Toadally clueless
Remus’ first thought was that everything in this room looked very comfortable. Lopsided tables were strewn around the room and squashy armchairs stood in front of a crackling fireplace.
The students in them were laughing about something; one had thrown their legs over the armrest. The room was buzzing with noise, but the excitement seemed to mingle with a sense of relaxation. Everyone looked happy.
Remus’ gaze wandered over the people, not spotting a single first-year.
What was he supposed to do now? No one had told him what to do once he had reached the common room, and he hadn’t thought to ask. And where was his trunk?
He spotted Melinda, the prefect, and, taking a deep breath, decided she was his best bet. She was sitting with a group of girls by one of the windows.
‘A second, Al,’ she said when Remus approached her. Her friend fell silent, flashing Remus a kind smile. ‘How can I help you?’
Remus pressed his lips together. The question he was about to ask was incredibly stupid. ‘Erm—where are the other first-years?’
A shadow of recognition passed over Melinda’s face. ‘Oh, you’re the one who was with McGonagall!’ She pushed to her feet. ‘Come on.’
As Melinda led him away, Remus was almost sure he heard one of her friends whisper after them, ‘I swear they’re getting smaller.’ Snickers followed them out of the common room.
‘There will be two boys’ dormitories this year,’ Melinda explained as she led him up a staircase. ‘What was your name again?’
‘Remus,’ Remus said. ‘Remus Lupin.’
‘Remus,’ Melinda repeated to herself, suddenly stopping before a door. ‘Well, then, that’s your dorm.’ She knocked her knuckles against the door and pushed down the handle. ‘Just handing over your lost dormmate,’ she said with a smile before turning on her heel and disappearing down the stairs.
The room was bigger than Remus’ room at home. It had large windows with broad windowsills. During the day, they would have a great view of the grounds.
Four four-poster beds were scattered around the room, hung with deep red velvet curtains. There was a nightstand and one of their trunks standing beside each. Peter was sitting on the edge of the far-right bed. His face lit up when he spotted Remus.
James was sitting on the far left, and Sirius was standing beside the bottom left. Oh.
‘No spare bed, then,’ said James, eyes roaming over Remus. ‘You got lost already? How?’
Sirius was throwing him a look ranging somewhere between pity and amusement. Remus didn’t fancy them thinking he was too stupid to trail after a group of people, but telling them the truth was not an option.
Keep up your guard!
So he shrugged, shuffling over to Peter, who was beaming at him.
‘Isn’t that a great coincidence?’ said Peter, speaking so quickly the words tangled. ‘Us being in Gryffindor together? And now we’re even sharing a dorm?’
‘Great coincidence,’ Sirius repeated with a straight face.
‘Told you it was meant to be,’ James grinned at him. ‘Seems like we’re stuck with each other.’
‘You keep saying that like it’s a good thing.’
At once, a pillow was propelling through the air, aimed straight at Sirius’ head.
‘You don’t want to do that, Potter,’ said Sirius, who had plucked the pillow from the air before it had hit his face. Pillow in hand, he was walking towards James, who didn’t look the least bit concerned. If Sirius Black—almost a head taller than Remus and Peter, and still a few inches taller than James—looked at Remus like that, he would gladly back down.
James didn’t. He squared his shoulders.
‘Yeah? And why’s that?’
‘Because you would want to choose your battles more caref—’
‘No need,’ James cut in, wiggling his eyebrows. ‘I’m choosing this.’ And with a wicked grin, he sent the second pillow flying.
Soon, there was a lot of yelling and swirling arms—and even kicking. At one point, they fell from James’ bed, landing on the floor in a mess of spilled robes and moving limbs. It was hard to tell where one began and the other ended.
Peter was watching the scene in front of him with an open mouth.
‘There,’ said Sirius at last, disentangling himself from James as he scrambled off the floor. His face was flushed, and his once straight hair was dishevelled. ‘That should teach you a lesson.’ He dropped the second pillow so it hit James—still sprawled out on the floor—square in the chest.
James gasped. ‘You think you won? I just—’
But Sirius Black was paying him no mind as he strode over to the bed on the bottom left again. He flopped down on the thick duvet.
Remus noticed that his trunk was standing beside the nightstand of Sirius’ bed.
James climbed back on his own bed. ‘I’m keeping your pillow.’
‘Keep my pillow,’ said Sirius with a gracious wave of his hand. ‘It will make a good substitute for your teddy bear, I’m sure.’
‘Sod off.’ The pillow was once more flying across the room, back to Sirius.
‘Where’s your manners?’ he said, pushing the pillow under his head. ‘I thought we’d been over this on the train? Didn’t you just solemnly swear to learn until your brain rots? You might want to do better.’
James huffed.
Remus turned to Peter, who pointed at his bed. ‘I thought—because they put my trunk here, but if you want to have this one, I could also take the other?’
Remus shook his head. The way James and Sirius were lounging on their duvets left no doubt they had made their pick. Besides, i didn’t exactly matter - all of the beds were flanked by windows. That wasn’t ideal. He could picture the winter creeping in through the small cracks in the frame, the gaps where it didn’t close perfectly against the castle walls. To say Remus tended to run cold was like saying the Antarctic might be a bit chilly.
‘I’m good,’ Remus smiled.
Peter nodded so quickly that Remus wondered whether he, too, was intimidating Peter, but that made no sense. Save for the L-thing, he was the least intimidating person on earth. But Peter’s shoulders were tense as he slumped over to his trunk, the soles of his feet dragging over the floor.
Remus wondered whether he had done anything wrong. He needed to pay closer attention and not get lost in his thoughts again.
‘—any siblings?’
Remus met Peter’s gaze.
‘Do you have any siblings?’ Peter repeated.
Remus shook his head. ‘No. Do you?’ Wait—hadn’t Peter mentioned something on the train ride?
‘A brother,’ said Peter, breaking into a smile. Some of the tension seeped out of his shoulders. ‘His name is William. He’s fifteen years older than me. He works as a Curse-Breaker. He’s in Iceland at the moment, but he’s not allowed to tell us any details. It’s an important job,’ he added, as if fearing Remus wouldn’t pick up on that.
‘He sounds great,’ said Remus, because he had no idea what else to say about William, the Curse-Breaker. But it seemed to have been the right thing, because Peter’s eyes looked as if a light had been turned on behind them.
‘He is,’ Peter agreed at once. He had moved to Remus’ bed and was now lingering beside it, hands moving quickly. ‘Of course, he’s not home much anymore, but he tries to visit whenever he can. He told me he would write, too.’
Remus dug for anything he knew about siblings. ‘Um... fifteen years is a big gap, isn’t it?’
‘I suppose so,’ said Peter with a little frown. ‘I—they say I was an accident.’
A silent question lingered in the crease of his brow, and he wrinkled his nose, but Remus was grateful the question never made it into the light of day. Thanks to the very limited selection of books at the local library he had a vague concept of accident, but he didn’t fancy discussing this with Peter.
‘What about you—didn’t your parents want more children?’ Peter asked.
‘Maybe he is the reason they didn’t want more children,’ said Sirius.
This time, James didn’t laugh. His lips curled down.
Remus stiffened. Sirius’ words had hit him like a train. He had never considered this, but it made a lot of sense. His parents’ lives centered around him; there was no space for a second child.
He took a deep breath, ignoring the heavy feeling twisting in his stomach.
‘I don’t know,’ he told Peter. ‘What does a Curse-Breaker do?’
He half expected some sarcastic reply from Sirius, but he luckily remained silent. Peter, however, lit up.
‘Oh, it depends. Of course, there are a lot of old curses on places, and sometimes Healers ask Curse-Breakers for help if someone has been hit by a curse. But William usually works with cursed objects. There—there was a man who owned a set of plates, and every time he had a meal on them, he’d feel hungrier. Or—or this woman who always had a headache. It turned out someone had cursed her hat—but the headache wouldn’t leave even when she wasn’t wearing it!’ Peter’s voice had pitched higher. ‘People always think of robes that try to strangle you, but most of the time, the victims don’t even realise they own a cursed object. It’s very difficult. And dangerous. But William is one of the best.’ He frowned. ‘I wonder why he wasn’t sorted into Gryffindor.’
Remus was about to ask Peter about the cursed objects when James yelled, ‘Who fancies some sweets?’
Remus’ gaze snapped over to James, who emptied a big bag of sweets onto Sirius’ bed. Packages in all sizes and colours spilled out across the duvet. Some even rolled to the floor.
James made no move to collect the spilled sweets. ‘Who fancies some sweets other than Bertie Bott’s Beans?’
‘You—you bought all this?’ said Peter, mouth slightly agape. ‘That’s half the trolley!’
‘Nah.’ James shrugged as he picked a bright lilac package for himself. ‘Mum gave it to me. She says it’s the best way to make friends. Worked already.’ He winked and threw something at Sirius’ chest, where it bounced off and landed in his lap. Sirius picked it up, examining it lazily. He crossed his legs, which earned him a shove to the knee from James. The colourful sea of sweets shifted on Sirius’ duvet as the mattress dipped.
‘Move, you’re squashing the chocolate!’ he ordered.
‘Sorry,’ said Sirius slowly, but he did move. ‘Didn’t mean to thwart your bribery.’
‘You—you don’t know each other?’ said Peter.
‘Of course we know each other,’ said James. ‘We met on the train.’
‘I—’ Peter stuttered ‘—that’s not what I—’
Ignoring him, James picked up two of the larger packages and threw them at Peter and Remus. The one meant for Remus landed—perfectly aimed—directly in his lap. He watched James turn back to Sirius.
How anyone could act with so much ease around another person after knowing them for just a few hours was an absolute mystery to him.
‘Do you collect them, Remus?’ Peter asked suddenly, extending his hand to show him a card of sorts that he had pulled from the box. Remus looked down at his own - a ‘Chocolate Frog’. He only just managed to rein in his frown. He loved sweets, but chocolate was more of a remedy than a treat. Every full moon, his mum would make him drink a cup of hot chocolate.
Misunderstanding his frown, Peter said, ‘They put cards with famous witches and wizards in every box. There are hundreds of them. I thought you might be collecting. I already got two of Ptolemy.’
Curious, Remus took the card. It depicted a wizard in funny robes, labelled ‘Ptolemy’. He winked at Remus, who smiled to himself.
‘Thank you, Peter,’ said Remus quietly, and Peter beamed at him.
‘Don’t tell me you’ve never had a Chocolate Frog,’ James all but exclaimed, as if he had just uncovered the biggest scandal of the century.
‘I’ve never had a Chocolate Frog,’ said Remus without hesitation, and for some odd reason, that elicited a small laugh from Sirius Black.
‘Next thing you’ll tell me, you don’t know about Quidditch,’ James said, eyes wide.
In truth, Remus’ knowledge of Quidditch was limited. Very limited. It didn’t extend the width of a broom handle. Because that was all he knew—it was a sport played on brooms. His father didn’t let him read his newspapers, so all he knew was what he had picked up through sideways glances.
‘I know about Quidditch,’ said Remus, because James was still looking at him with wide eyes, and the scrutiny made his skin crawl unpleasantly.
James’ shoulders slumped, apparently satisfied with Remus’ answer, and he turned to Sirius to ask about his favourite team.
None of the names they threw around sounded the least bit familiar. They didn’t even make much sense—Chutney Cannons, for example. Peter, however, seemed to hang on James and Sirius’ every word, and once or twice, he opened his mouth, but the conversation was held at such speed—most of it led by James—that he didn’t get a syllable in edgewise.
‘Dad says they’re testing mahogany for broom handles,’ said James eventually. Something passed over his face. ‘Speaking of which.’ He pulled out a shiny wand, carved from deep auburn-coloured wood.
Sirius’ lips curled slightly. ‘The infamous wand.’
‘The very one. Ollivander said it’s good for Transfiguration.’
‘Why didn’t you test that, then?’
‘Yeah, sure,’ James huffed. ‘Human Transfiguration is what—sixth year?’
Sirius raised an eyebrow, his lips trembling slightly. ‘Excuses.’
‘If you’re offering yourself, I can—’
‘You wish.’ And with that, Sirius whipped out his own wand. It was a little shorter than James’ and not as shiny. The idea of a smile slipped off his face as his eyes landed on the brownish wood. ‘Yew.’
‘Yew,’ James repeated, lifting his own wand and pointing it at Peter and Remus. ‘You?’
Remus didn’t know any more about what wood his wand was made from than he knew how to crochet.
‘We’ll buy you your own next year,’ his father had told him when he began teaching Remus simple spells at home. Remus hadn’t thought anything of it at the time, hadn’t even known that wands weren’t usually passed down. But his father’s words—and now James’—implied exactly that. And the wood? Did it make a difference?
Good for Transfiguration, James had said. Strange, almost like the wand had a mind of its own rather than being just a piece of—
‘Lupin?’
Once more, three pairs of eyes were staring at him—Peter with his cheeks slightly flushed, James with raised eyebrows, and Sirius with that unsettling curl of his lips still in place.
‘What about your wand?’ James asked.
‘Um… I don’t know?’
‘You don’t know?’
‘It belonged to my grandfather,’ said Remus, looking down at his light-coloured wand.
‘Well, it’s not ebony, is it,’ said Sirius Black with that half-grin still plastered to his face.
Remus decided he didn’t like him very much.
‘How come you have your grandfather’s wand? You’re not pure-blood,’ said Sirius. He was watching Remus like he was trying to crack his head open with his gaze alone.
‘Sirius…’
At last, Sirius tore his eyes off Remus.
‘Does it matter?’ said James, a sharpness to his voice.
Not for the first time, Remus had the impression he was missing parts of the conversation.
‘I was just wondering.’ Sirius shrugged. ‘Passing down wands is pure-blood shit. Didn’t know half-bloods did it.’ He almost sounded defiant now. ‘This one belonged to—well, some relation… Star Lord the Two-Hundred-and-Twenty-Second or whatever.’
James chuckled, but Remus had no idea what he was talking about. That was becoming a theme.
‘Why would they—I mean, what’s the use in passing down wands?’ Peter asked.
‘Do I look like a Wandmaker?’ said Sirius, shrugging. ‘They say they’re supposed to gain knowledge with every owner…’ He pursed his lips and turned his wand in his fingers. ‘I hope not.’
Remus was still pondering the different implications of different wood. There was just so much he had never thought about.
‘What’s the best tree, then?’ he asked, frowning slightly.
There was a beat of silence in which James’ eyes drifted from Sirius to Remus. ‘The best tree?’
‘Don’t you have a favourite tree?’ said Sirius, smirking.
Remus pulled his brows together. He knew sarcasm when he heard it—he had parents, after all. But this time, he genuinely didn’t understand why his question was worth mocking—it hadn’t been him who had brought up wood in the first place.
‘Well, not the one Dumbledore kept rambling about. Why would I even want to get near it?’
Sirius grinned. ‘Shade?’
James huffed, and Remus seemed forgotten. ‘The forest, however…’
‘Off limits’ said Sirius. ‘Very forbidden.’
‘Yes, exactly,’ James grinned back at him. Something seemed to grow in the look they exchanged.
Peter turned to Remus, opened his mouth, and—croaked. No, the trunk behind him croaked. Peter froze for a moment, then rushed to his trunk. A second later, he had freed his toad and was petting its head apologetically, mumbling under his breath.
‘You brought a toad?’ James sounded incredulous.
‘Sir Frog-rick,’ Peter nodded. ‘My brother—’
‘Sir Frog-rick? That is the single most ridiculous name I have ever heard for a toad.’
The smile melted off Peter’s face. He turned to Remus, the toad still sitting in his palm. His voice was so small it was almost drowned by the toad’s croaking.
‘My brother gave him to me when I was five.’
At the other end of the room, James and Sirius seemed completely oblivious to Peter’s reaction.
‘What about “Sir Croaks-a-lot”?’ James offered, and, after a moment’s straight face, Sirius snorted.
‘You do realise it’s not even a frog, Pettigrew?’ he said.
‘Nah, he’s toadally clueless,’ said James, and Sirius snorted again.
‘I got him when I was five,’ Peter repeated, completely ignored by the boys at the other side of the room.
Sirius’ gaze roamed over James, who was chewing on some of the sweets. Something black. ‘You are a bit of an idiot, aren’t you?’
This assessment, Remus thought, was spot on, taking in Peter, whose eyes were glistening suspiciously. Frankly, Remus thought them both idiots.
‘You know what they say,’ said James, grin audible in his voice. ‘Takes one to know one.’
Peter was still standing beside his bed—and quivering slightly. Remus had to admit that the idea of Peter starting to cry made him more than a little uncomfortable—and his suspicion that James and Sirius would mock him for it was only half the reason.
‘Hey, Peter,’ he said quietly and took the Chocolate Frog that was still lying in his lap. ‘Have my frog.’
‘You don’t want it?’
‘No,’ said Remus. ‘I’m not hungry.’ And my mum packed half my trunk with chocolate.
Peter flashed Remus a smile. A weak smile, but a smile nonetheless. ‘Thank you.’
‘It’s nothing,’ said Remus, chest tightening. ‘Just… maybe make sure Sir Frog-rick doesn’t eat any. I suppose chocolate isn’t exactly good for toads. Not that I would know for sure.’
‘Oh, no, you’re right,’ said Peter, and he was smiling again. ‘There was one time when Sir Frog-rick got to my—’
But a thunderous laugh from James Potter cut Peter off, and with a quick glance towards Sirius’ bed, Peter clamped his mouth shut. He took a step back.
‘Um… I think I’m going to bed. Goodnight, Remus. And… thank you.’
For a second, Remus considered following his lead, dropping onto his bed and falling asleep just like that, but there was something he needed to do. He dragged his trunk to his bed and, behind closed curtains, changed into his pyjamas. Then he pulled out a piece of parchment and his quill.
Hey Mum, hey Dad,
I arrived at Hogwarts. I was sorted into Gryffindor. I’m sorry I didn’t make it into Hufflepuff, Dad—I wish I had. The Gryffindors live in one of the castle towers. It’s a thousand steps up to my dorm.
Remus tilted his head. I don’t know how I’ll climb them come Sunday, but one step at a time, he thought. Ha.
But it is nice. My bed is nice. My dorm mates are nice.
So what if he was tweaking the truth a little? One out of the three was nice, so it wasn’t a lie, technically, was it?
One of them gave me chocolate, and the other owns a toad.
That was true, at least.
His name is Sir Frog-rick. Not the boy’s, of course—the toad’s. The boy is called Peter. He has a brother who is a Curse-Breaker.
There are so many people—the castle is huge. There are hundreds of stairs and at least seven floors. The portraits move, like magical photographs, and they can leave their frames and walk into the next. I saw two of them getting into a fight. And then there’s the ghosts—but I haven’t seen the Poltergeist yet, Dad. Maybe he made himself invisible.
As soon as he had written that down, he felt stupid. His father knew all that, of course. He supposed even his mother did. Look, Dad, there’s magic. Stupid.
After pudding, Professor Dumbledore introduced me to Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey. Professor McGonagall is the head of Gryffindor House, and Madam Pomfrey is a healer. Professor Dumbledore said she will look after me. He told me they had set up a place for… you know. So don’t worry! They are all very nice.
Remus frowned. Nice. Everything was nice.
Classes will start first thing tomorrow.
I’m a little nervous.
I should probably get to sleep. I know you would tell me to, Mum.
I will write to you whenever I get the chance.
He hesitated a moment, then added:
I’m fine so far. I’m a little tired, but that’s probably the train ride. Professor Dumbledore told me they’re well prepared, so please don’t worry.
For a moment, the tip of his quill hovered over the parchment, ready to write three more words. I miss you. But something was keeping his hand still. He had just told his parents not to worry. It was the first evening.
And so he finished with a simple:
Remus
It was only when he put down his quill that he realised he didn’t know how to send the letter to his parents. His father had mentioned school owls. Mh. Remus would figure it out. And if not, if he had to, he would ask Melinda again. She had been nice enough.
He exhaled slowly, feeling the day’s stress fall away in the safety of his bed.
He had a feeling this was only the first of many stressful days.