"Okay, are there any questions?" Lily posed to the round of sleeping faces seated at the table.
One, possibly even two, of the younger prefects lifted their quill from the parchment that they had extracted to scrawl notes on, and promptly dropped the feather into an inkwell. Although, under normal circumstances, this would be considered appropriate behavior, in comparison to the rest, Lily couldn't help but find the act a tad brown-nosey. The rest, well, some had at least done her the favor and made an effort to bring forth a piece of parchment. They had even gone so far as to pretend that they had been paying attention by taking to drawing intricate doodles along the lines of said papers — or just circles, depending — during her talk. A good handful, however, had not even bothered mucking in so much as that, instead choosing to stare blatantly off into space or tug at the ends of their hair.
Lily's lips that had been pressed into a tight smile fell as her post-inspection of the prefects came to Alexander Sykes. His head was positioned completely horizontal on a propped-up palm, placed half-way forward into the center of the table, with his eyelids fighting to remain open. It was as if the monthly meetings were nothing more than his nap time. Lily did not bother to continue moving her sight further right until she would eventually cross the wizard seated next to her, unlikely that her findings of those seated between him and the Slytherin-in-comatose — Medea de Lacey, Isla Baxter, Leron Wade, Laura O'Garvey, and Remus Lupin — would present anything novel.
"So, everyone understands the plan for November, then? And everything from the October review is in order, yeah?"
Sitting beside her, James could hear Lily sigh, and her apprehension transposed into skittish maneuvers such that she was now reorganizing papers that she had already organized prior to the meeting. He knew this would be the moment where he would step in and bang on the table or something, but it was a little over 12 hours since their encounter on the bridge and, truthfully, he would rather be a Centaurian slave, forced to chop wood until time indefinite, than be anywhere within her vicinity.
"Everything from the October review is in order, yeah?"
The voice, something in between a slamming door and a creaking one, squawked and broke the room's reticent silence. All eyes darted to the transgressor, who lifted her chin and folded her arms over her chest as her call for attention was promptly answered.
Lily placed the papers she had been fumbling with back down onto the table, the entire time eyeing Melisende Gamp. The Slytherin witch had to have been the only one sitting up during the entire meeting. Though she had remained placid, sporting an empty stare, now her eyes were widening bloodthirstily, and the tone of her voice both elongated and relegated the Head Girl's question in full view of all those seated before her.
James slowly lifted his head from the hand that had been holding it up much in the same position as Alexander Sykes. His breath slowed and his arms came to be placed on each side of his chair. All movement in the room ceased— doodling, tugging, and fumbling included.
As each second passed, the next longer than the last, speechless exchanges began to be thrown across the room from prefect to prefect. Each one sent a different message depending on standing affiliations, possible friendships, and a wide range of other intricacies, because, at a prefects meeting, in-groups and out-groups were already blurred to begin with. This is why the look that sixth-year Slytherin Twila Blishwick — who was seated to Melisende's left — had sent to Leron Wade, a pureblood Gryffindor, was much different than the one she had sent to sixth-year Hufflepuff Kelsey Eastoft, a muggleborn.
"Well!?" Melisende nearly shrieked, jolting in her seat. Her already round and pitch black eyes grew larger and darker. "Aren't we going to talk about it?"
"Talk about what?"
Much to everyone's surprise — James and Lily included — it was not the expected who intervened and issued the interrogation. Cough, James Potter, cough.
Of all people, it was Alexander Sykes.
In a starkly contrasted comportment to the rest, the Slytherin wizard's head still hung by the edge of his palm. His mouth was slightly ajar and his brows peaked into his forehead as he stared apathetically at Melisende, who was seated directly across from him. Eyes that had once been conveying an assortment of meanings fell on him, and James, who had been sitting against the back of his chair, sat forward so that his forearms now rested on the table. Lily's eyes briefly glanced to the top and back of his head, her upper lip curling unnoticeably as she refrained from smacking it. She had not failed to notice that this was the first time in the last hour that he made an attempt to display any interest in their meeting at all. Their meeting.
"Really, Sykes?" Melisende tilted her head only a degree to the right. The only response she received was Alex's brows lifting a centimeter more upward. His face could be read by even the most naive of them all, and it simply wrote: The fuck do you want?
"Halloween? Are we going to talk about that? Halloween, Sykes." The Slytherin witch lifted her hand and snapped her fingers twice as if it would emit some sort of reaction from him.
It did not.
"What about it?"
The complete lack of concern oozing off of Alexander Sykes caused Remus to sit all the way back in his chair, pushing a palm against the edge of the table as if he was bracing for an impact of sorts. Lily took note of that, too.
Now, Remus was going on his third year of attending prefect meetings, and while he did care for his friend, he knew there was little that could be improved at Hogwarts without massive institutional changes. So, indeed, he supported the witch's enthusiasm to discuss the functions and ameliorate the dysfunctions of the previous month, but he also knew that fuck all could be done.
"About what happened," Melisende continued, now fixated on Alex as if they were the only two in the room.
"What happened?"
James and Remus exchanged a quick glance but both returned to the events unraveling in front of them. Neither one of them could quite place it. They both knew — everyone knew — that Alexander Sykes was playing dumb, but why? Why was Alexander Sykes playing dumb when the elephant in the room was not only in the room, but it had left its stink, too? In the sense that it had taken a massive dump. Actually, Remus had even placed a bet with himself that the particular lack of enthusiasm at that specific meeting had something to do with the fact that everyone had entered the room as if someone had robbed them of their shoes and told them to walk on broken glass.
Somehow, and extremely uncharacteristic of her, Melisende Gamp had been the first one there with a stick-straight spine and hands folded neatly on the table, waiting for the seats to be filled. When the last of them had entered, and Lily had shut the door, everyone had expected the Slytherin prefect to say her piece— but she did not. Five minutes had been spent on weighing what the likeliness was that Melisende Gamp would say anything at all— on what the likeliness was of any of the Slytherins beginning the meeting. But none of them had spoken.
Remus had been certain that one of them was going to flip the whole table, but when no one had, he thought that they had put the matter to bed. Now, he realized, it wasn't that they weren't upset— it was that they wanted the last word.
Because Melisende Gamp would have waited a whole lifetime to ensure she got the last word at a meeting headed by a muggleborn.
"The fact that they ruined Halloween for us?" Melisende's neck almost snapped in half as her chest puffed up with a deep inhale. Every blink she took induced and extinguished impatience and malice, and at one point her eyes darted to the head of the table to further indicate who and what she was referring to. "Ruined Halloween? Sykes, ring a bell?"
"My Halloween was just fine," Alex drawled, lifting his head but not doing anything to fix his slumped posture. He placed both of his palms on the sides of his face to keep it up, but his torso was still bent halfway across the table as if all he needed was someone to just give him a pillow.
"They ruined Halloween dinner for us, Sykes," Melisende repeated, the once cutthroat climate evaporating as the wizard continued to stare at her as if she nothing but a screaming child banging on a door. "We didn't have any fun, at all."
"I had plenty of fun."
"You did?" Regulus Black wondered out loud.
This had forced Remus to turn to the younger Slytherin wizard who he could observe without any hindrance or obvious movement. Regulus was also confused, a revelation that caused Remus to confirm that this was not something they had all agreed on. This was not a consensus. Electricity began to course through his veins, and the hand that had been pushing against the edge of the table now clamped it as he witnessed what could only be assessed as a mutiny.
"All of our food was turned into bugs! BUGS!" Melisende hurled, breaking her strict posture to press her chest against the table. Luckily, the table was too big for her to manage so much as a spit in his direction, so Alex didn't even flinch. "They ruined Halloween for us!"
"Honestly?" Alex began, he smacked his lips twice and lifted both his hands in display. Not for surrender, for exhibition. "I had a great Halloween. I can see how the dinner thing was a bit off—"
"—a bit off?—" Regulus repeated.
"Yeah, it was a bit odd, yeah? But it's not like that stopped me from having a good time," Alex continued without so much as looking to Regulus, his fingers lazily dancing as he spoke. "Why didn't you have fun?"
"How was any of that fun?" Melisende sneered.
"The dinner? That was supposed to be your Halloween highlight? Bloody hell, Gamp. It was just dinner… No one told you to fuck off and cry in your bed."
Remus had to stop himself from gaping as he and James glanced at one another again. It was then that Lily slowly took her seat, but sitting at the edge of it nonetheless. She carefully eyed the now three involved, but did not dare to step into a room she didn't think she had been invited to. Into a room she did not know whether she even wanted to be invited to.
"I didn't cry in my bed, Sykes," Melisende retorted. "And what was so fun about your Halloween? Let's hear it. Since you had so much fun."
"Unlike you, luv, I can take my lemons and make a great lemonade."
"Right, drank alone, again? Didn't you, Sykes?"
"Hardly."
While everyone sat trying to piece together what was happening at that moment, this is what was happening at that moment:
Halloween had happened on a Monday that year, and yes, the Marauders still threw a party, but by three in the morning they had sent everyone back to their houses so they could be somewhat presentable for classes. It was mandated by the invitation. Now, the Marauders could take the rules, find the loopholes, read the fine-line, and all those witty niceties. And, at the same time, Alexander Sykes could take the rules and wipe his own arse with them. There were about a dozen, possibly two dozen, rules that Alexander Sykes had not only broken last night, but had continuously blown off throughout his years as an upperclassman. There was not a single rule that Alexander Sykes could recite— fuck the fine-line.
So, Alexander Sykes had almost missed all of his morning classes because he and Moira Palancher had been too busy partying it up in Glasgow until, quite literally, a half hour before their first class. Alex had done a lot of a lot of different things, and he was nearing the 24 hour mark without sleep. It wasn't as if he wasn't adept at this sort of thing— it was neither the first nor the last time. What was, though, something he would not be forced to ingest was sticking around at the monthly prefect meeting for longer than he had to because of Melisende fucking Gamp.
"Right," James interrupted both of them, neither one of the two making any effort to acknowledge him. "What exactly is it that you would like to discuss, Gamp?"
Melisende could feel her fingers ache as her last name came out of the Gryffindor's mouth. The clouds in her gaze came rolling back at the sound of it.
"I think I made myself quite clear," she stated pointedly.
"Yes—" James and Alex said in unison, the latter shoving the former off of the stage.
"Yes, you did. We all know," Alex all but congratulated her, a hand gliding over the entire table. "You told everyone here you had no fun on Halloween. We get it, you had no fun. Poor you."
"Sykes."
"I don't think there's anyone in Slytherin that was not upset with what occurred last night at dinner," Regulus intervened quickly as a movement to his left had caused him to notice Melisende's wand pointing directly at Alex underneath the table.
"It was just a dinner," Alex repeated, the two of them now looking at one another.
"It was Halloween," Melisende inserted.
"Listen," Alex said, finally relaxing to the back of his chair as his eyes moved between the two of them. He spread out his legs far and wide, the air of apathy still steamrolling forward with no stop in sight. "Who told you that you couldn't have fun? Who said that you couldn't eat? Who told you that you couldn't do whatever the fuck you wanted to do?"
"Sykes—"
"No," Alex cut Regulus off before he could even blink. "No, you could've had fun. I had plenty of fun. I'm fine, honestly. I had fun, so much fun. I had my party. You know, we should've had a party. Why didn't we have a party? We don't ever have a bloody party. They—" Alex threw a whole hand to his right where James and Remus sat a few seats over "—had a party just fine and everyone here besides you lot were there."
"What party?" Melisende asked, each word of the simple question acting as a separate sentence.
"How do you know about that?" James blurted out.
"Was he there?" Remus whispered to James, who only shook his head but then paused and shrugged, indicating that he had not seen the Slytherin at their party.
Not seeing was not knowing.
"You see, Gamp, unlike you, I actually know how to have fun," Alex continued to lambast the witch with all different colors, painting a sloppy picture in front of a full audience. "See, I had fun— that's why I don't have a broom up my arse over last night's dinner. Of all things, bloody hell. You will not find me moping about the dungeons over some asinine prank."
There was only one other person Remus knew of who could weave together the top of the English dictionary and the bottom of it in the same way that Alexander Sykes was doing in that moment. He had to hand it to him and Sirius, it was a telling skill.
"Where exactly were you that you were having so much fun?" Melisende quizzed him. "You went to their party, Sykes? Did you? You went to a party with—"
"No," Alex scoffed before she could finish that sentence. "Last place I'd be."
"What are you talking about, Sykes?" It was Regulus' turn to interrogate, for he had known exactly where Alex had been all night. At least, he thought he did. "You were with me last night."
"No, you see, that was pre-drinks," Alexander replied casually. When he caught the um that was unfolding on Regulus' lips followed by Melisende's narrowing squint, he continued to speak without doing so much thinking. The exact kind of thing he liked to do with the rules. "I know how to party. I know how to have fun. You don't, and that's why you're miserable. Both of you, really."
"Wait, there was another party?" James asked, but this time much louder than his initial attempts at sticking his nose into their pub brawl. Alex did turn to look at him briefly, and the only response he could gather from the Slytherin's expression was the last he would expect— pity.
What the fuck? James thought to himself.
"I'm not miserable. I'm just not a drunk like you, Sykes."
"And, luv, thank Merlin and bless every god there is for it, too. That's your problem— you think I have a problem. I don't have a problem. Any problem I have, I deal with it. How? I drink. It works. You should try it, too, honestly. Maybe become a drunk, Gamp. Or find something, because you need a release," Alex rebutted. "And a real one— seeing as Mulciber isn't doing it for you."
At the hurling accusation, multiple things occurred at once. First, Regulus Black shot forward in his seat with eyes as large as boulders to look at Melisende Gamp. Lily's mouth dropped open, and Remus now held the edge of the table with both hands. Some had clamped a hand over their mouth, turned to look the other way, or just blushed. Melisende's chair went hurtling back as she stood up and pointed her wand directly at Alex.
"Mutatio," Melisende flung, but Alex, despite his sleepless daze, simply waved his hand and the spell went flying over his left shoulder.
In light of the following broadcast, any mention of the disclosed intimacies between Melisende Gamp and Eoin Mulciber were nearly forgotten as everyone stared at the wizard. Remus, now mimicking Lily and James, sat forward so that he could twist his torso to look at the Slytherin.
"Sykes, did you just…?" Lily spoke for them all, but her words failed her as they all knew what they had just witnessed. There was no real questioning to be done. They all knew. They all had seen it.
A lot of a lot was happening in a very short amount of time.
"I have a proposal," Alexander Sykes started up again, ignoring everyone who wanted in on what he considered nothing more than a quirky little trick of his. "I'm going to throw us a party. How about that? To make up for Halloween— will that make you two happy? I reckon that should do it."
"Throwing parties is against school rules," Lily pointed out.
"Seriously?" Alex turned to look at Lily. "I'm trying to work out a solution— what is it with you people?"
"It would barely even be a party," James scoffed. Lily shot him a reprimanding glance, and it was the first time since their moment on the bridge that they were actually looking at one another. Under any other circumstance, this would have been the grounds for their own pub brawl— but James was still processing around a million and one things and could not bring himself to it. "What? Let 'em have it."
"No, trust me, it's going to be a great party," Alex proclaimed. "Not like one of those lame things you two do. Call that a party— puh-lease."
"As if you've ever even been invited," James immediately shot back, pulling his stare from Lily's.
"First, you don't need an invitation to get into your parties— even if you think you do, you don't. The charms are first-year level easy to bypass, truth be told. Second, I've passed by a couple of times over the years, and it's nothing to write home about."
"Our parties are great!" James defended, looking down at Remus. But Remus was not joining in on this one— no, James was on his own. Not with everything that Remus had just been privy to. He could pick his battles— and this was just not going to be one of them. Sure, Remus should have and could have been offended that Alexander Sykes just called his charm work first-year level to bypass, but Remus had also just seen said wizard toss a hex away from him without a wand or word. The Slytherin's definition of first-year level was probably a lot different than everyone else's. Yeah, James was on his own with this. "What party were you at that was so much better than ours?"
"I promise you the parties I go to surpass any party you could ever throw," was the only thing Alex let on.
"Oh, really?"
"Yeah, really."
"A party for what? For Halloween?" Regulus Black interjected with a sigh while shaking his head at the whole scene. He was a seeker, for Merlin's sake, and he didn't know which way to look.
"No, for the Quidditch match on Saturday," Alex responded. "It'll be mad— bloody mad. Shirts off, gentlemen."
"And what if we lose?" Manfred Murton asked, one of the two Slytherin beaters.
"Murton," Regulus hissed from his beater's left. But Alexander Sykes' proposal had woken up fifth-year Manfred Murton more than anything else had ever in his entire life— he couldn't be bothered to remember who the captain of his team even was.
"If we lose— I'll throw an even crazier party," Alex declared. "Everyone's shirt's coming off."
"Woah, really?" Manfred laughed, finally turning to look at Regulus, whose once reprimanding stare transformed into caution. But given that, in these contexts, in-groups and out-groups were a bit blurred, he threw caution to the wind. "Bloody hell, let's lose, then." Manfred banged on the table with both fists as he grinned at Alex.
"Wait," Regulus cut in, sighing again as he watched what was not only his housemate but also his teammate hop on the bandwagon. "What exactly is going to happen at this party?"
"You're not entertaining this, Black?" Melisende bent down and whispered into his ear from his other side, but he remained undeterred. Regulus Black was losing, and Melisende Gamp was not the winning side.
"Listen, it's going to be the best party Hogwarts has ever had," Alex assured him.
"I'd love to see it," James muttered under his breath.
"Okay," Regulus said, lifting a hand up in surrender. "Okay, but what does that entail?"
"I don't bloody know, Black. What do you need me to do? Give points or something in the end?"
"Well," he considered, scratching at his neck. "There's— We would need a way to measure ourselves… or it? I'm not quite certain of what it is that we'll be measuring, but…" Alex was radiating superiority as he realized that his wagon was about to packed. He put his hands together and brought it to his lips in a mock show of contemplation, observing all the faces that he could see from his angle. He would play with it for a while longer— the attention — knowing that everyone was waiting for his response.
"Okay," Alexander eventually announced, nodding. "Okay, I got it! If Kavanagh gets on a table—"
"WHAT!?" Manfred Murton sputtered as a hand flew over Regulus' mouth. The latter began to not just laugh but full-on guffaw. The hand fell to his side and he collapsed in his seat, the sound ringing true and loud into the room. The extent of it so strong that it allowed the other Slytherins to share in it, star-filled eyes and light grins decorating their faces.
Regulus Black had reached the point of no return, and he had nothing to hold back. Everyone could see the tears beginning to well up in his eyes, and knowing that his reaction was highly inappropriate, he stood up — much in the same way his brother had last night at dinner — and turned to face the wall behind him. The sound could not be mistaken for anything else, and even if one were deaf, they could still see his back shaking with it. There was little to mask the act.
"Merlin, Alex," Regulus rasped between breaths, turning back around to face him. He retook his seat, trying to regain his composure by sitting back in it and placing his jaw into the cusp of his hand— but every so often, he would release another chuckle. "Sykes, that will never happen."
"I swear to you, it will— if there's anyone who can do it, it's going to be me."
"Alex," Regulus said, and for whatever reason, everyone suddenly felt as if they were intruding on a private conversation. "If you get Kavanagh on a table..." Regulus had to take a moment to think up the rest of his speech for he had yet to reach it. The caged laughter made it obvious of what the image was that he had in his head. "No one in Slytherin brings up Halloween dinner again."
"Deal," Alex blurted at the same time that Melisende shrieked, "What!?"
James and Remus looked at one another.
"Oh, don't look so pleased with yourselves," Regulus directed at the two of them. "Kavanagh is never getting on a table."
"I'm getting her on a table," Alex maintained, wagging a finger.
"Win or lose?" Manfred asked.
"Both."
"What about shirts off?"
"I'm not taking my shirt off," Regulus told his beater.
"I promise you, Regulus, the party I'm going to throw— you're not even going to have the choice."
"Merlin," Manfred laughed, running a hand through his hair and looking across the table at fifth-year Slytherin prefect, Sara Farley, who had much the same expression on her own face.
"This is mad!" Melisende barked, trying to catch her breaths. Her eyes fell hard on Regulus, and it was little keeping her from grabbing him by his hair and forcing his head back and up to look at her. "What're you doing?"
"Gamp, what would you have me do?" Regulus asked her, making it seem as if he was at a loss, though not quite feeling as if he was.
"I want to have them expelled!" Melisende snarled at him, pointing to James.
"To be fair," James began, "you don't even know it was me or... us."
"He's got a point," Alex added. This was not some slide to save the Gryffindors— this wizard wanted his party. "And that's why I think the greater injustice here is that they had a party and we didn't. They had fun and we didn't. So we should just have some fun, yeah?"
"NO!" Melisende shouted back before stomping out of the room.
"Right?" Alexander asked Regulus directly. Regulus pursed his lips to try and fight back the urge to smile. "Black, come on."
"No, you're right," Regulus conceded, nodding. Both James and Remus were about to fall over in their seats. "There's no proof that Potter or Lupin were behind what occurred last night. For all we know, it could've been the Headmaster."
"Merlin, you think?" Twila Blishwick, who was now an empty seat away from Regulus, turned to look at him. He did not know whether to engage her, whether she was truly that daft to believe it, or ignore her, but he also knew that he would have to somehow spin this to the others, and what Alexander Sykes had just said made more than enough sense.
"Okay, Sykes, you can have your party," Regulus told him.
"Win or lose?" Alex asked.
"Your party, your rules."
"I could kiss you, you know that?" Alex pressed his lips together in a kiss-like shape, and Regulus tried to remain expressionless but no one could mistake the slight lift in the corners of his lips.
"Wait," James interrupted in the last of his efforts to do so. "And so, we won't— no one's bringing up the Halloween thing again, yeah? Not even Gamp?"
"Only if Kavanagh gets on a table," Regulus reminded him, looking him straight in the eye. James paused before turning to look at Remus.
Both of them were calculating in their heads the exact same equation— what the likeliness was of Eve Kavanagh getting up on a table at a party. Remus already knew that James would end up running to him for a quick debrief on what the possibilities were. But if Eve Kavanagh was the same Eve Kavanagh that Remus had gotten somewhat of a chance to know, he knew that the chances of this ever happening were slim. Extremely slim. Actually, no wonder Regulus had even agreed to make that their measurement because the Slytherin knew just as well as the Gryffindor that it was never going to happen. They would have more than just one slice of cake.
"All right," James said, nodding. "Okay."
"Potter," Lily gasped from his side. "We can't just condone a party! They just planned a shirtless party in front of—"
"Lily," Remus whispered to her, leaning forward in his seat so that his body was slightly shadowing James.
There was no need for anything but her name, the look he sent her said it all: if Regulus Black and Alexander Sykes were in a joined effort to throw a party, and that if this party was good enough to get Eve Kavanagh on a table, then they were forgiven and all would be forgotten. However bleak it may have seemed, it was the best that he reckoned they were going to get.
What Lily would not understand, but something that Remus had begun to understand, is how Regulus Black and Alexander Sykes could get an entire house of students to share that perspective. To Lily, this did not seem like the proper grounds for forgiveness or forgetting— but Remus knew it would only take a single sentence out of either one of the Slytherins' mouths for the rest of them to fall in line.
"No drinking," she asserted only for Alex to snort in response, but Regulus nodded his head once. "And anyone who is underage keeps their shirt on."
"Yeah, right," blurted out Manfred Murton.
And with that, Alexander Sykes was on his mission: he had a party to plan. The best party Hogwarts had ever known. Because, at the end of the day, they were just kids. And kids needed to have fun, too. They wanted to have fun, no matter how much indifference to it they attempted to convey. Even the purest, the wealthiest; even the misjudged, the misinformed, and the prejudiced. They were kids. Just kids.
Though not a national holiday, the Marauders always treated one another's birthdays as if they were. Filled with booze, music, festivities and plenty of gifts to go around, but this year there was no over-crowded common room or some random classroom they had managed to manipulate into a temporary dance hall. This year, Sirius had requested a simple gathering with only three invitees. He didn't want random strangers or barely-knows to show up, he just wanted them and a good bottle of Ogden's finest.
And so, James had made sure that he had signed up Remus and himself as the patrols for that evening — the map would do a fine job of their duties— Peter acquired the drink, and Remus properly covered the Astronomy Tower's observation deck in temporary atmospheric heating charms.
"Aw, no, come on mate, it's my birthday— at least pretend to be happy," mocked Sirius, smiling as he kissed the bottle with his lips, looking over its fat-rounded bottom to James. James looked up with the best smile he could muster, shrugging his shoulders as he turned to each one of his friends.
"I am happy."
"And I'm Jack the Ripper."
"Come off it, Sirius," Remus told him, moving his gaze from James over to the bottle-holding, smugly grinning wizard who unknowingly wore a hoodie that had POTTER written in yellow letters across the back.
"I'm swell, solemnly swear," James assured, cutting his hand through the air to emphasize his words.
"Swell?" Sirius repeated.
"Fuck the slag," Peter muttered, tapping his wand against the cap of a bottle of ale that he had kept as a relic from their Halloween party. It danced off the ground, clinking and clattering across the space in between them.
"Don't call her that," James mumbled. Peter glanced over at him, turning to Sirius. His head flinched back, a very visible double chin appearing when no one said anything.
"What? You lot aren't defending her?" When no one replied, he shook his head. "She hurt our best mate."
"I'm fine," James countered.
Sirius considered it, pursing his lips and tilting his head back and forth as he weighed the offense.
"It was a tad slaggish," Sirius agreed with Peter, half his face pinching up and scrunching together.
"It wasn't," Remus argued. "But it was inconsiderate."
"Well, since Moony said it, it's gotta' be true," Sirius said sarcastically.
"It's true," Remus retorted, sending a cautious glance to Sirius. "And James is hurt, we shouldn't be having a laugh over it."
Because, at the end of the day, there had been plenty of blokes at the party, and Lily had gone after the only one who, she knew, would have felt the sting the very next morning. Remus tried to understand her line of thinking, wanting to believe that she did it because she had taken the time to get to know James, and that she could finally see him the way that he did. Remus did not want to think that she had done it out of spite or because she knew it would have been easy, because Lily wasn't like that. At least, not the Lily he knew. The Lily he knew was compassionate, empathetic, and always ready to stand up for the under-dog.
But, of course, James wasn't the under-dog, and maybe that's why she hadn't thought to think it through.
"He said he was over her," Sirius reminded him, eyebrows raised. Remus almost snorted but managed to keep it confined to his throat as he looked down at James sitting next to him.
The Gryffindor was running his fingers over the goblet that he had transfigured from a belt. His lips were pursed, looking down into the contents as he tried to forget the pit that he felt in his stomach. He hated himself for it, kicking himself for feeling that way. The Gryffindor wasn't used to being the black cloud, wasn't used to feeling the corners of his lips downturned. And yet, here they were, all of them, not just him, thinking of the burn he had felt that next morning.
"Whatever— got my hopes up, my fault," he admitted, emptying the whiskey from his goblet.
"All righty," Sirius announced, sitting up and clapping his hands together. He eyed James intensely, reading into his emotions as he tried to figure out the best recourse for this sort of situation. Sure, he wasn't adept at broken hearts, and never in a million years did he think he'd have to deal with James', but apparently there really was a first time for everything. "I say, we drink up to here." Sirius held up the bottle and pointed to the bottom of the label. "Then, we're going to talk about Quidditch. Yeah?"
"No," Peter cried. "Why can't we talk about tits? Let's talk about tits."
"We've talked plenty about tits," Sirius responded.
"And Quidditch," Peter pointed out.
"Everyone knows Selwyn has the biggest tits. There's nothing new to talk about."
Remus rolled his eyes, and James eyed the bottle in Sirius' hand.
"Can't we talk about something else?" James asked.
"I mean," Remus began, shrugging as Peter's glance fell on him. "It's Sirius' birthday." He looked at Sirius. "What do you want to talk about?"
Immediately, a pang of guilt vibrated through James at the stark reminder. He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he realized what he was doing, and put on his best party mask and took a swig at the near-full bottle. They all watched him as he continued gulping, but Remus placed a hand on the end of the bottle to pull it away from him when they realized it wasn't ending any time soon.
"Don't worry, you'll be on the floor in half an hour," Remus reassured him, James wiping away at his mouth with the back of his hand. The wizard blinked and widened his eyes as the alcohol caused his head to sway.
And so, Sirius went on to talk of the Brazilian Quidditch match he had read about in the Daily Prophet where half the crowd had been topless, somehow combining the topic of tits and Quidditch into a single discourse— of which was something only someone like Sirius would be capable of doing. This forced Peter to pay attention, who signaled his thoughts via snickers and nods, and James did his best to put his all into the conversation— anything Quidditch related being a safe bet.
Luckily, the alcohol did get to him and the false grin on his face turned into a drunken one, allowing Remus to think of things other than James and what exactly it was that he had thought was going to happen the morning after, and why James hadn't clued him in earlier so that he could have done something to mediate it. What would he have done? Well, Remus didn't know, but he would've done something.
He allowed his shoulders to relax and leaned against the stone wall. At first, he did his best to keep in tune with the talk of the Latin Quidditch League, but he was just about as inebriated as the rest of them, and certain words began to pin and bop back and forth in his head. Playing, winning, losing, games.
The game.
Remus began to muse and re-evaluate his own little league by adding in the recent events that had occurred during the monthly prefect meeting. There were certain perplexities he could not get over. One of them being why Alexander Sykes had served up Eve Kavangh on a platter and not, say, Severus Snape? In the game, there would only be one explanation— Alexander knew something about Eve that Remus did not know, that not even Regulus Black knew. This would be why Regulus Black had nearly become a puddle on the floor while Alexander Sykes stood firm that Eve Kavanagh would, indeed, get up on the table. If anyone could do it, it would be him— but why would it be him? What did Alexander Sykes know and have that the rest of them did not?
This would bring Remus to his next pondering— that Alexander Sykes and Eve Kavanagh had a closer dynamic than what he had previously observed. Sure, they sporadically sat together at meals, but that had only been facilitated by what he had realized was Aphrodite Flint. This was all too obvious in the mannerisms they displayed when they were seated together. Now, could this mean the two of them were close in their dungeon layer? Of course— it's not like Remus could keep tabs on them when they were hidden from everyone else. But, then, why hide it in public view?
Then, there was also the matter of the party itself. How, in Merlin's right mind, did the Slytherins manage to conjure up some plan that not only benefitted him and the three of them — if it worked out as postulated by Regulus Black — but also did not really benefit them? A part from it being a party, that is, it was not some kind of justice seeking turn of events that would lead the four of them to spend the rest of their seventh year cleaning up the cupboards. There had to be some sort of explanation for how and why Alexander Sykes was throwing a party — win or lose — that did not have to do with Halloween or Quidditch.
No, shut up, Remus stopped himself, shaking his head as he forced himself back to reality. There were plenty of logical and straight-forward explanations that did not have anything to do with power play and undisclosed knowledge. It wasn't complicated or difficult, and he was making it up to be. Eve Kavanagh would be easier to handle than Severus Snape, and the Slytherins just wanted to party. Easy.
God.
He had to stop, he really, really, had to stop.
He gulped down another sip from the bottle, looking back up to the sky.
"Moony," he heard someone call.
"Huh." Remus looked over at them, his skull rolling against the stone wall.
"Pissed yet?" Sirius asked, chuckling. Remus nodded lazily, his eyes half-shut as he joined in on the laughter.
"Have you been listening?" Peter quizzed, a sheepish smirk on his face. The latter shook his head in honesty. "Prongs had to keep Marly from clawing Padfoot's eyes out today."
"Marlene tried to claw your eyes out?" Remus wondered, trying to search his own memory of when and where that had happened.
"Somehow, I shagged Vance."
"Did you?"
"No," Sirius snorted.
"Then?"
"I found Vance and Reddy hallucinating in some corner— nothing happened. We were just in some corner. They weren't having a good time, so I tried to talk them out of it."
"Apparently, it was an orgy," Peter finished for Sirius.
"Impressive, innit? The things I do that not even I knew I could do," Sirius tacked on.
"Ah," was all Remus managed.
"I reckon we do the gift now," James announced, eyeing Sirius who didn't look all too enthusiastic about the conversation, a barely noticeable curl to his lips as he looked into the distance.
It worked, Sirius immediately turned, his eyes lighting up like a pleasantly fat Christmas tree.
"Oh, you shouldn't have," Sirius said. All three of them shared a look, half of James' mouth lifting up into a grin.
"You sayin' you don't want it? 'Cause that's not a problem, we'll keep it," James teased. Remus let out a short chuckle.
"Sod off— give me my bloody gift," Sirius sneered jokingly, baring his teeth just slightly while letting out a low growl.
James reached around and under one of the blankets that he had procured from the divination room to pull out a mush of paper. Remus' eyebrows furrowed at the sight of it, taking a sip from the bottle as he wondered just exactly what his friend had done to their gift.
"Here, mate— from all of us," James told Sirius, sliding it over to him.
"Beautiful job, Prongs," Sirius chuckled as he held it in his hand, squishing his finger into its surface to try and guess what it was.
"How do you know it was me?"
"Because…" He lifted up the glob of wrapping paper. "Moony's got a charm for this, definitely, and Wormtail would have just put it in a bag." All of them broke out in a fit of chuckles as they knew he was right. Sirius winked at James who feigned a pout, but the overall air of that night shifted to something of a calm content as the world waged a war miles and miles away. For now, it was safe to laugh.
Alexander Sykes ran up the stairs to the recessed balcony that lined the Slytherin common room, taking long strides around its bend so that it eventually brought him to the room's far left. Not only did it give him a podium to speak at, but also an ample aerial perspective of those occupying the spaces below.
"OKAY, LISTEN UP ALL OF YOU TWATS!"
Now, it wasn't that they were a loud bunch to begin with, but the ease of which he had gained their attentions forced the rest of his all-to-prepared announcement to falter in his throat. Alex was quick to cover it up, masking it with an investigative look, as if he was evaluating them on something, crossing his arms over a puffed out chest.
Moira Palancher stood up from where she had been seated around the fire with Regulus Black and the other Quidditch players, cocking her head at the wizard, demanding he continue.
"Tomorrow is game day, yeah? And we're throwing a party — win or lose — right here in the common room," he announced to all of them. Moira lifted her chin and crossed her arms over her chest as she stared up at him— as they all stared up at him. There was a mix and mingle of amusement, confusion, and excitement, and while Alex wasn't great at reading rooms, he knew no one had tried to hex him just yet. "And it's invite-only."
"What!?" It had been sixth-year Leo Jacknife, one third of the Slytherin chasers.
A buzz began to whirl around the room. Some spoke about the implications of that, others on what Alexander Sykes was talking about, and most questioning one another whether they had received an invite or not. There were few, however — and despite Alex's own vacillation of whether he should even be there in the first place — would ever speak to him directly.
"You can't stop us from coming into the common room, Sykes," Edmund Nott finally said out loud what some had pondered. The wizard had entered the room at the same moment that Moira Palancher had stood up, and so had remained halted in place, leaving him in Alex's immediate line of sight across the common room.
"Seriously, the fuck— where's my invite, Sykes?" Cedric Avery asked, pushing back the chair he sat in. The screech filled the once-again silenced room.
"Yeah, and mine?" Eoin Mulciber added from next to him, but without the theatrics of a moving chair.
"Okay, it's invite-only, but there's only one condition to be invited," Alex began what he had spent all week musing over. He had spent more time organizing this party than he had on anything else in his entire life. Shit, he had spent more of his allowance on this party than he did on his school supplies— and boy, did he have money to spend.
When Alexander Sykes had turned 17, his parents had immediately filled his independent vaults with what was only a percentage of what he was going to inherit half of. That percentage, though, was enough to sustain him and an entire family for the rest of his life in a nice little house somewhere in a nice suburban, magical community. Except, Alexander Sykes was never going to have children— Alexander Sykes was the end of that line, and he knew he could spend all of it, and not only would there be more to come, but that he would never need it for anyone or anything else. So, he may as well just spend it on — not bottles — but crates of champagne. And not the muggle champagne that he could buy for pennies, no, this was the magical stuff— the one that when poured, the bubbles that would pop to the the top were made of gold.
It was honestly ridiculous how wealthy some people were. He knew that. He was as aware of it as he was of the legacy he was supposed to carry along with that wealth. Haha, sorry, papa Sykes.
"Everyone's got to look good," he finally told them what they were all waiting on the edges of their seats to hear. Moira grinned, the missing detail finally configuring in her own brain and revealing to her the path they were going down. "I want everyone dressed up— from the start to the end. You're all wearing your best. I want everyone looking sexy, you hear? If I see a single one of those nasty-looking green scarves, you're going to bed early." He scanned over the room, no one looked perturbed by the condition. "You wake up tomorrow morning— and you make sure you look good."
"Wait, we have to go to the game dressed up?" Rosalia Selwyn inquired as she turned around in her seat and looked up at Alex.
"Yes, obviously," he responded. "We got to show those Gryffindors who's the better looking house, obviously, Selwyn." It was the right strings to strum as nearly everyone seemed to be in agreement that this argument alone was logical enough to merit them all putting on their Sunday best and wearing it on a Saturday morning for a school Quidditch match. "Our team is going to feel a lot better if they know they're playing for the best looking house at Hogwarts."
"That's for sure," Manfred Murton muttered from next to Leo Jacknife. Regulus Black threw a glance at both of them, but simply smirked as he returned his attention to Alex.
"If everyone else dresses up, I'll dress up," Aphrodite Flint declared.
"I'm dressing up," Rosalia told her easily.
"Fuck it, why not?" Cedric Avery followed, shrugging as Severus Snape's gaze fell on his.
"Okay, good— I want everyone looking sexy tomorrow, no holding back. All right?" His eyes fell on a corner of younger students who were staring up at him. "Try your best first and second years— I know you got something good in those trunks of yours, and if you don't, well, sorry."
"The first-years are invited?" Regulus Black finally spoke up, his smirk diminishing.
"My party, my rules," Alex reminded him, mimicking his words. Regulus lifted his hands in surrender and sat back against the couch.
"What? You knew about this?" Moira asked, turning to look over her shoulder at her captain.
"It was basically his idea," Manfred filled her in.
"Never thought I'd see the day," said Beon Shafiq, the last of the Slytherin chasers.
"We all in agreement?" When no one answered he nodded his head once with his lips pushed out into a smug half-smile. "Good, now do that thing you do and spread the news."
"Black," the name came from behind the couch, forcing the Quidditch captain to turn around in his seat. His eyes fell on Edmund Nott, who had come up right behind him. "What's this about?"
"Sykes is going to host a party," Regulus replied. Edmund's glance flew up to the wizard in question, who was now placed mid-way down the stairs, talking with Aphrodite.
"Why?"
"For the Quidditch game." Regulus sighed quickly, tapping his finger against his thigh as he knew the hour drew nearer, and he was no where near finished with what he had planned for his players.
"We…" Edmund's words trailed off.
"It's a bloody party, Nott," Moira intervened on Regulus' behalf, although Regulus had not felt the need for an intervention in the least bit. "You know what that is, don't you?"
"Yes, I know what a party is, Palancher," Edmund responded tightly with a quick smile. "But…"
"I'd love a party after a Quidditch match," Leo Jacknife said more to himself than to the others. Edmund's stare flickered to him and then back to the rest of the team that was seated in front of the fire.
"It's a way to make up for Halloween," Regulus told him.
"How is us having a party making up for Halloween?" But the interrogative stance that Edmund had once held shifted, making his question seem more like a genuine question.
"I have no idea, but apparently it will."
"And why would we have to dress up for the game itself?" Edmund continued to wonder, his eyes narrowing on Alex who was now at the bottom of the stairs, entertaining not just Aphrodite but a number of witches.
"It's almost like you want us to look ugly," Moira countered, rolling her eyes. "Do we want to be the ugly house?"
"No."
"Do we want to be the house that never has any fun?" Moira continued to press him. "The house that gets pranked on? The house filled with a bunch of crybabies because they never have it their way?"
"No."
"Now, go think about it. We have a game to win," Moira finished, taking her seat next to Beon Shafiq. But it was the profound fire that had ignited the limbs of every player seated before him that actually made Edmund Nott believe that this was not the worst idea to have surpassed those rooms and corridors. It was the way that the mood had shifted in the entire room. He glanced about the rest of the room— once quiet, once isolated, it now felt that they were in some way connected.
What Alexander Sykes would not realize was that his little party antic was actually one of the only moments in the history of the Slytherin house that would unite them all. It was not just for Quidditch. It was a way to bring a bit of light into their sunless home. After being made into a joke at Halloween in front of everyone, with no punishment dealt to anyone, Alexander Sykes was trying to reel them back into place.
Edmund Nott didn't need to go think about anything, he had already figured it out. And the next thing he did was something no one would have ever really expected at a moment like that. He walked straight to where Alex was conversing with Aphrodite, Rosalia, Sophia Blanchet, Twila Blishwick, and placed a hand on his shoulder.
The room went quiet at the display that was now in full view.
"What needs to be done?" Edmund asked. Alex blinked, but his chin and posture slowly lifted as the offer materialized.
"I've already got everything ordered," Alex said with a low voice. "It's all done."
"Good," Edmund told him, nodding once. "If there's anything, let me know."
And with that, the entire room had spun around. It had spun around not for people like Edmund Nott and Regulus Black, but for those like Evan Rosier, Severus Snape, and Melisende Gamp— for those who were clamoring and scratching the walls to get first place, or as close to it as possible. Yes, the room spun for them because it was a slap in the face that they had one more rung to climb. And to climb even one was a Herculean task.
I promise, it will all make sense in the upcoming chapters. This is part 1, part 2 will be up shortly. Love, M.