Chapter Six
For Future Reference
Before anyone knew it, second semester had begun, and the forth years were suddenly facing an onslaught of extra homework in preparation for next year's OWLs.
"But they're not 'till next year!" Patrick Goldberg cried out when Professor McGonagall made her own announcement about the increase in homework during their first transfiguration class of the new semester. James and Sirius, who had had two other classes with Patrick earlier that day, had heard him shout the same appeal at both Professors Sprout and Kettleburn. Apparently he was hoping that at least one of their teachers might break if he kept bringing it up, and in what was clearly a result of sheer madness, he had forgotten that he was currently attempting to appeal to the strictest of Hogwarts's professors.
Professor McGonagall gave Patrick a sharp look that made him shrink back into his seat. "By the time you enter your fifth year of school," she continued, "you should be well accustomed to the kind of work load that you will be receiving from now on. And that is all the discussion that we will be having on that subject today," she declared, turning her back to the class and striding up to the cupboard. "I believe I told you before you left for winter holiday that we would be continuing with multi-media manipulation in living creatures this term. You all should have reviewed the chapter on casting isolated spells within a constantly fluctuating environment. We'll be starting with Baumgales Fatile. I'll review it for you briefly now, and then you are to practice turning these fish," Professor McGonagall swished her wand and opened the cupboard doors, revealing a stock of small fish bowls packed in the shelves, "into glass without transfiguring the water around them. This will require more skill and concentration than simply turning toads into wood, as we did last term, as it requires working around the constantly fluctuating and more densely packed environment of water. Mr. Potter!"
"Hmm? Wha?" James shot his head up, and everyone turned around to look at him. Next to James, Sirius tried to look innocent as he quickly hid the Mimicking Dummy Wand under the table (which they had been trying to activate and replace Julius Rosier's wand with).
"Can you tell me why becoming proficient in the Fatile spell would be beneficial for a wizard?" asked McGonagall, knowing full well that James hadn't been listening.
James blinked, taking a moment to process the question. Just as McGonagall was about to remind him that he should pay better attention, James calmly and succinctly replied,
"Because the Fatile incantation utilizes a particular technique in spell casting that counteracts the effects of unknown environmental variables. Simpler transfiguration spells are more likely to fluctuate and become less effective if performed under unusual or particularly harsh conditions, such as during a storm, as some rainstorms carry magical properties if the water is from a magical source. The Fatile spell is slightly more complex, but it allows for greater accuracy. It's also particularly useful for underwater spell casting, such as during wizarding expeditions to the Merkingdoms, although Merpeople tend not to like it when wizards perform magic in their waters." James made this entire speech with a cool kind of indifference while he polished his wand, purposefully trying to make himself look utterly at ease. Finally he looked up at McGonagall as if to say, See? I don't even need to pay attention. Ha!
Should have picked on Black, thought McGonagall after she gave James a curt nod, and James knew she was mentally rolling her eyes.
He certainly didn't have to go into all that detail, but she had provoked him, he reasoned. He had learnt that last little fact about the Merpeople from experience, having tried a variant of the Fatile spell to usher a mermaid up to the surface of the lake in his second year (he hadn't known at the time that it was a spell that most wizards didn't even attempt until their forth year). It was with great surprise that James saw a very angry, and very, very ugly merman poke his head up out of the water with a spear in his hand; James was still indebted to the Giant Squid for escaping that ordeal without more than a few small scratches. Never again did any of the Marauders dare another to provoke the Merpeople as a joke.
"Now, everyone come up and grab a bowl and we'll start the lesson. I don't expect you to be able to perform the spell perfectly in one day, but in a week's time you should be able to accomplish this with ease," said McGonagall once she'd finished her demonstration. "Don't all come up at once! Back row first, come along."
The success of the assignment varied greatly throughout the class. Some students were unable to perform the spell to even the slightest degree, as they had neglected to review the assigned material over the holiday. Rosier was particularly frustrated, as he claimed that he had reviewed the material and couldn't explain why his wand suddenly wasn't working; one row behind him, James and Sirius sniggered. ("Serves him right for calling me a pillock in DADA!" whispered Sirius.) Most other students had given up on trying to transfigure the fish properly by singling it out in the water, and instead thought they could get away with starting the spell in a concentrated area of the water nearby the fish and entrapping the animal in the spell as the effects spread throughout the water like rapidly crystallizing ice. This, however, left a messy structure resembling a clear, upside down iceberg in the bowl that looked nothing like a fish, a result that didn't receive much better marks than the fish bowls that remained untouched by the end of the class. Sydney Valois was the last student to use this method; about halfway through the class she managed to entrap her fish in glass, and not wanting the effects to spread to any more of the water than necessary, she jerked her wand away from the bowl in a panic. This was entirely the wrong thing to do, as it caused the glass-berg to implode upon itself, shattering the fish into a million, tiny glass pieces that floated mournfully to the bottom of the bowl. This sent Sydney into a fit of tears for a good ten minutes, until her friends were able to calm her down and a slightly annoyed but nonetheless consoling McGonagall told her that if the fish was already turned to glass when it happened, then it didn't feel a thing.
James was the only one who had managed to perform the spell successfully. Not only had he managed to change the fish cleanly into glass without affecting a single drop of water, he had accomplished this so quickly that he spent the rest of class time animating the glass fish to continue to swim around the bowl. Once he had accomplished that, he charmed the fish to flash ruby red in honor of Gryffindor house. Some people, most of them avid admirers of the Quidditch team, awed at this display, but most of the class didn't appreciate what they felt was entirely unnecessary swank. James kept periodically glancing over at Lily to see if she had noticed his superb skill, and on the third glance he thought he did see her looking at him, as she suddenly jerked her head back round to her own fish, and was staring at it rather more dejectedly than she had been before. Every time she thought she had managed the spell, the fish would only seem to transform about three quarters of the way before it started to change back again.
As the students were finally gathering their things to leave at the end of the lesson, Dean Cooper accidentally bumped into his desk as he swung his bag over his shoulder, sending his bowl – which was filled more than halfway with glass icebergs from all the attempts he had made at the spell – teetering dangerously towards the edge before Professor McGonagall stabilized it will a quick spell from the front of the classroom.
"Anyone having difficulties with this particular theory should make time to see me at some point this week, or reach out to someone from my NEWT levels. I had advised you to do this several times this year and so far none of you have taken the opportunity – do be careful, Mr. Cooper, try not to shatter the poor thing," she said, sending Sydney, who heard this comment from the doorway, bursting into tears again.
"Oh, come on Sid, it wasn't that bad," Denise consoled her. "Come on, let's go to the loo. Coming, Lil? Mary?"
"I can't," said Lily, feeling a bit guilty, though relieved nonetheless. It seemed as if Sydney had to be consoled about one thing or another just about every other day. "I'm meeting with Marian McDonald now."
"You're still interested in the prefect position?" asked Mary.
She was. Lily had long been interested in gaining the title of prefect for next year, and she had sought out Marian the day after they returned to school in order to gain her perspective on just what it was the teachers would be looking for in a candidate. Denise didn't understand why Lily would want to be burdened with all that extra responsibility. Mary also didn't seem keen on the idea of Lily pursuing the position, though her reasons for this were less clear.
"She's just going to tell me what the workload is like. She said there are some nice benefits, too. Something about a private bathroom," she added, suddenly compelled to defend her decision to her less-than-understanding friends. "Sorry, Sid. You'll be ok, won't you?"
"Yeah, just being s-silly," Sydney choked.
Lily gave her a sympathetic smile and squeezed her arm before heading off to meet Marian.
As it turned out, someone else was more interested in 'consoling' Sydney, anyway.
"Looks like someone needs a knight in shining armor," Sirius said, looking out the door where Sydney had just left. He slung his book bag over his shoulder, and then turned to James. "You got this? 'Cuz I've got a damsel in distress in need of some serious charm," he said, flashing James a debonair grin.
"Go," said James, who was still observing his fish with pride, as it was now doing somersaults in the water. "I doubt McGonagall want to talk to you, anyway," he added. "After she caught you cheating three times."
"Attempting to cheat," amended Sirius. "Totally different. And if you had just helped a fellow out instead of tinkering with your own toy – show off." He looked down at James's fish with distain.
"You call it showing off, I call it strategy," said James. "McGonagall's a hard egg to crack – or would you rather I were out of her good graces, like you?"
"What makes you think you're in her good graces?" scoffed Sirius. "One flashy fish and you think she's gonna forget all the times she put us in detention?"
"You want this done or not?" James asked.
Over the winter holiday, James, Sirius and Peter had made great strides in their progress to becoming animagi – that is, until they hit a dead end when they had a problem with an especially complex spell. This had particularly frustrated James, who hadn't yet come across a transfiguration problem that he couldn't eventually figure out. As they obviously couldn't bring the exact problem to anyone's attention in the context of what they were doing, the boys had finally decided that they needed to ask the best transfiguration artist they knew for advise – under the guise of asking theoretical questions about the coursework. They had singled out James as the one who would actually do this, as he had the best standing in McGonagall's class, which meant that she was least likely to be suspicious of him inquiring about more advanced theories.
"Sure, sure," Sirius said, waving him off. "Just remember not to do that cocky 'I've got you right where I want you' smirk thing you sometimes pull. She hates that."
"I don't do that," said James with confidence.
"Yes you do," said Remus and Peter in unison.
"You were just doing it now, actually," said Sirius.
"Fine. I won't do that," said James a bit hotly. Sirius, Remus, Peter wished him luck, then gathered their things and walked away. Once they were out of earshot, James added under his breath, "Because I don't."
He began to put his books and wand into his bag at an exceptionally slow speed, so that by the time he was finally fastening the buckles on his book bag, the last few students had finally exited the classroom and closed the door.
Professor McGonagall didn't yet realize that she still had a student to contend with, as she was currently turned away from the rows of desks, fiddling with the old-fashioned lock on the cupboard where she had just put away all the fish bowls. Once she had fastened the lock on the correct combination, she swung the cupboard doors open once more, revealing rows or now empty shelves. Looking satisfied, she shut the doors again and re-fastened the lock. Turning around to her desk, she gave a start when she found James standing in front of it. "Yes, Mr. Potter, may I help you?"
"I just had a few questions about some of the theories I was reading about over the holiday – if you have the time, ma'am," he said, struggling to sound unassuming. Although James had a knack for charming most of his professors when he set his mind to it, Professor McGonagall was far too keen for his usual tricks.
"I have to say, when I suggested that students seek extra help in my class if need be, I didn't think that the first one to see me about it would be you, Mr. Potter," said Professor McGonagall, shuffling the papers on her desk and putting them away into a drawer. "You seem to have a fine handle on the concepts in this class – although, I should probably warn you that flashy charms will not earn you any extra points. In fact," she added, just as James was about to reply, "if you find yourself completing an assignment early once more, I may ask you to assist some of the struggling students with their technique. That might get you somewhere."
"Thanks, Professor," said James. "But I actually had some questions about a few – er – slightly more advanced theories. Things we haven't covered in class yet."
"Ah," said McGonagall, sitting down at her desk. "Well, I have time at the moment, have a seat."
James obeyed. "Ok, well, I was reading Thorflax Keplarr and his theory on consciousness manipulation in the transformation of alpha-sentient beings into bet-"
"Thorflax Keplarr?" interrupted McGonagall. "You were reading The Twelve Theories? That's an extremely advanced text, Potter. I myself didn't read it until my seventh year. I can assure you that we won't be learning anything that advanced until we're well into the NEWT level."
"Yes, Professor, but out of curiosity," continued James, "I just wanted to get a few things straight."
"Curiosity, hm?" said McGonagall, pursing her lips. "Mr. Potter, you do realize that you have earned yourself quite the reputation for your – how should I put this? Interesting judgment when it comes to the proper use of magic in this school."
"Thank you," said James.
"Not a complement, Mr. Potter," quipped McGonagall. "Perhaps inappropriate use of magic would be a better choice of words."
"I prefer to think of myself as creative," said James.
"I have no doubt," said McGonagall. "What I do doubt is your purely theoretical interest in Keplarr."
"So…" said James, wondering where this was going, if anywhere at all, and praying that she wasn't onto him. She can't be! I haven't told her anything yet! "Does that mean you're not going to explain it…or…?"
McGonagall blinked very slowly, as if she were losing patience with someone very dim, and James recognized this gesture as her equivalent of an eye roll – slightly less rude, but still moderately snarky. Very McGonagall.
"No," she said, and James heard the inaudible "Regretfully" behind her words. "I am not in the habit of denying my students academic information. But let me ask you something first. How do you feel about tutoring some of the younger students who are struggling in Transfiguration?"
"Tutoring?" James echoed, completely thrown off by the question. As in having to sacrifice his free time to sit down with a bunch of underclassmen in the library and practically do their homework for them? "That sounds terrible," he said honestly.
"Wonderful," said McGonagall cheerfully. "Then that is what you will be doing for me for detention from now on. Let that be a warning to you if you find yourself tempted to practice any of Keplarr's incantations anywhere outside of my classroom. Believe me, I can find you enough struggling students to easily fill up an entire weekend."
"Ok, you have my word that the next time I get detention, it won't be from practicing advanced transfiguration in the halls," said James, not even bothering to insinuate that he didn't plan on being in her office for other disciplinary reasons in the future.
"Very well," said McGonagall. She took off her glasses and leaned forward slightly over the table, her hands folded in front of her. "What would you like to know?"
In all honesty, McGonagall knew that feeding this particular student's curiosity was probably something that most teachers would shy away from. However, James's prodigious talent in her subject made her a bit more inclined to indulge him. She knew that he could grow to be a truly great transfigurationist, of only his penchant for mischief–making didn't outweigh his academic interests. The spells came too easily to him, too naturally, so that McGonagall was starting to fear that he wasn't really working in her class very much at all. So, if he were finally appearing to take interest in cultivating his natural talent, she would gladly help him on. After all, if he were already asking questions about Keplarr, then even she had slightly underestimated his talent in the art.
"Ok, one more time," said Sirius. "Just explain it to me – one – more – time."
All four boys were behind the mirror again, where James had been trying – and failing miserably – for the past two hours to explain what he had learned from McGonagall earlier that day. Sirius's hair had reached a Potter-level of dishevelment from the number of times that he had gripped at it in frustration. Peter had his face buried in his hands, having given up on trying to understand the theory half an hour ago. And though Remus didn't actually need to understand the theory, as he wouldn't be transfiguring himself, his academic pride had him resolved to make sense of it; he was currently hunched over by the wall, five full rolls of parchment cascading out before him with so many frustrated scribbles, equations and diagrams on it that it looked as if Studies in Advanced Transfiguration had thrown up all over the parchment. His eyes were darting crazily all around what he had written, yet he was no closer to understanding anything that James had been saying for the past two hours.
"Just – wait – no – wait!" said Remus before James could begin again. "Ok, just… ok, so you're saying that… you're saying that… but then you keep saying… that it's… UGGGHH! You know, maybe it's so frustrating because every time you explain something you take it back and tell us it's not really how it is, but sort of, cuz it's more like this, but not really that either, cuz it's more like that–"
"Remus," said Peter tiredly, lifting his head up from his arms. "You're grouchy."
"I'm not grouchy, Peter–"
"Yes you are," said Peter, letting his head fall back on his arms so that the rest of his sentence was slightly muffled. "You get sarcastic when you're grouchy."
"I'm not taking it back," explained James patiently. "I'm just trying to make sure you don't think about it too… literally."
"This is nuts," said Sirius. "It can't have taken McGonagall this long to explain it. How exactly did she phrase it?"
"I thought it would be best if I phrased it differently," said James skeptically.
"Try me," said Sirius, while Remus poised his quill over the last small section of blank parchment that he had available.
"Ok," said James, taking a breath. "She said that stagnating consciousness manipulation in alpha-sentient beings during any digression to a bestial form relies on–" Sirius, Remus and Peter all started to groan, and James rolled his eyes, having known that this would be their reaction. He barreled on, "On the conception of the process as multilateral and unstable. And that's as compact as I can put it."
"BOLLOCKS!" was Sirius's only response.
Outside, a group of first years on their way to dinner gave a start when they heard the mirror emit a growl and scampered off in the opposite direction.
"It all goes back to what I keep saying," continued James. "The first thing you have to grasp is the concept of instability. Then the rest of it will all make sense."
"But that makes no sense!" said Remus. "You're basically saying that we have to first acknowledge that nothing is what we think it is, and then build up from there, that basically the only thing that exists is ambiguity, and nothing more – but you can't build up from nothing!"
"Yeah, that's it!" said James with wide-eyed relief. "Why do you keep saying you don't get it?"
"GAAAH!" Remus shouted, throwing his hands up and tossing his quill in the air.
"Look," said James. "You have to stop thinking about it like a concrete formula, and start thinking of it as… as more of an art. Exactly like an art. The only certainty is ambiguity. It's actually quite beautiful, when you think about it. Just think of music, or poetry. Great poetry doesn't just follow a formula, it draws from what's intangible – but that intangibility doesn't make it any less true. The same goes for transfiguration. It can't happen unless the person doing it is open to the idea of multiple states of being that always have the potential to exist both simultaneously and exclusively from one another."
"That's a complete contradiction," said Remus.
"Not if you understand it as a potential state of being as opposed to a literal one," said James.
"Ok, I think I get what you're trying to say," said Remus. "But I still don't buy it. I mean, I undergo a transformation once a month. I should be able to understand this from experience, but I don't."
"Actually, considering the kind of transformation you undergo, it makes sense that you wouldn't," said James. "When you transform, you don't retain your sense of human consciousness. That's the difference between werewolves and animagi – animagi retain their human consciousness, otherwise they wouldn't remember to turn back into a human. Werewolf transformations are involuntary, so you don't need to remember in order to change back. That's why understanding this part of the process is so important. If we do it wrong, the first time we change may result in us not being able to change back."
"Ok, just…" said Sirius, gripping his forehead and squinting his eyes shut. "Ugh, look, I'm burnt out. And this room is getting smaller by the minute. What's say you we start this up again tomorrow?"
"Sounds good to me," said Peter, lifting himself from the floor with great effort.
On their way back to Gryffindor tower, as the boys were discussing when they would all be able to meet behind the mirror again, Remus suddenly stopped in his tracks and made a loud shushing noise, peering down the corridor. They all stopped talking as the sound of footsteps coming around the corner greeted their ears. A second later they saw a figure turn the corner and start towards them in the light of the torch-lit corridor.
"Ellie!" said James, utterly shocked.
"James?" she looked out, having not seen the boys in the corridor until James spoke.
"Wha – uh – hi," he said, his mouth suddenly dry. "When did you get back?" he asked.
"Just about an hour ago," she said. Her tone was even, monotonous. "Didn't want to come in with the rush."
"So, what are you up to?" asked James, not knowing what else to say. He was the only one amongst the boys who really ever talked to Ellie, although the last time they had spoken was at her dad's funeral. It occurred to James that this must be why he felt so uncharacteristically uncomfortable in her presence at the moment. "I'm sure your friends want to see you," he added, hoping to clarify why he was surprised to see her alone so far away from where the Ravenclaw tower was rumored to be.
"I was looking for you, actually," said Ellie. "I heard the Gryffindor common room is supposed to be somewhere on the seventh floor, so I thought I'd walk around a bit and ask if anybody'd seen you." Her gaze shifted uneasily to the other three boys before returning to James. "Feel like a walk?"
"Always," said James, offering her a small smile. "I'll see you guys in the common room, yeah?" he told the others. Sirius gave him a quizzical look, but he shuffled off with Remus and Peter without a word.
Ellie looked just the same as James had remembered her, with her bony frame, freckled skin, and limp, dirty blonde hair chopped off just below her ears. The only major difference was in her eyes. They looked hollow.
It was… what was the word? Awkward? No, more like painful. It was painful to be standing here with Ellie all of a sudden after having been almost completely out of contact with her since her dad's funeral. Though James always asked after Ellie whenever his parents met with or wrote to her mother, and Ellie responded in the same manner, this was the most contact that the two had had over the past four months.
It wasn't as though they were very close – they were only friends in a very general sense – little more than casual acquaintances. They had never written to each other before, having no reason to be in contact with one another outside of having someone to talk to at the galas they each found themselves attending with their parents. Though the two were far from disliking each other, Ellie was a somewhat bossy, overly serious girl whose personality often clashed with James's more playful one. Somehow it seemed an unpleasant reason to start writing each other, over the death of one of their parents.
"Please, just – don't ask me how I am," said Ellie when James opened his mouth to speak. "I… I never know what to say when people ask. It's a reflex question, you know? I came back to school to recuperate, not to be reminded of…" If at all possible, Ellie's already pale face blanched even more. But she seemed to collect herself a moment later. "I've had months to wallow, and think and… I just need something else."
"Then I'll just say that I'm glad you're back," said James softly. "Truly, Ellie. Now, what did you want to talk to me about?"
Together they started up the corridor.
"I wanted to talk about you, actually," she said, twisting her fingers in front of her as if she were nervous about whatever it is she had to say. James raised his eyebrows slightly, but said nothing. "My mum… before I came back from school, she started asking me about – about some strange things. She mentioned you."
"Me? I haven't seen your mother since – for a while," he ended, not wanting to bring up the funeral again.
"Yes, but apparently over Christmas break she had a visit with your parents. She said that they came to her about a problem you've been having remembering that day you wound up in the hospital."
"Why would they do that?" James asked, more to himself than to Ellie.
"Because they heard I've had trouble remembering things, too," said Ellie. "It's like a whole half day is missing where I can't figure out where I was or what I did. It happened a little before…" She stopped, and James realized that she was thinking about her father's death again.
"Now that you mention it," said James, "My parents were asking me if I remembered anything again towards the end of Christmas break."
"Have you?" she asked.
"No," said James, not bothering to hide his disappointment. "It's the same as you – all blank. Except for this one image." He furrowed his brow. "I think it's from the hospital. I'm lying somewhere and there are a bunch of people standing over me, all blurry. That's all. Nothing from the accident."
"That's more than what I've got," said Ellie. "That's what your parents wanted to know – if I'd remembered anything."
"But… what, do they think it's connected somehow?" said James. "I was flying when it happened. Or I think I was. Is it possible… were you flying that day?" asked James.
"Me? Flying?" said Ellie, and for the first time she offered him a small smile. "Oh, no. I haven't flown since Madame LaFalc's lessons in first year. I'm terrified of heights."
By this time, they had reached the third floor corridor just around the corner from the moving staircases.
"Well, I'm going this way," said Ellie, pointing to the left.
"Oh, ok. Um, so listen… If you ever wanted to talk – you know, about… well, anything at all–"
"GANG WAY!"
"What the hell?" explained James as Tony Marsden barreled past him on his way toward the staircases.
"Get back here, you git!" shouted a voice James knew to belong to Macnair. Before James could put out his wand, however, another Slytherin, Crabbe, were already shooting past him in pursuit of Marsden. It was certainly clear why they sounded so angry with him; James had just been able to see that Macnair's entire head was covered in large, ugly, oozing purple pustules.
A third Slytherin, Avery, also sporting purple pustules, followed close behind, but by this time James already had his wand out and with a quick flick he had Avery down on the ground with a tripping hex.
"Nice friends you've got there," said James to Avery as Macnair and Crabbe continued their pursuit of Tony. "So, let's see. Two Slytherin Quidditch players chasing one Gryffindor player? Am I to assume that this is their idea of pre-game hazing? Have they recruited the whole of your house or were you just keen to participate?"
"Is that all you jocks ever think about?" sneered Avery.
"Well then what are you doing with Marsden, then, eh?" asked James.
"That little son-of-a-squib hexed us!" he shouted.
"Obviously," said James patiently, as if he were discussing the day's happenings over tea. "What I'm wondering is why. Even Marsden isn't stupid enough to take on three blokes himself unprovoked. So what'd you do? Call him an idiot to his face? I mean, I get it, I do, he is – but ragging on Marsden is a Gryffindor team privilege. Sorry, but you just haven't earned the right."
"Yeah, that's right!" said Tony, who had just re-emerged from around the corner that he'd shot around a few minutes ago. "Wait, what?"
"Shut up, Tony," said James. "Well done, by the way," in reference to Avery and Macnair's faces. He glanced over his shoulder at Tony and looked him quickly up and down as if to say, I don't know where that came from, but this sudden display of aptitude has left me surprisingly impressed. "Where are Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum?"
"Left 'em blowing chunks by the eastern staircase."
"How'd you manage that?" asked James.
"They're what?" shouted Avery, pausing as he tenderly probed a few of the pustules on his face to check the damage.
"Um," came a small voice, and James turned with a start, having forgotten that Ellie was still there. "Should I go… get a teacher, or–"
"Why?" asked James.
"It's all good, Dominique's already gone to fetch McGonagall," said Tony.
"Sorry, what?" said James. "Why didn't you say so? Or did you want to get caught?"
"So, um–" Ellie continued.
"Yeah, get going, you wouldn't want her to think you were involved. I'll be right behind." Ellie nodded and quickly took leave. "Come one, Tony–" James started.
"It's not me who's got to worry so much as them," said Tony, nodding his head at Avery in reference to the group that had been chasing him. "I only hexed them in defense! What they did to Chrissie was way worse–"
"Oh, shut up you troll-for-brains, that is so not–"
"What do you mean, what they did to Chrissie?" James talked over Avery. "Chrissie's never one for a brawl."
"They attacked her unprovoked!" said Tony, growing angrier by the second as he began to recollect the events that led him there. He was actually growing a bit red in the face. "You wouldn't believe what those bastards did to her! Why the hell did you do it?" he hissed, rounding on Avery.
"Do what?" asked James, growing impatient. "What the hellhappened?"
"You mean you didn't start this one for a change?" came a voice from behind them.
"Evans!" started James, and his free hand immediately flung up into his hair. "How's things?"
"Well, Potter, since you asked," said Lily with a false air of pleasantry, "I nearly slipped into a massive puddle of sick all over the top of the eastern staircase. How've you been?"
"Fine," replied James, nonplussed. "That why you've got no shoes on?" he asked, seeing that she was carrying her shoes and socks in her hand and realizing that she wasn't exaggerating, for she must have had to take her shoes off to clean them after finding herself ankle-deep in vomit.
"Should I even ask if you had anything to do with – good God, what did you do to his face?" she asked in abhorrence upon seeing Avery.
"Oh, that was me," said Tony, raising a finger and offering her a fleeting grin. "Sorry 'bout the sick, too."
"What the hell, Marsden?" she asked, looking him up and down, clearly wondering how he could have vomited so profusely and yet be looking right as rain.
"Oh, no," Tony started in again. "I mean, I didn't – see, the Macnair–"
But once again Tony was cut off, this time by a blast of yellow sparks that shot right into the side of his head, blowing him right off his feet and onto the floor. Before either James or Lily could react, Tony was already writhing on the floor with his head in his hands, groaning in pain. Lily and James turned at once to return fire on Avery, both shooting simultaneous curses at him. He was immediately knocked back at least three feet, landing on his backside, and as he began to sit up in a daze, the effect of their combined curses began to reveal itself. Lily had only used Expelliarmus, knowing that they only needed to disarm the boy in order to stop the fight; James, on the other hand, had acted less sensibly and, having wanted to try out a vanishing spell on a human being for some time, had used Evansesco. Having been slightly muddled by the interaction with Lily's disarming spell, Avery did not actually disappear. His dress shirt and trousers, on the other hand, did, each departing his person and vanishing into thin air with a small pop! It was a far better result than James could have anticipated, and his glee was apparent.
"Oh!" Lily squeaked in surprise, and a moment later she had to purse her lips together to stop herself from laughing. She snorted despite herself, and brought her hand to her face in a vain attempt to muffle it as a chuckling James looked back at her.
"Son'f a bitch!" groaned Tony from the floor behind them. James and Lily rushed over. It took them each a moment to realize what was happening to him – at first it looked as though a golden-haired cat had shed the majority of its coat all over him. Then Lily gasped in horror as she saw that only a few sparse patches of hair remained on Tony's head. His entire scalp where the hair had already fallen out was red and blistering. He picked up a handful of hair from his lap and looked at it forlornly. "Damnit," he groaned.
A loud stream of obscenities told them that Avery had become cognizant enough to notice that he was wearing nothing but his underpants, but James and Lily, knowing him to be disarmed, gave him no mind.
"'S he not wearing trousers?" asked Tony sluggishly, still a bit dazed by the force of the spell to his head.
"Don't worry about it," said Lily. "Can you get him to the infirmary?" she asked James, feeling that he was better able to support Tony throughout the trek to the hospital wing.
"What about you?" asked James, helping Tony to stand.
"I can't just leave him here," she said, nodding her head over at the Slytherin. "I should conjure some robes for him at least. Clear up his boils."
"Like he'd do the same for you. Why are you so nice?" asked James, though his tone made it clear that this wasn't a compliment.
"Why're you so–"
"WELL," hissed a cold voice, and everyone, even Tony, who was barely able to stand, froze. "Would one of you care to tell me," Professor McGonagall continued slowly, as if she were trying very hard not to shout at the top of her lungs, "What in Godric's name is going on here?"
James turned to face her, but there was such rage eminating from her gaze that he felt he might burst into flames on the spot if he actually looked her in the eyes. Instead he fixed his gaze behind her and saw Macnair (whose face had cleared slightly and now only sported a series of faint purple spots), Crabbe, and Dominique Stevens, a fifth year Ravenclaw chaser, standing a safe distance away.
"Um…" he began, looking anywhere but at McGonagall and finally settling his gaze on Lily. He raised his eyebrows at her in a silent plea for help.
"What are you looking at me for?" Lily hissed. "I only just got here."
"Hardly any later than I did," retorted James. "I don't know how this started any more than you!"
"He started it, ma'am," said Tony, who was hidden from McGonagall's view behind James, so that she only saw his finger pointing down the hall in Avery's direction.
"That is hardly an explana – Merlin's beard, boy, where are your clothes?" shouted McGonagall with a start, having until that point been too distracted by the group of Gryffindors she encountered upon turning the corridor to notice Avery. Macnair, Crabbe, and Dom all stepped forward to see what she was referring to, their eyes growing twice in size as they did.
"I dunno, do I?" Avery responded rather rudely.
"Merlin, Cad," said Macnair, clearly embarrassed for him.
McGonagall walked briskly towards him, flourishing her wand as she did so that a set of plain black robes streamed out of the end. With another flick of her wand the robes wrapped themselves around Avery (none too gently). McGonagall's brow continued to furrow as she inspected his face.
"You two, then? Furnuncuquitus!" McGonagall jabbed her wand at Avery's face and in a matter of seconds the boils seemed to melt away, leaving only a faint purple spot wherever there was once a pustule, so that his complexion now matched Macnair's. "That'll wear off in a few hours," she told him.
"Forget him, look at Marsden!" said James impatiently, holding Tony aloft much like a rag doll so that he wouldn't keel over.
"Three against one, eh?" sneered Crabbe, looking from Avery to James, Lily and Tony. "Not very sportsmanlike."
"You're one to talk!" Dom retorted.
"Oh, do shut up, the lot of you," said McGonagall, nearly reaching her wit's end.
But upon turning back to the three Gryffindors, all anger seemed to be lost in a moment of sympathy as she saw the state that Tony, now in full view, was in. Her shoulders dropped and she bustled over to him. "You'll be alright, Mr. Marsden, but I'd rather have Madame Pomfrey take care of this," she said with a little less of her usual curtness after giving him a once-over. "Mr. Potter will accompany you to the hospital wing. And then you," she said with more severity as she turned to James, "Will come directly to my office to discuss this little affair. Miss Evans, Mr. Avery, you two can join these three," she gestured to Macnair, Crabbe, and Dom, "in my office now."
Lily glanced at James, who suddenly felt compelled to explain away her apparent guilt. He sighed inwardly. If it were anyone else he probably wouldn't give a damn. But she had these eyes that sort of bored into your soul. Damn her.
"Professor, Evans didn't actually do anything wrong–"
"I'm sure Miss Evans is perfectly capable of explaining herself, Mr. Potter," McGonagall interrupted him. "Hospital Wing. Now."
James shrugged at Lily apologetically before making his way down the corridor with Tony.
"Professor, can I go with them to the hospital wing?" he heard Dom say. "Just to check on Chris?" This didn't surprise James. For a Ravenclaw Quidditch rival, Dom was on very friendly terms with most everyone on the Gryffindor team, especially Chrissie.
As they weren't joined in their trek to the infirmary, however, and as he had heard no response from McGonagall, James could only assume that Dom was silenced by one of the professor's ice-cold glares.
When they were out of earshot, James finally questioned Tony.
"What did they do to Chrissie?"
"You're looking at it," Tony grumbled.
James couldn't help but wince. The Slytherins hadn't chosen their curse arbitrarily. Chrissie had – or, had had – incredibly lush black hair (courtesy of her mother's Indian heritage) that swept all the way down the length of her back. It caused her to be the envy of a great number of Hogwarts girls, and the object of some affection by a number of boys. James made a mental note to tell Chrissie that Dom was concerned about her, knowing that that might cheer her up by some small degree.
When James entered McGonagall's office twenty minutes later, he found himself walking into the tail end of Crabbe's undoubtedly very imaginative version of events. Behind McGonagall's desk stood Professors Slughorn and Flitwick, both looking very cross in their own way.
"–which is when I turned around and saw all her hair falling out. I wish I'd seen who'd done it, but as I said I wasn't looking at her because Marsden had me distracted." (At this point Dom looked as if she were ready to blow a fuse.) "You know, I don't think you should rule Marsden out, ma'am – who's to say he didn't do it himself just to get us into trouble? Because I certainly didn't–"
"Ok, seriously?" shouted Dom. "What kind of an idiot do you take them for?"
"Miss Stevens, do be quiet!" piped Flitwick, puzzled by his usually very good-natured student's behavior.
"Yes, Miss Stevens, I think we've heard quite enough from you," said McGonagall, rubbing her temple with two finders. "Well, Mr. Potter, you took your time," she said, raising an eyebrow at James.
James said nothing, surmising that silence would get him father with the headmistress than any excuse would. He had, in fact, been checking on Christina after he had settled Tony in with Madame Pomfrey. Her head was wrapped in bandages, which had taken James by surprise, because he hadn't realized the curse would be bad enough to prevent even Madame Pomfrey from growing her hair back instantly. He was even more surprised, however, to find how composed Chrissie was about the whole thing. Not that he's expected her to be in tears – she was a pretty tough girl.
"I've been wanting to cut it short for months," she had told him. "But my mum said I'd be breaking her heart if I did. Now she can't blame me."
"Ever the optimist," said James with a small grin. "I'm glad. I mean – not glad, just – Merlin, the way Tony was describing it, I thought I'd find you a lot worse off."
"Well…" she said, looking down. "At the time I was much less composed. It hurt. A lot. I had to run all the way here, hoping no one would see… And Dom was running after me the whole time, so she must have seen all my hair falling out…" As she went on Chrissie's face began to look more and more crestfallen. She soon snapped herself out of it, however, and said with in a reasonably chipper tone, "But they've done me a favor, really, without knowing it. It'll be much easier to play Quidditch now that I don't have to brush the hair out of my eyes every five seconds."
Dom, however, looked less composed when James entered McGonagall's office, so he gave her a look that he hoped would reassure her that her friend would be fine.
"I won't ask to tell me your version of events, Mr. Potter, as I've heard quite a number of them already," said McGonagall. "I only have one question for you, as Miss Evans claims that she is unclear as to how it happened." She gave Lily a skeptical, purse-lipped glance before continuing. "How exactly did Mr. Avery lose his all his clothes?"
"I accidently vanished them," said James.
"Pardon?" coughed Slughorn. "'Accidently'?"
"Yeah," said James. "It wasn't Evans's fault," he added, once again feeling compelled to defend her just so that she might think a little better of him. Also, if the school was going to be talking about how Avery ended up knocked on his arse in nothing but his knickers, he definitely wanted to take full credit. "She was disarming him after he cursed Marsden – which I wouldn't blame her for."
"As she said," replied McGonagall. "Regardless, dueling is strictly forbidden unless it is done in a supervised classroom setting, as all of you are well aware of. You shall all be receiving detention, which should come as no surprise. Msrs. Avery, Macnair, and Crabbe, Miss Stevens – your heads of house will assign you punishments in their offices. Good night."
"Yes, right, follow me you three," said Slughorn, ushering his students out the door without another word to McGonagall.
"Evening, Minerva," said Flitwick, bustling out of the room after Dom, who looked even crosser than her head of house was.
"You know Slughorn's going to go easy on them, don't you?" James said once the door closed behind Flitwick. "And you're not really giving us detention, are you? They put two of us in the hospital wing – both Quidditch players, by the way, which I'm guessing is why this whole thing got started – and all they're going to get is s slap on the wrist–"
"Of course you'll be serving detention, Potter!" said McGonagall exasperatedly. "Merlin's sake, it was only this morning we were having a conversation about you keeping out of trouble! If I didn't know any better start to think you liked detention!" She paused to collect herself, and James very wisely didn't take the opportunity to retort. "As we discussed, your punishment will be devoting your free time to tutoring students in the library. I suppose it's only fair, Miss Evans, that you do the same. I will speak to Professors Slughorn and Flitwick about which of their students are most in need of tutelage, as I understand that those are your best subjects. Potter, I'll have a list for you tomorrow morning."
"What about Quidditch practice?" asked James, not for an instant believing that McGonagall would sacrifice Gryffindor's chance at the game just to teach him a lesson. "The game's next week, and–"
"I don't aim to punish the team, Mr. Potter. You'll have just enough time for all of your regular practices, I assure you," she said curtly. "But only just. You're right; the pre-game excitement in this school has become the cause of far too much trouble as of late. But I don't wish to discuss this further. Bed. Now. Good night."
"It's seven thirty–" said James.
"Good night!"
Out in the hall, on their way back to Gryffindor tower, James tried his best to end things on a reasonably good note with Lily.
"Great. Like they're going to make me prefect now," mumbled Lily, but James didn't hear her.
"Thanks for your help back there," he said.
"There's no need to be sarcastic," she replied.
"I wasn't – I'm not," he said, taken aback. "I mean with Avery."
"I'm not sure what I did you've got to thank me for," said Lily.
Why's she make it so difficult to give her a damn compliment? thought James.
"Well, despite what I said back there, I'm pretty sure you're half the reason Avery's trousers went missing. So thanks for letting me take the credit – and no, that's still not sarcasm."
"Why've you got to be like that?" asked Lily. There was something in her tone that James couldn't quite place. Concern? Sadness? Neither of those possibilities made sense to him.
"What do you mean?"
"Is house rivalry really that important to you?" she asked. "Do you like doing such… such unkind things to people? Why do you act so mean?" She stopped to face him. Act mean – yes, those were the right words. She saw enough of him to know that he really wasn't. She would never admit it to him, because it would only inflate his ego, but he really was very funny, and he didn't need to prove to anyone how smart he was. But all too often it would go too far, and it almost always involved some variation of Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry, which is what really bothered Lily.
"I don't think most people would see it that way," said James, the bitterness in his tone very clear. "And excuse me, but I barely had anything to do with this whole thing."
"I know you didn't," said Lily. "And yes, I'm well aware that most everybody else is highly entertained by your pranks and your impromptu duels… Maybe it's because I'm one of the few people who's not entertained by all this rivalry between the houses."
"Listen, just because your best friend's a Slytherin doesn't mean we should all start getting chummy with the lot," said James, practically shuddering at the idea. "I'm still curious, how did that happen?"
"Why do you say that like it's an insult?" asked Lily. "You talk about them like they're the only prejudiced ones, but do you hear yourself?"
"It's not like I've never met a Slytherin I didn't like, but seriously, of all the people to think well of in that house – Snape?"
"What is it about him that you hate so much?" asked Lily, her voice starting to shake. "Why do you have to hate him?"
In the back of his mind, James knew the answer. Because he's got her and you don't, the undeserving git, a nagging voice whispered. Shut up! he told it.
"How can you defend him?" he asked. "You're so… you're so much better."
Lily raised an eyebrow at him. She wasn't really sure where to go from there. It as an insult to her friend and a compliment to herself, a praising of her character and a condemnation of another's all at once. "I'm not better than anyone else. And neither are you."
You are better, thought James.
"I'm not the only one who thinks it's weird that you like hanging around with him," said James, trying a different approach.
This was entirely the wrong thing to say. James, of course, had no idea that Lily had been called every variant of the term "weirdo" since she started muggle primary school, when strange things would happen to her that she was unable to explain. He couldn't have known that her own sister had shunned her as a freak. Or that, despite the fact that she made friends easily at Hogwarts and was well-liked by most everybody, it didn't stop them from whispering behind her back about her fraternizations with "that Slytherin boy." She had even come to be careful mentioning things from her muggle life around Severus, who didn't understand how she could talk enthusiastically about the muggle world when his own associations with it were so negative. And then there were the jeers about her bloodline she pretended not to hear from – yes, she had to admit it – a lot of people in the Slytherin house. But for some reason she had thought James Potter was different. She couldn't quite place it – perhaps it was the way he talked to her, or the fact that he openly viewed her as an academic rival – but something about the way he treated her most of the time was… flattering. He viewed her as an equal, someone on his level, someone he actually admired. And this, if she really had to admit it, was why Lily was always so disappointed whenever he'd pull stunts that put more friction between the Gryffindor and Slytherin households – because he was making it harder for her to be his friend.
Lily squeezed her eyes shut to stop the tears that she was equally surprised and mortified to find welling up. "If you all think it's so weird," she said softly, her voice still shaking despite all her attempts to keep it even. "Then go and laugh about it together, because I'm done talking to you." And with that, she stormed off, leaving James alone in the corridor, too surprised by her reaction to form the words that would have called her back.
After a moment, he kicked a nearby suit of armor in frustration. Almost immediately it kicked him back in annoyance before re-adjusting its helmet and returning to a stock-still position.
"Ow! Ugh, bloody wonderful, thank you so much!" James shouted at the armor while rubbing his backside. The armor's shoulders were shuddering slightly in silent laughter, creating a clanging sound that followed James down the corridor. "Oh, shut up!" he yelled back at it. "Bloody brilliant. First day back, and I get myself detention for a fight I didn't–"
"Talking to yourself?" chimed in a courtier from a painting on the wall. "Tsk tsk! 'Tis a sure sign of–"
"Mind your own damn business," shot James.
"Well, I never!" said the picture, but James was already rounding the corner and out of sight.
Back in her office, Minerva McGonagall was jotting down the last few names of students that James would be tutoring come tomorrow. After placing her quill back in its inkwell, she leaned back in her chair and sighed, bringing her fingers once more to her temple. Dumbledore was right. The war that was looming in the wizarding world was already affecting their students, though they may not be able to recognize it themselves yet. An old-fashioned Quidditch rivalry was an easy excuse for the children of sparring families to fight, and the damage wouldn't have been nearly as bad in a less politically troubled time.
If she were completely honest with herself, allowing Potter to continue attending Quidditch practice around his detention sentence was a bit of a selfish act on her part. She knew it was superstitious, foolish even – but somehow it seemed to her that a small victory, even a seemingly insignificant one on the Quidditch pitch, would be a hopeful omen for the greater war looming ahead.
