There was an unusual quiet about the house that morning. It had grown used to children running along its wooden spine and magic flying every which way, falling into it's brick crevices. Even at this hour, it usually knew sound: the snores of children - grown now - and paintings and photographs.
Not today.
The quiet blanketed the air like dust. It was Too Silent, and the house knew it. And then-
There was a large cracking sound, sharp as a whip, and the still air shattered. A man landed on his knees, and a small pool of blood began to grow underneath him. His beaten briefcase landed next to him, and the organized sheaf of papers inside fell out in an explosion. Blood blossomed on the parchment. Quickly, a pair of potion-stained hands reached for a bottle of dittany.
The man looked around at the mess he had made from his splinching. Then came his voice - a low, gruff male voice that bore signs of sleepless nights and a tinge of a Scottish accent - which said, "Well, bollocks," and then, more quietly, it said, "Fuck," and then it said, "Bollocks," once more.
And then it said nothing at all. And once more, the quiet fell down upon the house, save for the sound of shuffling papers and heavy boots trudging upstairs.
XXX
"Oi! Pass the toast, will you?" Maverick Mckinnon demanded, leaning on the back two legs of his chair and glaring at his brother Maddox, who was well on his way to devouring the entire plate of toast.
"Yeah, Mads, no need to hog it all. We're already running short because Marc had the midnight munchies," Maxwell added in.
"Morning, fuckwits!"
"Speak of the devil," Maxwell groaned as Marcell Mckinnon, fondly known as Marc, entered the kitchen with a cheery gusto.
"Language, Marc!" Maddox chided, but nonetheless a smile twitched at his lips. He pushed up his glasses that were sliding down the bridge of his nose.
"D'you kiss our mum with that mouth?" Maverick asked smartly.
"As a matter of fact, I do," Marcell Mckinnon retorted, as he gave a peck on the cheek to his mother, Merry, who swatted him away with a cheeky grin.
"Third to last out of bed I see," Merry Mckinnon noted as she ruffled Marcell's hair.
"Oi," Marcell said as he ducked out of his mother's reach, "this hair is a work of art. You would not believe the amount of time that goes into it."
She snorted in an indelicate manner, "Sorry to lay my hands on such sacredness. Would the work of art care for any tea this morning?"
"That'd be excellent. Thanks, mum," Marc said as he plopped himself at the table, and picked up the Quidditch section of The Prophet and an unopened pack of digestives. He then proceeded to plop his gray sock clad feet on the table as well, which caused the Mckinnons to collectively wrinkle their noses in disgust.
"Morning," Marlene Mckinnon greeted halfheartedly, rubbing sleep from her eyes and treading into the bright kitchen. She stopped in the threshold of the door and scrunched her nose, "Merlin, it smells as if something curled up and died."
"That'd be Marcell's sense of hygiene," Maddox added as he swept off Marcell's feet from the table with his arm in one fell swoop, causing the front two legs of Marcell's chair to come swiftly to the ground. Marcell yelped.
Marlene shook her head, "How girls put up with you remains one of the world's mysteries."
He pasted on a smarmy grin, "I'll have you know that birds appreciate quidditch players' skills in both quidditch and other aspects-"
"-God no, it is much too early to hear about your escapades," Marlene groaned, placing her hands over her ears in an effort to drown out any talk about Marcell's "skills."
"All right, listen up here," Marcell addressed Marlene, who raised a tired, wary brow, "my escapades happen to be Prophet news," he said, waving around the aforementioned newspaper, where sure enough, Marcell's face was plastered across the paper along with a girl in a long string of girls, "any reporter in the world would love to hear about my life. But when I attempt to discuss personal matters with my own family, my own flesh and blood, you all just roll your eyes and you," he said, directing his attention to his mother, "you go on about 'settling down' and 'grandchildren.' Honestly, the lot of you."
"Someone took his snarky potion today," Marlene muttered under her breath.
"Oi! At least I don't look like some - some kind of two pound prostitute," Marcell shot back.
Marlene stuck her tongue out from across the table, but straightened her makeshift nightie - an old quidditch jumper from Maverick's Hogwarts quidditch kit that bore the Hufflepuff colors and the name Mckinnon on the back - now conscious of the fact that it only barely covered her thighs.
"All right Marc, that's enough," Merry interrupted, putting a hand on her son's shoulder, "your sister is very lovely," (And she really was quite lovely), "and we would love to hear about your personal life. I mean, if anything, we could always just sell the information for a few sickles. The couch does need upholstering."
"Oh, brilliant idea, Mum!" Maddox said, as he fetched a spare bit of parchment and a quill, "I've been meaning to get some robes mended and a set of new quills. Please, tell us more about your personal life," He said to Marcell, eyes wide and quill ready to take notes.
"Excellent," Maxwell said in agreement, "there are some stealth spells calling my name."
"I do need a new pair of gloves," Maverick nodded.
"And I would greatly appreciate some spending money for Hogsmeade; Honeydukes is getting more expensive each year," Marlene added.
Marcell scowled and slouched in his seat, "Well, now I don't feel up to talking about my personal life if you're only going to capitalize off of it, you-you Capitalists," he finished weakly.
"Oh, be a good sport, Marc," Merry said joshingly, "you even said that the couch was an abomination. Wouldn't you like to see it upholstered? I'm thinking a nice, dark leather. Thoughts?"
There were nods and sounds of assent.
"Family is all about giving," Maxwell added on.
"You are all wankers."
"Lovable wankers," Marlene argued.
"Slightly lovable, blood-related wankers," Marcell rephrased.
"So glad to be held in such high esteem," Marlene mumbled.
"Anything for you, Marls," Marc said as he reached over to rumple Marlene's already disheveled waves. She leaned away from his hand and grimaced.
This created a domino effect, and soon every one of the Mckinnon boys was rubbing her head and tangling her hair as if she was a statue, rubbed gold for good luck.
"You're all fucking squares," She muttered under her breath grouchily.
"Language," Maddox teased with a cheeky grin, as he pushed his sliding glasses once again up his nose.
She found herself sticking out her tongue for the second time that breakfast.
Merry sighed and slid a plate in front of Marlene, "Eat your fill, long day ahead."
XXX
"Has anyone seen my broom?" Marlene yelled down the hallway, which had become a disaster zone, strewn with jumpers and trousers and robes, a whole mash of scraps of parchment, and little trinkets: a pressed flower from Mary's family's grocer's, a faded postcard from Cokeworth, a coupon for Sleekeazy's.
"Have you checked the floor? It seems as if all your possessions are there," Maverick, smart arse that he was, said with an amused grin.
"Har har," she said back, much more unamused.
"Is this it?" Maverick eventually said, pulling a broom free from a pile of shoes and some melted Honeydukes.
Marlene cheered with glee and ran over to snatch it, but Maverick pulled it away from her grasp.
"Look, Marls," he said, his face becoming all too serious, "before you leave, there's just something I want to say."
She raised an impatient brow and crossed her arms in anticipation.
"I know you don't want to listen to your older brother, or anyone, rather, but-"
"-Listen, Mav. I've heard it nearly a dozen times in the past week: Don't make the same mistakes that I did this summer. I get it, I really do."
He raised an eyebrow and lowered the broom, handing it to his sister, "Alright," he said slowly.
"I promise. You know how much I mean it," she said more sincerely, more urgently.
"Alright," he repeated.
"Right then," Marlene said lamely, taking the broom and hurrying back to her room in her frantic aspiration to finish packing before they had to depart to King's Cross.
"Marlene, darling," Merry shouted up the stairs, "Didn't I tell you to be packed by today?"
Marlene grumbled in response.
"I expect you to be packed by half past ten," Merry continued.
"And come get your textbooks," Maddox shouted as well, and Marlene scurried to grab the stack of handed down books that had circulated through the family.
"Right, thanks," she said hurriedly.
"Don't mention it," Maddox managed, but Marlene had already disappeared, a formidable force, struggling to pack all her worldly possessions inside a trunk.
"Where's Maxwell gone off to?" Merry shouted, once again.
The Mckinnon Mansion had quite a lot of shouting in it at all times.
"Gone off to the shops," Marcell answered back, using a similar volume, "Marls is running low on ink."
"D'you mind sending a patronus and telling him to pick up some spare floo powder? We're almost out," Merry returned.
Marcell groaned, but soon enough the tell-tale words of the patronus charm were uttered.
"Has anyone seen dad?" Marlene shouted, "he promised that I could use his spare potions kit, the one with the silver cauldron."
"What's wrong with your pewter cauldron?" Merry asked, carrying a stack of folded Hogwarts robes.
"It's only nearly a decade old," Marlene countered, taking the newly-washed stack of robes with a grateful look, and throwing them inside her increasingly worn trunk.
"Give him another half an hour of sleep," Merry said, "he came in very, very late."
Marlene nodded and returned to tying up her letters and pictures and posters in string. She paused for a moment, examining the photograph at the top of the stack. She waved to the photograph's toddler James and Marlene, who were sitting on their toy broomsticks. The pair waved back cheerily, nearly falling over in the process.
"Honestly, you children. You had all summer to pack, but an hour before you leave you choose to begin," Merry sighed, as she folded up Maddox's Slytherin jumper, and stacked it along with her other brother's jumpers: Maverick's Hufflepuff Quidditch jumper, Marcell's Gryffindor Quidditch jumper (on which 'CAPTAIN' was embroidered on the back), and finally Maxwell's Slytherin jumper. Though they came in a whole different array of colors, all had the name 'Mckinnon' embroidered somewhere.
Marlene sighed, "But mum, see that's the thing. Teenagers are just built to do things at the very last minute. That's when we do things the best too. It's practically a science," she took the stack of her brothers' jumpers and tossed them inside her trunk.
"Some science," Merry said, smoothing the wrinkles of a Hogwarts regulation skirt.
"Did I hear 'science?'" Avior Mckinnon, renowned potioneer of the Wizarding World, said with a sleepy smile as he trudged forward into the room, slippers rubbing against the dark wood floors.
"You were supposed to sleep a while longer," Merry chided, a worried look on her brow. Avior placed a kiss on her temple, smoothing the worry lines away.
"Dad!" Marlene said, happy and relieved, "Do you have that spare potions kit on hand? The one with the silver cauldron," she clarified, "not pewter."
"Ah," He said, running a hand through his graying hair, "why don't you check downstairs? I think I left my briefcase there when I got in."
She gave a nod, and hurried downstairs quickly. She discovered her father's worn, monogrammed briefcase, papers astrew. She sighed, "Oh, dad."
She collected the papers in a neat stack and shuffled them inside the briefcase. The papers were all a little blurry to her, an indication that they had been charmed like most confidential Ministry documents were. Her brow furrowed as she noticed the back of a photograph under the table.
"Ah, I thought I had dropped some papers," Avior said, good-naturedly with a faint blush.
"Just a few," she handed back his briefcase and went to retrieve the photograph from under the table. She smiled at the photograph, one of her and her father's favorites.
In it, child Marlene was examining a potion with her father. Her face was filled with wonder as she gestured towards the purple bubbles that rose from the gold cauldron under her nose, while her father was eye level with the desk it rested on, a smile evident in his eyes. When the smaller Marlene noticed her older counterpart examining the photograph, she grinned and gestured wildly to the potion.
Marlene cracked a small smile, "Here you go."
"Ah," Avior beamed, "The photograph was fading a little. I thought maybe a bit of potion could do it some good. And a new frame. Might even get it painted."
"Glad to hear it's still sitting in your office."
"Of course," He said, sounding almost offended, "the first potion my daughter ever brewed. My colleagues are still very impressed."
Marlene scoffed, "Tell that to the Acceptable I received in Potions last year."
"Well, certain circumstances-" Avior managed.
"I know," Marlene sighed, "I know, I know."
"Of course you do," he said with a tired smile. He rummaged inside his briefcase for a while, eventually coming across the spare potions kit.
"Here you g-"
"Thanks bunches!" And she was off like a shot again.
Avior stared blankly after his daughter - now an empty space as she rushed off to finish her packing- blinking. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, cleaning the lenses with the sleeve of a tweed, patched robe. Inside his briefcase, there was only the sound of something rattling softly, very close. Dread came trundling up his gut, and suddenly, the room felt flimsy, tenuous, like a paper house about to fall over.
Avior Mckinnon sighed and put his glasses back on, pasting a false smile on his face, and tucked away his briefcase very carefully.
XXX
In the stormy evening light, the granite of Hogwarts seemed to radiate light. At the highest tides, the Black Lake crept into the basements of the Slytherin and potions dungeons. At the lowest, the barnacled ribs of boats poked their heads above the lapping waters. The castle itself seemed to rise higher and higher, the turrets nearly touching the sky.
Lily Evans sat in the window ledge, her friends and roommates rustling by in their hurry to get ready for bed. She lightly pushed open the window, and the cool air rushed into the round dorm. She frantically grabbed at the parchment and quill on her lap and the hovering inkpot before they were blown away. From the bathroom, she heard faint shouts of, "Have you seen those hair charms I left out on the sink?" and the more frantic, "Where did my wand go?"
She felt at peace, despite the summer, despite the coldness that filled her home in Cokeworth. But for the first time in a few months, she felt at home. She hummed to herself a lonely song, something that sounded like harp strings, like a golden boat traveling along the Black Lake, a cascade of harmonies that transformed the air: the trees and the roads and the shops seemed masked by mist, the air streaming with the possibility of the new year.
"Would you stop that? You're causing a ruckus."
Ah, there it was. Lily smiled a smile, tinged with mischief. She raised her eyes to meet Bonnie Selwyn's cold, annoyed ones. The fellow sixth year roommate had apparently been so annoyed with Lily's humming (she wasn't a musical prodigy, but she wasn't too terrible) that she had stopped on her way down the stairs to tell her so.
"Sorry, Bonnie," Lily said, sounding not very sorry at all.
"Hmm," Bonnie responded.
"Oi!" Marlene cried out, poking her head out of the bathroom threshold, "Lils, please close the window, Mary and I are catching pneumonia from the wind," she said, in the middle of a teeth cleaning charm.
Lily dutifully closed the window, and settled under the slightly musty red and gold embroidered duvet, her slightly musty red and gold embroidered duvet, collecting her writing materials once more into her lap.
"Thanks, Lovely," Marlene called out, and Lily winced at the nickname. "Lovely" was the nickname Slughorn had given to her, and she detested all the connotations that came with it. "Lovely" was the nickname of a frail deer of a girl, a girl who followed the rules to the fault and always raised her hand politely.
Only a few minutes later, Marlene Mckinnon plopped down on Lily's bed, causing her quill to go astray. Lily sighed and charmed away the stain of a word; she was, after all, always a perfectionist at heart. Marlene nestled into the nook of Lily's arm.
"What are you writing?" She asked, reaching over Lily to tune Mary's Wizarding Wireless that sat on Mary's bedside table.
"Just some letters," Lily replied.
"To?"
"My mum," Lily said hesitantly, before adding on, "and Petunia."
Marlene stopped, turning to look at Lily, "Petunia? Why? She treats you like shit."
"She-She's been busy lately. I think her boyfriend and her are in some kind of spat about drills, it's really weird. And secretarial college isn't going as smoothly as she'd like, I don't think she has very many friends. I mean, she's well-liked-"
"-Can't imagine why."
"-And her old school friends, I think they're moving on from Tuney. They used to all go dancing at the disco techs every other Friday, and now they don't at all. I just think she's been having a hard time."
"For the past five years? Look, Lils, whatever's happening in her life doesn't justify the way she treats you," Lily made a sound of protest, and Marlene sighed, "You're too nice for your own good, you know that, right?"
"Too nice? Is that even possible?"
"Sure it is. There are people, who are kind and compassionate, and then there are people, who are too nice. Too nice is when you start being a doormat, back me up here, Mary," Marlene shouted to the bathroom.
Mary emerged, pulling her dark, cloud-like hair into a ballerina bun, "She's right, you know. There's such a thing as kind and compassionate with a backbone, and then there's 'too nice.'"
"Oi!" Lily protested, "I have a backbone!"
"Yeah?" Marlene asked, raising a brow, "then why," she challenged, "did I see you talking to Snape on the train?"
"He has a first name, you know," she snapped instinctively.
"That wasn't an answer," Marlene noted.
Lily paused in her defense, and even Mary looked on expectantly, waiting for her response. The only sound was the small talk of their other roommates, getting ready for sleep and the whistle of the Scotland wind against the pane of the glass.
"I didn't know you saw that," Lily answered, almost quietly, "fine. Yes, I was talking to him."
Mary cocked her head, looking disappointed, "Lily…" she began.
"Don't 'Lily' me. I know what Mulciber did to you, Mary, but-"
"But what?" Mary challenged, crossing her arms. Her dark cheeks were tinged with a shade of anger.
Lily relented, "They're-they're not the same, aren't they? You don't know Sev like I do-"
"-and thank Merlin for that!" Marlene interjected, "he called you a-a you know."
"A mudblood," Lily snapped, "you can say it. It doesn't mean anything to me, my blood is the same as his. It flows through our veins all the same."
"Maybe so," Marlene murmured, "but it doesn't change the fact that he's joined up with a bad crowd."
"Just because he's friends with them doesn't mean they're the same. That'd be like saying you're the same as-as Dorcas or James," Lily addressed Marlene, "or you with Tilden or Daisy," she nodded to Mary.
"Merlin knows I'm nothing like Dorcas," Marlene answered in response, "but all the same, we still share many of the same beliefs. You're right. Sna-" she corrected herself at Lily's glare, "Severus isn't exactly like his friends, but they have to share some common ground."
Lily remained quiet, "Maybe."
"There's no 'maybe' about it," Mary piped up, "Marlene's right. Some people don't deserve second chances."
"People deserve second chances!"
"And then third chances and fourth chances and fifth chances and so on. It'll never end, Lily. At some point, you just," Marlene paused, "you just have to let go and stop giving people chances."
The dormitory was very quiet for a moment, before Lily finally said, "Maybe."
Marlene and Mary nodded.
"It's for the best," Marlene said.
"Really, it is, " Mary added.
Lily pressed her lips into a tight smile.
Her two friends returned the sentiment and beamed. They went to their respective beds, listening to Mary's Wizarding Wireless quietly while Lily finished her letter.
When her friends were preoccupied with tacking up posters and unpacking, she conjured a small petunia and slipped it into the envelope addressed to her sister.
She was stubborn like that.
XXX
"Don't tempt me," Marlene groaned from behind the drawings of Mary's bed, gathered together with two of her close friends, swiping away Lily's proffered, half-crushed cauldron cake.
"We made a list of all the candy we'd need for the entire year," Lily said, clutching her full stomach, "we packed candy for the entire year, and then we ate the candy for the entire year in one night."
"No one ever said Gryffindor wasn't the house for the daring," Mary said, curled up and surrounded by discarded pumpkin pasty wrappers.
"If I eat any more, I swear to Merlin, I will swell up and float away," Marlene groaned, nibbling at a stray licorice wand.
"As if that could ever happen," Mary laughed out, and then grabbed her abdomen, groaning, "oh Merlin, laughing hurts."
"I have a joke," Marlene declared, sitting up, her eyes bright with laughter, "what candy is never punctual?"
"Oh no, not this on-" Mary grumbled.
"Chocolate!" Marlene finished before doubling over in laughter. She hiccuped once, and then resumed laughing.
"My stars, that-that was terrible, Marlene," Lily said.
"Lils, you have no right. You make the worst jokes I've ever heard."
"I'll have you know my jokes are hilarious, Order of Merlin worthy, really."
"You're the only one who laughs at them," Mary pointed out, "and Marlene's right. They're truly horrendous."
"Oi! I'll not have you two poking fun at my amazing comedic skills," Lily defended herself, "here's a wonderful joke right now."
Mary and Marlene groaned in unison.
"Oh shush, this one's really good. Better than Marlene's anyway. Alright," she began, eyes smiling, "an invisible man marries an invisible woman," she paused for effect, "the kids were nothing to look at either."
She erupted into laughter, including some indelicate snorts, while Mary and Marlene looked on.
"Oh, that's bad," Mary said.
"Don't insult my joke, you might hurt its feelings."
"Lily," Marlene said, looking directly into her friend's eyes, "that's really bad. That's-that's post-Sirius-Black's-birthday-bash hangover bad."
"Now, you're just being cruel."
Marlene sighed and slung an arm around her shoulders, "It's alright, Lils. We still love you, terrible jokes and all."
"It's a promise," Mary nodded her assent, letting a smile play around her lips.
Marlene was suddenly struck by how much she cared for her friends. There was Lily, who said 'my stars' all too much and made her own charms and laughed like light. There was Mary, who had become so strong since the past year, who drank Ogden's with an iron stomach, but snuck to the greenhouses to cut flowers for their dorm.
Time slowed. The dorm, the bed hangings, the stones of the floor disappeared. Did anyone love anyone as much as these silly youths loved each other? Yes, but they were here now, and they were so, so alive, and they loved each other all too much.
Marlene slung her other arm around Mary's dark shoulders, "It's going to be a great year. I can feel it."
They basked in the moment, until Lily poked Marlene's stomach, "That feeling's probably the chocolate frog I gave you. I found it under the bed from last year. There may or may not have been dust involved."
Marlene shrieked and threw an assortment of wrappers and pillows at Lily's snickering face. Mary laughed heartily, before also tossing her share of pillows and crushed candies at her friends.
The laughter from behind Mary's bed hangings was so pure and bright that even the stars above Hogwarts beamed.
XXX
It was only the first day, and already they fell into their well-practiced routine: Peter knicked himself doing his shaving charm, and in response, Sirius made uncouth blood jokes that would never leave the dorm, using a poor imitation of his mother's voice. James lost his glasses (three times), and the four of them tore up the room trying to find them. Three times. Remus couldn't find his prefect pin, only to realize that Sirius had hidden it. Sirius couldn't find his wand, only to realize James had hidden it. James couldn't find his glasses (for the fourth time), only to realize that Peter had hidden them.
Only, he couldn't see Peter silently laughing, because, well, he couldn't see.
But in the end, they made it down to the Great Hall, panting and laughing and complaining about "those damn seven flights," convinced they were late, only to realize that Remus charmed the clocks.
"You cheeky bast-" James began, as they trudged into the nearly empty Hall. Remus' Cheshire grin gave it away.
"-Whatever could you be talking about?" Remus asked, smirking.
"One day," Peter said, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, "you will wake up at a ridiculously early time because of a charmed alarm clock, and not one of us will feel sorry for you."
Remus smiled, "The anticipation is killing me."
"You'll rue the day," Sirius agreed with Peter, as he slumped down at the Great Hall table, and rested his head on his hand.
"It's a new school year, lads," Remus said, too cheerful for that early of a morning, looking on at all of his tired, half-asleep friends, "why not start it bright and early?"
"Early is about right, but Merlin, it's still dark outside," James groaned.
"What a cruel joke," Peter added, "you know poor James desperately needs all the beauty sleep he can get."
James threw a hash brown at Peter in response.
"His deformed form will forever be on my conscience," Remus replied.
"When I fall asleep in History of Magic and get points taken from Gryffindor," Sirius said, eyes still half-closed, "that better be on your conscience."
"You act like you never fall asleep in History of Magic," James said, quizzically.
"Well, new year, new leaf, maybe it's time that I stay awake in Binns' class and learn something, right?" Sirius asked.
There was a brief silence, before all four boys burst into laughter.
"But in all seriousness," Sirius said with a wide grin, "it is a new year. And you know what that means…"
There was a brief pause, before comprehension dawned on their faces.
"Padfoot, mate," Peter said, sharing the same expression, "I do believe that Gryffindor has no points to lose."
James Potter shared a mischievous look with his friends, "Why, Wormtail, I do believe you're right."
"Now," Remus said, clasping his hands together, "aren't you glad we got an early start to the year?"
All three of them threw hash browns and sausages at Remus Lupin's smarmy grin.
XXX
An hour and a half later, when Lily, Marlene and Mary hurried down to the Great Hall, also cursing those damn seven flights, actually late, they grabbed pieces of toast and their schedules from a disapproving McGonagall and headed out of the nearly-empty Hall.
"Waa o' vee av?" Lily asked, stuffing her schedule into her bag with her piece of buttered toast in her mouth.
"E' fink va av efes," Marlene replied, similarly holding her toast in her mouth and scanning the schedule.
"Oi," Mary, always the fastest eater out of the three, said, swallowing a bite, "English, please."
Marlene took a bite and swallowed, "I think we have Defense."
"Oh!" Lily said, "with the new professor, right?"
"Dearborn, right?" Marlene asked.
"Right," Mary nodded, and then she cast a time spell, "and he would have been expecting us about two minutes ago."
"Do we run?" Lily asked, rolling up her sleeves in anticipation.
"We run," Marlene nodded, and the three took off, sprinting to the classroom, cursing those damn magical staircases and Marlene's damn Quidditch legs and all that damn candy.
The three girls used the word "damn" very freely when they were five minutes late to their first class of the year.
Eventually, they burst through the heavy door, panting, and Professor Dearborn simply looked at them curiously. They gasped for their missing breath, and Mary bent over in exhaustion.
"Hullo, girls," Dearborn finally greeted, "glad you could join us this fine morning."
"Sorry, Professor," Lily said, smiling sweetly, "I was just helping some first years with their way around the castle. Prefect duties, you know. I dragged these two into it as well. I really hope you don't mind; they were so lost, the poor dears."
"Well, who am I to go against prefect duties?" he replied, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips, "take your seats, girls. And try to resist the urge to help next time. I don't take tardiness lightly, especially a second time."
"Yes, sir," Lily said, and when he turned around, she saluted him and grinned mischievously at her friends. They took empty seats at the front of the classroom, an unfortunate arrangement that was the result of their lateness.
"Now," Professor Dearborn said, turning around to face the classroom, "before I was so rudely interrupted, I was introducing myself."
And then, of course, Professor Dearborn was rudely interrupted once more.
"Hi, professor," Remus Lupin said, entering the room, with a sheepish grin, covered in what appeared to be a variety of breakfast foods, "excuse the tardiness. Would you believe that we were helping first-years around out of kindness and er-"
"-Prefect duties," James hissed out of the side of his mouth.
"-Right, prefect duties," he finished with a sickly sweet smile.
Dearborn looked Remus up and down, raising a brow at the egg yolk that was slowly sliding down his face, what appeared to be a hash brown wedged in the folds of his robe, and a mystery sausage in his messy hair. He then turned his gaze to Remus' companions, the three of which all seemed to be donning a combination of cat hair and leaves and scratches.
"Well, looks as if this year's batch of prefects have really outdone themselves," Dearborn commented a bit warily, "take your seats, gentleman."
James grinned widely, and the four found seats also near the front, which, as we've established, was simply an unfortunate byproduct of tardiness.
"Now," Professor Dearborn said, shooting a glare at the door, as if he were expecting another rude interruption, "I'm Professor Dearborn; I'll be your new Defense professor for the year. I've just retired from my career as a curse breaker in Egypt, and I greatly look forward to this year," he said, flicking his wand, causing a stack of papers to fly to each students' desk, "I'd like to review the year's syllabus before we begin."
"I like him," Lily whispered to Marlene, who was seated between Lily and Mary.
"He seems cool," Mary agreed, also whispering.
Marlene took note of him, from the salt-and-pepper hair and beard. He had a weathered face, but it was kind when he smiled. His nose zig-zagged every which way, a sign that it had been broken many times. He had a ring on his right hand, and it might have been incredibly ostentatious once, but now it was simply a cracked, scratched ruby set in beaten, weathered gold. His voice was velvet, tinged with smoke: slow, soft, and a bit ragged. He held himself as if he had ran the world once (and maybe he had, Marlene didn't know), but had a slight limp. He radiated wild green and the smell of Earth after rain and the feel of a lock tumbler sliding into place.
"Yeah," Marlene agreed after a while, "he's cool. 'reckon he'll be able to teach us a lot."
Someone in the back of the classroom shushed the three, and they shared exasperated expressions before turning their attention back to the front of the classroom.
Professor Dearborn was animated, gesturing wildly with his wand as he launched into a course overview about dark creatures, hexes, curses, and even a tangent about his own experiences in Egypt. His wand shot out inadvertent sparks in ruby red, in bright gold. The class was on the edge of their seat; the room was full of anticipation and, ironically, magic.
"And while all of that is well and good," Dearborn said with a cheeky grin, "we should address exams."
There was a loud collective grin from the class, and he raised a brow, "Now, now, don't jump up and down just yet. As I'm sure you all know, this is a N.E.W.T. level class, and your N.E.W.T.s are fast approaching," another collective groan, "though you may not think so, them being two years away and all. You will have your sixth year exams at the end of the year, of course, but I've decided to instead have two smaller practicals, one before the winter hols and one at the end of the year. The practical will be an obstacle course of sorts, set up on the school grounds and filled with a variety of dark arts. Rest assured, it will be very safe. Dumbledore has approved of my plan, and professors will be observing everything and will be ready to interfere should trouble present itself. Not to mention, I'll be setting up wards around the course."
This caused quite a bit of chittering and whispering, as well as some moans at the prospect of that much studying.
"I'm sure there are many mixed feelings about this arrangement, but," his face turned hard, stony cold, "these practicals will be good indicators of whether you will be able succeed at your Defense N.E.W.T. So remember," he said, his eyes cold and scanning the room, "if you fail the practical, you will be recommended to drop this class."
There was some nervous twittering, and one student swallowed audibly.
"Of course," he said with a smile, "I wouldn't have you go in alone. You will be partnered for the whole of the year. During this time, you will learn your partner's dueling style, their study habits, their abilities under pressure, their flight or fight instinct. And for your own sakes, for your own survival, you will become a team."
Mary's grip on her wand tightened, and she bore a mischievous smile, "I'm always up for a challenge," she murmured to her friends.
Lily cracked her knuckles in anticipation and grinned, "Merlin, Marls, Mary, I think it's been," she paused and thought, "much too long since we had a professor who offered a challenge."
"Why, Lily," Marlene shared a matching grin, "I think you're right."
Inside her chest, pulsed something huge, something full of recklessness and childish naivete, something unafraid.
"Onto partners," Dearborn announced, charming a sheet of paper so that names appeared and were partnered off in a random fashion, "I would've liked to have solely Gryffindor-Slytherin pairings," this announcement caused a good bit of whispering and groaning, "but unfortunately, there wasn't an equal balance between the two. More Gryffindors than Slytherins, so some lucky lions will be with their own house.
Lily Evans did not consider herself lucky when she saw the name next to hers.
XXX
"Burke is going to kill me when my back is turned in that obstacle course," Sirius murmured darkly, as he walked with his friends in the hallway.
"I've got Dorcas Meadowes, mate," Peter offered, a sort of conciliation, "she scares me shitless."
Remus brightened and suggested, "You should talk to Marlene. She and Dorcas are mates, aren't they, James?" Remus asked.
James, who had been pre-occupied with his thoughts, was shaken out of his reverie, "What?" he asked, looking a bit worried and confused, "what was that you said?"
"Aren't Dorcas and Marlene mates?" Remus repeated.
James paused, thinking, "Yeah, she would know more about Dorcas than anyone in the school. Marlene's really the only mate Dorcas has. Talk to her when you have a chance, Pete."
"Right," Peter said, then furrowed his brow, "are you okay, James?"
"I-," he paused, "I'm all right. Been better, been worse. Mostly worried that Lily won't speak to me, and I'll die in the obstacle course. Then again, don't the Muggles say that only the good die young?" he rambled on a bit.
"Oh come off it," Remus said, "Lily's forgiven you, you're overreacting, and you're not going to die. Also, I think it's been a few years since you've qualified as 'good.'"
"Except," James said, holding up a finger to interrupt his friend, "Lily hasn't forgiven me, I'm not overreacting, and I think the chances of me dying inside an obstacle course packed with dark creatures increases significantly when my partner hasn't spoken a word to me since school started."
"But look at it this way, Prongs," Sirius said with a cheeky grin, "if you die in the obstacle course, the chances of us getting invited to a ghost party increases substantially."
James snorted,"Glad you've got your priorities straight."
"I can see it now: Jovial James enjoying the company of Nearly Headless Nick and the Bloody Baron," Peter supplied.
"Jovial James?" Remus asked, a small smile playing at his lips, "I was thinking more along the lines of Jinxed James, assuming that's how you're going to go. No offense."
"None taken, since that's the way you're going to go if we keep on talking about my impending death this year."
"Jocular! No, wait, Juvenile James!" Sirius proclaimed proudly, bearing a smirk.
"I'm disowning you three," James said flatly, "you can say goodbye to the Sleekeazy's fortune."
Sirius let out a low whistle, "Jaded James."
"Jagged James," Peter followed.
"Jeering James," Remus finished.
James raised a brow, "Just-done-with-you-three James."
"I don't like that one as much as ours," Peter said with a grin.
"How about Jailed James? I think that would be very fitting, considering the punishment you're about to receive." A stern familiar voice rang out. The four boys stopped in their tracks, all turning towards the source, though they knew exactly who it was.
Professor McGonagall stood in the middle of the hallway, students streaming past her, crossing her arms, tapping her fingers, and wearing a very disapproving look.
"Ah, Minnie, aren't you a ray of sunshine on this desolate day?" Sirius said, breaking the silence with a grin that was too cheeky for Minerva Mcgonagall's liking.
She raised a brow, "Oh, Mr. Black, you can be assured that I will be a ray of sunshine once you four retrieve Mrs. Norris from the Whomping Willow, where you placed her this morning."
"But, Professor. Hear me out: It was self defense, really, truly," Remus attempted, "that little devi-" James cleared his throat and shook his head; Remus sighed and corrected himself, "-cat chased us into the greenhouse with the Venomous Tantaculas. Professor, do you know how hard it is to run away from Venomous Tantaculas at seven in the morning?"
"And whose fault was it that we were awake by seven?" Peter murmured under his breath. Remus elbowed him.
"It's quite hard, Professor," Remus answered his own question, "there were traumatizing experiences involved."
"Therapy-worthy, really," Sirius added.
"Honestly, the school should be paying us after all we've gone through," James nodded, looking very somber.
"Students being chased by vicious cats into a forest of Venomous Tantaculas? Now, that just won't do. What would the Prophet say when they catch wind of this?" Peter asked innocently.
McGonagall's eyes narrowed, "They would say, 'Why did Hogwarts let those rapscallions run amuck in therapy, when they could be in detention, serving their punishment?' And to that I would say, 'What a splendid question, I think that I will in fact be placing them in detention.' Detention. For the four of you. Trophy room at seven," she said, turning down the hallway, her dark green robes following with a swish.
"Oh, and boys?" she called out over her shoulder, "please do fetch Mrs. Norris from the Whomping Willow. Mr. Filch awaits her, as well as a genuine apology from you four. And be careful," there was almost a ghost of a smile of McGonagall's face, "I hear she bites in close proximity."
A collective groan filled the hallway.
XXX
A man with devious, glittering eyes and an absurdly handsome face, made of jagged edges, leaned against a tree. He waited impatiently, but did not show it. Around him, the forest was locked in complete darkness, as if the tall, sharp trees had never known light.
He heard cautious footsteps, the sign that his appointment had finally shown up. About time. He did not give them the pleasure of turning around to face them. Instead, he said a greeting of, "We live in exciting times."
"Yes," his companion noted with surprise, "I suppose we do."
"Have you heard the rumors?"
"There-there are lots of rumors," the companion said with a shaky voice, "which one are you talking about?"
"The rumors of cheating Time. All of it happening within the Ministry."
"Oh, those," the companion said, "but that has nothing to do with me, then. You know that I've got no way into the Ministry. Not now, not for a while even."
"Do you think I'm a fool?" he snapped.
"N-no! Of course not," the companion stammered, "I just don't know what you want me to do. I can't help you here."
"On the contrary..." he said, a sinister smile creeping up his lips, "I think you can."
In the undercurrents of this interaction, something much larger trembled. In the undercurrents of this interaction and many others, sat a council. Men and women, who were not human at all, sat in their gilded thrones. Their eyes, their faces had been resting undisturbed for some time. Eyes closed in a sleep-like state, hands clutching their crowns, their fading kingdoms.
Their council room felt tenuous, flimsy. They were on a brink - of what, none could pinpoint exactly. In a moment, the room shuddered and shook, until the council's eyes opened, for the first time in some time.
They woke with a thunder, with a shudder that vibrated through the forests, the cities, the stone walls of safe havens. The entire world stopped for a second, and the roar that shook over the Wizarding World was the roar of what? Deliverance? Extirpation? Something they could not name?
"Ah," the head of the council breathed out with his waking voice. He smiled a mischievous smile and cracked his sleepy knuckles, "something new is in the air."