" to put in), as well as several new pairs of socks. She tightened the strings around his books, and when that was finished, his father took up the luggage and stuffed it down into the trunk of his merlot Chevy Chevelle, leaning most of his shoulder weight into it to manage to pack it all in, and then he was off to the driver's seat as James clambered into the back seat.
His mother handed him a circular cage, Balthazar's unhappy yellow eyes poking out of one of the slits (he wasn't sure he'd ever used this cage in his life), which James hugged to his chest, followed by a leather box in which Periwinkle was situated, mewling to herself in indignation, a melody of unhappiness from both of his dear friends.
The drive to the train station was a short one, giving the three plenty of time to park, heave the case back out of the trunk, and totter off towards the station. It was just a few minutes from ten thirty (giving them plenty of time to find a good compartment, his father remarked), and once they found an abandoned cart, his father gratefully deposited all of James' things onto, and then they went strolling through the station. James figured they were quite the sight, his mother dressed up in her healer cloaks (she had a shift right after this) and his father wearing a dark pinstriped suit, and James himself wearing normal clothes, but tagging along beside a trolley full of all sort of strangely-shaped packages, a disgruntled cat, and a sleeping long-horned owl, head hidden underneath one arm.
Luckily for them, the station was bustling with all sorts of other students off to their own schools; they were wearing their uniforms, too, mostly dull pastel colors that flooded through the station among brunette and blondes, the musk of their clothes floating through the crowded air. Past great stone walls they walked, separated and littered with cracks and stones stuck with gum. James made a face, and turned towards the different platforms. There was a nine… and a ten.
For half of a moment, he felt relief. Wasn't 9 and ¾ before 9? The relief flooded out of him when he remember back to his primary days that no… it wasn't. Were he not with his parents, two fully-capable, experienced wizards, if they weren't a half hour early, James was certain he would've felt something akin to panic.
Wallowing through the crowds, he caught fragments of his mother and father speaking behind him, while he tagged along and pushed around at people to try and find the train that would take him to probable heaven. "I could carry him-" his father was saying, followed by a "I don't know about that, he's a little old. I think he'll be able to handle it?" tagged on by his mother.
"He's only eleven, Rosie, I remember my first time-"
Oh, they were talking about him.
Twisting on his heel, James marched backwards, arching two eyebrows at his parents. "He's only right in front of you, and he has no idea what you're talking about, but he should know."
Pursed red lips came together, and Rosemary frowned down at her son, before nodding towards the large cement barrier that separated the two platforms from one another. Still embracing him in silence, his mother offered nothing more than her hand towards him, which James, in confusion, took.
"We're going to be walking straight through that post, there. That's how you get onto the platform. You mustn't be scared, you won't run into it. If you want, we can run into it, but I'll be right beside you if you're nervous." The words processed slowly through James' mind, and he squinted at the barrier. Of course.
A sudden thought pushed past his mind's eyes, and he imagined what it would be like, rushing onto the platform holding tightly to his mother's hand, that being the first time that anyone from Hogwarts saw him. Then his father would come next, pushing the trolley for him, because James couldn't do it himself, and oh, the laughter that would get. Flushing red straight to his ears, the eleven-year-old shook his head, pulled away from his mother, and moved to his father's side instead.
With a great shove, James managed to get the wheels scraping again, struggling significantly with the weight of the cart, determined to push it himself. Maybe it was a wizard thing that everyone was strong enough to push their own items around; an unspoken wizard thing that James already felt the need to complete.
The young Potter began to struggle through the walls, and pushed his entire body forward along with the cart carrying a screeching Balthazar (who'd been woken up from his nap by the sudden change of drivers), lugging himself forward and forward- they were going to crash, he was sure of it, and while his mind cried for his mother, he continued on. There might be other students watching.
Next he knew, he was on an entirely different platform; the lights were low (or maybe just obstructed by the filter of smoke from the great scarlet steam engine sitting proudly at the lip of the depot), and there was a mass of bodies. James had never seen such an odd collection of people before, their robes sweeping away the dust of the station properly, the chatter sprouting out strange words that he'd only read in his brief skimming of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi (by Phyllida Spore). Except perhaps in Diagon Alley.
There was something even better about this train station, children hanging like rags out of the windows to kiss and hug their parents and family members; there were younger siblings protesting and waving away, trunks being pushed and carriages filled with snapping, sparkling charms that danced around and out the windows, children clapping and laughing, their sound like music in his ears. Though he had arrived plenty early, there wasn't much more space on the train.
"Look, over there, there's a fourth year whose father is pushing his cart." Came a warm voice, and James turned, looked up and shifted in discomfort, having not noticed his father's sudden appearance through the wall.
Well, what if he wanted to be cooler than that fourth year?
Even then, he reluctantly allowed his trolley to be taken over by his father, followed by his mother (who had also magically appeared), settling her hand on his shoulder. What if the fourth year wasn't a real wizard and it was still an unspoken rule that they were supposed to be able to push their own things to the train? About halfway through their walk towards the train, Rosemary knelt down to frame James' face with both hands, her smile weakening as something wet began to form in her eyes.
"Look at you," she softened out, and it reminded James strongly of his grandmother seeing him in his Sunday best for the first time. "Off to Hogwarts, just like all the other kids. I never imagined my little boy-"
And then she was turning away, dabbing at her eyes with the corner of her healer's collar, sniffling and refusing to look at him for a good long time. Awkwardly, James straightened the edge of his shirt, looked away. Luckily, his father happened to notice Rosemary's sudden explosion of emotion, and turned James away from her, leading him off towards the train, giving a fond little smile in his wife's direction that James couldn't understand. (It was just school, right? He wouldn't be dying, or anything… right?)
"While your mother, erm-" Caric cleared his throat, and began taking long strides down the length of the train, "composes herself, why don't we find somewhere for you to sit? It's a long journey from here to Scotland."
Words foamed in his mouth, but he couldn't produce the noises, worried as he was for his dear mother, so he just nodded and followed, moving towards one of the last carriages of the locomotive. After some great difficulty, his father had shoved the case onto the train, and began carrying it around, looking for a carriage that wasn't completely stuffed with Hogwarts students. They already had their own groups set up in seas of corresponding colors and darkened robes, laughing out each other's names.
James had never felt lonelier in his life, knowing that he'd have to go into a compartment all by himself without either Eddie or Missy at his side.
Luckily, while the compartments seated six, they came upon a carriage with only three, very-young students sitting within it. Foggy glass was all that separated James and the others, so he pressed his nose to that, and tried to get a good look inside- two of the children were male, wearing dark clothing that James could only assume was robes, and then other was female, her long red hair down to her elbows. Like him, she appeared to be wearing Muggle clothing, though something about her was strangely more unique than a muggle-born. Even from the smudged vision the glass was providing, James was entranced.
One of the boys had a large trunk at his feet, and while James couldn't quite make out the words above it, his father, from wearing he was standing above him, seemed to be able to. It was after he finished reading that he began to drag James away from the door.
"Let's find somewhere a little less crowded," he spoke with hardly more air than a breeze, but James stopped him.
"Here's fine, really. Some of the others are completely full, I'm fine here." Was it because of the red head? Definitely.
With a reluctant sigh, his father helped him open the door, and let out a friendly smile towards the three children sitting there. James didn't even get a good luck at them before he was being pulled out again for a stooped hug, his case and animals having been set near the girl. Arms wrapped around his body, and James let out a sigh, side-eyeing one of the students who was squeezing between them and the wall.
"You'll write, won't you?" James murmured, shoving some of his hair from his face.
"Of course. Just send Balthazar whenever you want us to. We'll write you everyday, if need be."
A kiss to his cheek, and then the engine gave a hollow sound, echoing through the floors. Just like that, his father was gone, and James was left to either sidle his way back back to the other children or stand lost in the middle of the train. With some struggle, he managed to lift his case up onto the rack above the velvet seats (the one across from him made as though to move to help him, but did nothing), before dropping right down into his seat, glancing around.
On the opposite side were both of the boys; he could only assume that everyone in this carriage were strangers, judging by how tense the silence was between them. One sat with grey eyes, almost watery in appearance, shorter than the rest of them. His hair was curly, just like James, lengthened on the edge, but kept in such a methodical way, as though every wave was processed out and planned that it made James suddenly conscious about his own locks, how they were splayed all about and sticking straight up. Already wearing his Hogwarts clothes, he kept silent and looked down, hands folding together; everything about him was shiny and new, and even on his case, which was tucked between the seat and fresh leather shoes, was golden, spirally writing, reading "Property of Sirius E. Black", followed by the outlines of what James could only assume was a family crest.
The boy next to him was unknown to James; nothing about him gave any clue as to what his name was, though his hair was stringy and long to his shoulders, and as he blinked towards James, he noticed a thin layer of sheen on his forehead. The dirtied boy gave a sniffle, and rubbed a hand past his hooked nose, robes unclean and not quite fitting him right, like he'd been to Madam Malkin's in a hurry.
James didn't have enough time to give the girl beside him a good look with the hooked-nosed stranger made a quiet little introduction.
"Severus Snape, first year." It was soft, albeit nasally, and James' stomach pitched at his tone at once. It wasn't the sort of quiet that suggested shyness, but a reluctance to show something. Only people hiding something had that tone.
He offered out his hand for greeting, but Severus Snape didn't take it. "Uh, James Potter. First year."
That's when Sirius E. Black piped up as well. "Sirius Black, first year, pureblood."
The air crawled with silence, and Severus happened to give Sirius a particularly strange look, which both the red-head and Black pretended not to notice. To fill the edging quiet, the girl spoke, and James' entire body melted with the sound. His entire cheeks flushed as red as her hair as he considered her, and her summer-grass eyes.
"Lily Evans, first year. Both my parents and my sister are Muggles!"
Sirius turned away, like he was hoping to say something, like he'd been urged to by a small little voice in his mind, but was thinking against it now, licking his lips several times. It was Snape who spoke again, voice just as quiet, tone just as chilling.
"Pureblood, you said, Black? Tell me, what's it like? I've heard of your family. Rich, aren't they?"
It was unclear whether Severus was being intentionally mean, but Black's eyes clogged over, and he looked away even more; James noticed the look Lily was giving Severus (a look of displeasure), and well, if he was going to win her over now, he'd have to do something fast.
"Severus, you said?" James started out in a louder, clearer tone that was drawled out precisely like Severus' tone. There was a sudden snap in the air as all six eyes turned towards him. Beneath, the train shuddered and began to move, chugging along slowly out of the station. "You smell like a dumpster, and you look even worse. What's it like?"
There was a stifled noise, and it wasn't until James looked over at Black that he noticed that he'd clapped both hands over his mouth to avoid giggling. Now Lily's look of rage was directed… towards him.
"You're disgusting," she spat in his direction, and scooted several inches closer towards the wall to begin looking out the window at the passing view.
The rest of the train ride was spent in bitter, cold silence.
Any comments and suggestions are so welcomed! I'd love to answer questions that anyone may have, and if you find errors, please let me know. Feedback is appreciated, because feedback is what helps keep me going. Thank you very much!