A stain upon the name of camaraderie
Early as Remus had left the Great Hall, he was almost late for Transfiguration. He had gotten lost before he plucked up the courage to ask an older student for help. When he entered the classroom, most of the desks were already taken.
When Peter spotted him, he beckoned Remus over. ‘Remus!’ he yelled from the back of the classroom. The seat beside him was vacant, but James and Sirius were sitting to his left. When Remus made his way across the classroom, Sirius, who was leaning back in his chair, ankles crossed under his desk, turned to whisper something to James.
Remus scanned the classroom – and only recognised fellow Gryffindor first years.
‘Sorry. I got lost again,’ he said when he sank down in his seat beside Peter.
At that moment, Professor McGonagall entered the classroom.
Remus pulled out A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, a parchment, and his quill. It was only then that he remembered his list.
He quickly unfolded it and wrote:
Aly from the valleys (actually Alexandra, but goes by Aly – tall, blonde curls, pointy nose)
To their left, James was laughing at something Sirius had said. Remus pressed his lips together. It wasn’t like he needed help remembering their names, but it couldn’t hurt to remember he needed to be extra careful around them. Maybe he was being paranoid. But better safe than sorry didn’t even scratch the surface in his case. Better safe than expelled.
James Potter and Sirius Black – no room for slip of the tongue. Watch out.
Back to the initial purpose of his list:
Jacob Fawcett – brown hair, freckled nose
Remus guessed he could draw up an analogy – something with cold water and a faucet – but it felt both a bit desperate and, more importantly, as if Fawcett didn’t deserve the consideration.
Also, Remus was doing this for practical purposes; there was no need for coming up with far-fetched comparisons.
His eyes lingered on the back of Fawcett’s head. Remus mused, quill hovering over the parchment. Then, as if pulled by a strong magnet, his eyes drifted to James. Well, James did have a point…
He poised his quill and added:
Fawcett – brown hair, freckled nose – bit of a tosser.
‘Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts,’ Professor McGonagall said the moment they had sat down. ‘Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back.’
Although it sounded very much like this was her standard greeting, it didn’t take away anything from the effect. The class was deadly silent, everyone’s attention centered on Professor McGonagall.
Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again.
When the gasps had died down, Professor McGonagall began to talk about the basics of transfiguration. Some of it sounded familiar from A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, but most of the time he had no idea what she was talking about. He hoped to make some sense of the notes he was scribbling down later.
When he dipped his quill into his ink bottle for what felt like the hundredth time, he saw, from the corner of his eye, that Sirius was still leaning back in his seat, his right hand swirling the quill he was holding. His bored expression hadn’t changed one bit. Beside him, James wasn’t taking notes either, but at least he didn’t look like he was about to drift off to sleep any moment.
Finally, it was time for their first practical magical assignment. Professor McGonagall pulled out a matchbox and handed each student a match.
Pointing her own wand at it, she said, ‘Acufieri.’ She showed the match around to demonstrate it was no longer a match but had become a shiny, silvery and very sharp needle.
Remus had listened very carefully to her instructions, but it was to no avail. The matchstick refused to change its appearance at all, no matter how often he tried it. His father had begun teaching him a few simple spells, but they hadn’t brushed upon Transfiguration yet – and now Remus began to understand why. Apparently, both Peter and Professor McGonagall had been right in saying this was complex magic. Beside him, Peter’s attempts weren’t any more successful than his.
The canon of whispers floating around the classroom didn’t help. Acufieri, Acufieri, Acufieri.
More distracting even than the incantations drifting around, however, was the hushed conversation going on to Remus’ left. Both James and Sirius didn’t seem to care much for Professor McGonagall’s instruction to practise the spell. He tried to block it out, but their voices repeatedly stabbed his apparently very feeble shield of focus, making it wobble.
Professor McGonagall herself was walking through the rows, watching them struggle and occasionally stopping at a desk. Lily Evans, who was sharing a desk with Aly, must have done something right, because she earned a small nod from Professor McGonagall. ‘Very well, Ms Evans, keep it up.’
Then she was heading for the back of the classroom, and Remus could feel a wave of nerves welling up. He wasn’t ready to demonstrate anything! But it was quickly forgotten when he felt something sharp prod his cheek.
‘So – sorry, Remus!’ Peter shrieked and pulled back what appeared to be his wand.
‘Mr Pettigrew,’ Professor McGonagall said sharply. She had stopped before their desk. ‘Mr Lupin will need his eyes to complete the assignment.’
‘I – of course, I know, I’m so sorry, I – sorry, Remus–’
‘And I don’t remember brandishing my wand like this when I showed you the incantation,’ said Professor McGonagall. ‘Precision will get you farther than show, Mr Pettigrew.’
‘No – I – sorry.’
Remus hesitated for a moment – torn between getting it right and not wanting to bother anyone. Professor McGonagall’s eyebrows rose above the rim of her square spectacles, and the first one won out.
‘Could you… maybe show it again?’ He had been paying close attention, but perhaps he had gotten something wrong.
Professor McGonagall regarded him for a moment, then said, ‘Just this once.’ She pulled out her wand and pointed it at the match. ‘Acufieri.’
This hadn’t helped all that much; she had done it exactly like he remembered. And yet – his match, so willing to turn into metal when ordered by Professor McGonagall to do so, had stayed exactly that when prodded by Remus – a match.
She transformed it back. ‘Mr Lupin?’
He cleared his throat, pointed his wand at the match and said, with all the determination he could muster, ‘Acufieri.’
Absolutely nothing happened.
‘Just keep trying, Mr Lupin,’ said Professor McGonagall, then turned to—‘Mr Black, Mr Potter,’ her voice now uncharacteristically sharp—sharper even than when she had scolded Peter for nearly stabbing Remus in the eye. ‘I was under the impression I said there would be no messing around in my classroom.’
‘You did,’ said James, for some reason sounding thrilled.
‘Then please explain why it is you aren’t practising the spell,’ said Professor McGonagall.
‘We were talking about transfiguring one material into another, like this match. Wood into metal,’ said James, as if it were the most natural topic in the world. ‘And of course that led us to Waffling’s “form follows function, follows focus” theory, which we found a bit lacking.’
Remus remembered the name Waffling from one of their textbooks, Magical Theory. He had skimmed a few chapters, but it sounded as though James had memorised the whole thing. Were they supposed to have done this?
‘You found it a bit lacking?’ Professor McGonagall repeated. Remus couldn’t tell whether she was simply incredulous or irritated.
Whatever the case —James was completely unfazed. He leaned across his desk, eager to drag Professor McGonagall into their discussion. ‘Of course focus and function are important, but Sirius thinks understanding the spell is… well—’ he grinned ‘—material to the success.’
Professor McGonagall slowly turned to Sirius, who was no longer leaning back in his chair. He had placed his arms on the desk and shot James a quick glance before raising his gaze to meet hers.
‘What I meant is,’ he said, ‘obviously the function—as Waffling calls it—is important. Obviously it's important to know what a needle is for the spell to work. I just find that understanding the components of the spell helps… backs up the focus, puts more force behind it. Even if it’s not exactly material.’
‘You find that, Mr Black?’ said Professor McGonagall in a strange tone.
Listening to James and Sirius, Remus figured that they probably hadn’t struggled with Professor McGonagall’s explanations at the beginning of class. And still. He couldn’t help but be a bit surprised — he hadn’t thought James and Sirius cared much for magical theory.
‘He says he knows Ancient Greek,’ said James, to which Sirius shook his head.
‘Thank you, Mr Potter, for this contribution—unprompted and unnecessary as it is,’ said Professor McGonagall. That shut James up and painted a sulky expression on his features. ‘How is it you came to your findings, Mr Black?’
‘I—my father says so,’ said Sirius, clenching his jaw again. ‘And I never said I know Greek.’
‘Your… father is not completely mistaken,’ said Professor McGonagall. ‘However, as you said yourself, it’s very much not material to work the spell. I’m afraid in this class we won’t have the time to dissect the spells we are working with, however much benefit that would bring. Ancient Runes deals with the composition of spells—you might be interested in that—’
James opened his mouth, but Professor McGonagall levelled him with a stern look.
‘—from third year on,’ she said, and James sagged down. ‘In the meantime I expect you to move your focus from theory to practice.’ She waved a curt hand. ‘Please.’
James cleared his throat, pointed his wand at the match, and said, ‘Acufieri.’
To Remus’—and by the look of it, also Professor McGonagall’s—surprise, the match morphed into a needle. It wasn’t quite as sharp as Professor McGonagall’s had been, but a needle all the same.
James grinned at Sirius. ‘See.’ He didn’t seem the least bit surprised that his spell had worked. ‘No need to know any Greek.’
‘It wouldn’t help you any if you did,’ said Professor McGonagall. ‘The spell is derived from Latin.’
‘Oh,’ said James, still grinning. ‘Well…’ He picked up the transformed match, waving it about like a tiny sword. ‘I do know that this is a needle.’
Sirius rolled his eyes. Remus had the sneaking suspicion there was a snarky remark sitting on the tip of his tongue, and Professor McGonagall’s presence was the only barrier keeping it in.
‘Mr Potter, if I see you so much as going near someone with that needle, you will leave my class,’ said Professor McGonagall. ‘Mr Black, the spell, please.’
A moment later, Sirius was grinning smugly at James. He picked up what — seconds ago — had been a match. ‘That is what I call a needle.’
Pinched between his fingers rested a silver, perfectly sharp needle.
<><>
‘That was unfair,’ James complained later that day, as they pushed through the groups of decisively larger students clogging up the corridors. ‘You practised that at home already!’
‘I thought you owned the miracle wand—perfect for Transfiguration and all,’ said Sirius with a shrug.
Remus wished he hadn’t already gotten lost twice that day, or else he might have felt confident enough to walk to Charms on his own. As it happened, however, one of the pair seemed to know the way, and so their whole class was trailing after them.
‘McGonagall should have given us points,’ said James. ‘Not Evans.’
‘It’s just points.’ Sirius shrugged again, but James stuck up his chin.
‘It’s the principle of the thing,’ he said. ‘It’s not fair.’
Aside from James and Sirius, only Lily Evans had forced her matchstick to change—albeit it wasn’t exactly a needle. By the end of the lesson it had looked a bit as if someone had dipped it in silver paint. That had earned her a small smile from Professor McGonagall and five points for Gryffindor. James had asked why he and Sirius weren’t awarded points even though they ‘actually did it’.
‘You should be grateful I’m not taking points after you both chose to ignore my instructions to have a chat,’ she had said. ‘This is my classroom, and you’re well advised to remember it is I who am making the rules. No, Mr Potter, I won’t argue about this.’ Her lips had curled slightly as she regarded James, but James, face flushed, had already turned around and stomped off.
‘Hadn’t pegged you as the principle kind of guy,’ said Sirius. ‘Good to know, though.’ He made a movement with his right forefinger, as if ticking off an invisible box, then stopped in the middle of the hallway. Apparently they had reached their destination. ‘James Potter, mad about rules.’
‘I—’ James began, but when he saw the smile threatening to break free on Sirius’ face, he made to shove Sirius. ‘Oh, bugger off.’
‘If I would only remember this,’ said Sirius, mocking. He was still fighting to keep his expression neutral; a losing battle. ‘Maybe I should make a list.’
‘Maybe I should hex you,’ said James.
‘In Greek?’
‘Tripping Jinx will do.’
‘Oh no, not that half-arsed Tripping Jinx again. Worked so well on the train already.’ Now Sirius was grinning. ‘And that’s assuming you’d even get to me.’
‘You bet I would.’ James made to shove him again, but Sirius dodged.
‘I bet my knees’ll never be the same,’ he said.
The classroom door opened and a tiny professor beckoned them inside. Sirius cocked his head and actually winked at James. ‘Come on, then. Your chance to win some points, Jamie.’
<><>
Sirius Black might not believe in prophecies, but his prediction turned out to be correct.
Their tiny professor—Professor Flitwick—started the lesson by going through the register, which offered Remus the opportunity to whip out his unfinished list and add the names he was still missing. However, it proved difficult, as his and Peter’s desk was yet again at the back of the classroom, meaning he was left only with the backs of his classmates to make sense of.
Christopher Ackerley – ....... dark hair, narrow shoulders
David Jordan – ....... long hair, dark skin, really tall
Susan Perks – Susan sees through specs (glasses, dark brown hair)
Ann Robins – ....... dark hair, almost black, very small (I think she has a tooth gap?)
Barron Saunders – Fawcett’s friend – avoid!!!
Linda Sloper – large landmark lives on Linda (brown hair, big mole on back of the neck)
Arion Zeller – ....... dark hair
Remus frowned at his ‘work’. He would have to go over it again, especially to come up with something for the ones he had missed out so far. But it would do for now. Peter, who had been peering over Remus’ shoulder, gave him a thumbs up.
Professor Flitwick finished with Arion Zeller. He had run through the register quickly, except once, when he stopped to ask Rebecca (Madley) how her mother was.
‘Professor Flitwick,’ said Susan Perks once Professor Flitwick was done, ‘is it true you won the Dunstable Duelling Championship?’
‘Is it true I’m sucking up to a professor already,’ Fawcett parroted in a high voice, one desk ahead of Remus.
Their professor, who had to stand atop a stack of books to look over his desk, nodded. ‘It is, it is,’ he said, as if saying it quickly might help him get rid of the question sooner.
‘Cool,’ said a male voice somewhere close to the front. Facing a set of backs really wasn’t helping much, but Remus figured he had to lie in the bed he had made himself. He hadn’t wanted the others’ attention on him, and this was the downside of that.
‘Didn’t you win it twice?’ said Rebecca Madley. ‘Mum says—’
‘This is not on the curriculum,’ insisted Professor Flitwick hastily.
‘But it’s interesting,’ said James Potter.
‘If you are interested in duelling, it’d be best we started our lesson,’ said Professor Flitwick.
Excited whispers followed these words. Remus could actually see a few of his classmates sit a little straighter.
‘All magic begins with magical theory,’ said Professor Flitwick, and the class groaned.
<><>
There was no practical assignment this lesson. Instead, Professor Flitwick summarised the basics of magical theory: the different approaches different cultures had to spell- and wandwork, and how the theory behind working magic influenced the various branches of it.
Remus found it much easier to follow Professor Flitwick than to follow Professor McGonagall, and he actually enjoyed the explanations and the pace the class was taking.
It was all a little overwhelming as it was—he didn’t mind having extra time for it to settle before he was asked to do more spells, even if his father had begun teaching him a few simple ones.
At one point, James Potter—who, just like Sirius Black, hadn’t taken out a parchment, much less taken notes—raised his hand to ask a question about Waffling’s theory on will and intent, which Professor Flitwick had just started explaining.
‘Why make this distinction? Isn’t will key to every spell?’
The question made Remus’ head hurt for a few seconds before he understood what James was playing at. Without will you weren't doing anything.
Professor Flitwick, however, was nothing short of delighted by James’ question, which he deemed ‘very clever’, and he promptly awarded Gryffindor house ten points.
‘I’m sorry, Professor,’ said Mary, ‘but I don’t really understand the difference. I need to want to cast a spell for it to work. Isn’t that it?’
‘No need to be sorry, Ms Dobbs,’ said Professor Flitwick. ‘That’s what we’re here for, to learn. And you’re not wrong, but sometimes the imp’s in the details. Maybe one of your classmates knows the difference?’
His friendly gaze drifted over the class, searching for volunteers, but not even James raised his hand to step in—although Remus was pretty sure he knew the difference. He was almost seventy percent sure he himself knew the difference, although he had no real concept of magical theory. He knew his mum would want him to be more confident, to try at least, but Fawcett was already sneering again and Remus had neither the will nor the intent to step into the spotlight and make himself an easy target—yet again.
Still, no one had answered, and Sirius turned to James. Professor Flitwick mistook it as an offer to participate and beamed at him. ‘Yes, Mr Black!’
Sirius didn’t look at all pleased to be dragged into the discussion, and even less so when half the class turned around expectantly.
‘Will is determination and intent is purpose, isn’t it,’ he said, sounding almost bored.
Mary Dobbs kept looking at him in confusion, a big crease parting her forehead.
‘Yes,’ said Professor Flitwick, ‘would you mind explaining in your own words?’
Sirius hesitated. Then, he nodded. He turned to Mary and said, ‘Of course you have to want to cast a spell, as you put it. That’s true in any case. But will means doing something in the first place, and intent—well, it guides it. Will is more important, because if you don’t do anything, there’s nothing to guide… like James said… Without will you might just as well be unconscious.’
He stopped, eyes flickering to Professor Flitwick, waiting. When the professor didn’t do anything but smile, Sirius said, ‘So, you need will for every spell. And for some spells, that’s enough—like Lumos. But some spells won’t work like that. You need a a channel, something to guide your will. Like…’ He seemed to consider. ‘Like… there’s dark curses that won’t work without intent. So.. will is force, but intent is your channel, if that makes sense.’
Quiet murmurs erupted among their classmates; the atmosphere shifting. Rebecca Madley and Christopher Ackerley in particular were shooting Sirius looks Remus didn’t know how to place. He, too, couldn’t help but wonder how Sirius and James knew all this.
Remus had opened his books before coming to Hogwarts, he really had, but he couldn’t have explained magical theory like that. Perhaps he should have recited it to his mother, like he usually did with his novels. Perhaps it would have stuck better.
‘Very right. There’s many charms that require both strong will and intent,’ said Professor Flitwick, nodding. ‘Some dark curses, but also other spells. And then there’s emotions playing a role as well. But this is all advanced magic. For now, it’s enough to remember what Mr Black said. Will drives action, intent guides it. Another ten points to Gryffindor.’
<><>
‘He didn’t even hand out homework,’ said Susan, the bespectacled girl, as one by one they trickled out of the classroom. ‘Do you think he forgot?’ Beside her, Rebecca shot Sirius another strange look but remained silent.
‘By all means, go back and tell him,’ said Fawcett—Jacob, Remus had to remind himself.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ James asked, but Jacob pushed into the mass of black robes belonging to much taller students and disappeared, his friend trailing after him. Remus didn’t miss that James purposefully stumbled into Fawcett, pushing him a little as he passed.
‘I don’t like him,’ said James.
Sirius hummed. ‘But you’re so subtle about it.’
From where Remus was standing, he couldn’t detect too many differences between James, Sirius, and Jacob. But maybe that was the point. Maybe this was just another competition and James didn't like that Jacob was running circles around them.
‘How do you know all that? Is it something you guys just know?’ Mary asked, turning to James and Sirius and putting the question Remus had been asking himself since Transfiguration into words.
‘Well, Dad isn’t very keen on flying anymore,’ said James. ‘There’s not much to do. And Mum always says if you don’t understand the how the what will suck.’
Sirius snorted.
‘And you?’ said Mary, looking at Sirius.
‘My mother always says don’t knock into the umbrella stand, it was a gift,’ said Sirius, but when Mary didn’t cave, he added, ‘it’s something you know, at least where I—’ but he fell silent.
Mary opened her mouth, but in that moment, Rebecca’s fingers closed around her arm.
‘Come on Mary,’ she said, pulling her along, away from James and Sirius.
‘Did you understand what Professor Flitwick said about the Fundamental Laws of Magic?’ asked Peter with a thoughtful expression as they headed downstairs.
‘Didn’t you say your brother was a Curse-Breaker, Pettigrew?’ said Sirius, turning around and walking backwards.
For someone who seemed to be annoyed by just about everything — but definitely Peter — Remus found he was taking a lot of interest in conversations that were none of his business. As if it was a given that everyone wanted to hear his opinion, when all Remus actually wanted was for him to shut up.
‘Yes, he’s in Iceland at the moment, working on a secret project to secure the—’
‘It’s a dangerous job, isn’t it,’ said Sirius. ‘Pretty prestigious.’
‘Oh yes.’ Peter beamed at him, not even offended that Sirius had cut him off. He seemed to take the compliment directed at his brother — his brother’s job, that was — as a personal victory. Sirius’ lips twitched and a horrible suspicion turned Remus’ stomach. He was setting him up.
‘You’d need bare newts,’ said Sirius, and Remus frowned, wondering what bare newts had to do with it. Peter frowned too, and Sirius rolled his eyes. ‘Point is, you’d need to be smart,’ he said, eyes roaming over Peter.
James began to laugh. ‘My, Pettigrew—’
‘Let him,’ said Sirius. ‘He’ll catch on. Maybe even this side of Christmas.’
And Peter did catch on that he was being made fun of, flushing a deep red. Remus felt conflicted — he didn’t like Peter being treated like that, but he could neither afford nor did he want to put himself in the line.
He waited until James and Sirius were once more engrossed with one another, then quietly said to Peter, ‘I think I understood what Professor Flitwick was talking about. My dad explained a bit to me. We could go through it later, if you want to?’
‘Really?’ said Peter. ‘That’d be great, thank you… And — and maybe we could practise for Transfiguration together?’ he added in a sort of hopeful voice.
Remus wasn’t exactly sure what Peter hoped to gain from that, considering Remus’ own limited — not to say non-existent — progress with his match, but Peter was smiling at him and Remus didn’t have the heart to point it out.
‘Of course.’
‘Thanks,’ said Peter.
However, it kept bothering Peter. When they were standing before Greenhouse One, waiting for their first ever Herbology lesson to start, he said,
‘I knew I’d be awful.’
‘It was the first lesson,’ said Remus, sounding more confident than he felt. Transfiguration was giving him a headache already. ‘I’m sure it’ll be alright.’ Would it be? He hoped. He was speaking it into existence. Predicting.
Peter turned to Lily, who was standing a little to the side. ‘How — how did you do it? Your match — how did you make it turn?’
Lily, who wasn’t engaging in the conversation the other girls were having, blinked. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I just wanted it to change and it did. I’m sorry, I can’t really tell you anything else.’
Peter pursed his lips.
‘It’s all about willpower,’ said James with a slightly sour expression, as if not bearing being disregarded — when he, not Lily, had completed the great feat of actually turning the match into a needle. Remus figured he was probably still sulking over the points Lily had earned for Gryffindor. ‘And — no offence, Evans, but yours wasn’t too strong. It was more of a silver-coloured wood stick than a needle, wasn’t it?’
‘Thank you for your opinion — unprompted and unnecessary as it is,’ she said, mimicking Professor McGonagall’s words, and tilting her head. ‘Any more tips?’
‘It’s still rather impressive that her of all people got it to change,’ said Sirius before James could answer.
‘Don’t speak about me as if I’m not even here,’ Lily snapped.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ said Rebecca, her eyes narrowing at once. ‘Her of all people?’
Sirius shrugged. ‘Just that you wouldn’t think Evans of all people would manage to transform the match. And not, let’s say you, Madley. Or Fawcett. Or Ackerley. It’s cool, isn’t it.’
‘What does he mean, Lily of all people?’ asked Mary, but no one answered her.
The air seemed to have thickened around them. All of a sudden, James looked uncharacteristically stern, almost apprehensive, and Rebecca was fixing Sirius with an uncanny intensity.
‘My mother is Muggle-born,’ she said, her voice rising with a hidden challenge. ‘Have a problem with that?’
‘Why would I?’
‘Yeah, why would you of all people have a problem with that, Black,’ Rebecca scoffed. ‘Dropping comments since yesterday evening and thinking we’re too stupid to pick up on it. I’ll tell you what — I don’t care who your family is. I’m not having this.’
Grabbing Mary’s arm again, Rebecca dragged her a few steps to the side.
‘What’s the matter with her?’ said Sirius. ’What does she even mean, I’m dropping comments?’
‘You were a bit surprised by Evans’, let’s call it progress,’ said James, frowning slightly.
‘But I said it’s cool!’ said Sirius. ‘What’s wrong with that?’
James Potter looked as if he would prefer to be anywhere but here, having this conversation. ‘Yeah, but… Do you remember what happened yesterday evening?’
‘I was there, James, and I don’t remember having my memory wiped.'
‘But you wouldn't remember that,’ James joked, then, when no one laughed, added, more sincerely, ‘It’s sort of the same situation.’
‘But I — I don’t think like… that,’ said Sirius, sounding confused, sounding defensive.
‘I know, mate,’ said James. ‘I don’t think they do, though.’
‘But I’m in Gryffindor.’ Despite the force in Sirius' voice, it was almost quivering with some suppressed emotion. Whether it was anger or something else, Remus couldn’t tell.
‘I don’t think that’ll do,’ said James.
‘I see.’ Sirius’ eyes were hard. ‘Well, in that case…’
Remus moved closer to Peter.
‘What happened yesterday evening?’ Remus asked lowly. He didn’t really care, but if James and Sirius were so insistent on putting themselves front and center whatever they did, it was only fair if he knew what he was dealing with. After all, they lived together. The thought alone pulled the corners of his mouth downwards.
‘I don’t really know,’ said Peter. ‘I was in the bathroom, and when I got back into the common room there was this older student hissing at him. Sirius, I mean. Black, I mean. Sirius Black.’
‘Mh,’ Remus hummed. That was a non-information if he’d ever heard one. Pushing Sirius Black out of his mind, he said, ‘Are you excited about Herbology?’
‘My brother gave me an Iceroot for my last birthday,’ said Peter excitedly.
‘That sounds interesting,’ said Remus, having no idea what an Iceroot was.
‘They’re pretty cool,’ said Peter. ‘William says they have to be planted under the Northern Lights before they bloom the first time. They soak it in. And then, when they bloom, the petals glow like the Northern Lights. It also has powers.’ He pulled a face, as if trying to remember the powers, but nothing followed.
Remus hummed again.
‘Mine hasn’t bloomed yet.’ The excited expression was gone. ‘I don’t think it will. I think I killed it.’
‘Oh.’
‘Dad was a bit mad about it,’ said Peter, staring at the ground. ‘He wanted to use the petals and the root for his potions.’
Remus wondered how Peter’s dad could even consider chopping up the plant his son had gotten for his birthday.
‘But wouldn’t that kill it?’
‘Yeah, I think I killed it,’ said Peter with a frown. ‘Didn’t I say so?’
‘Did you cut off the roots?’
‘No, why would I?’ said Peter.
Remus shook his head. ‘What I mean is—’ but he stopped. What was the use in pointing it out — if Remus’ suspicion was correct, that was. He didn’t want to make Peter any more sad about his plant. It was dead anyhow. ‘Never mind,’ he said, letting his gaze drift over the greenhouse. ‘I’m sure that was just bad luck… Who knows, maybe you’re just about to discover a hidden talent?’
Peter just laughed nervously.
<><>
Peter did not discover a hidden talent.
Quite the reverse, in fact. Not only did he knock over a bag of Professor Sprout’s favourite fertiliser, he then also forgot to put on his dragon-hide gloves before touching the seeds they were supposed to be working with that day. Nasty red blotches appeared all over his pale skin, and he was sent to the Hospital Wing.
Remus, however, found that he liked Herbology. At home, he had sometimes helped his mother in their small garden, and this wasn’t all that different. Plants were plants, he supposed. Yes, he needed to be more careful than when dealing with his mum’s herbs and flowers, but Muggle plants had different needs too. Most importantly, he didn’t need his wand to plant the seeds, which was a relief.
At the end of the lesson, a thin sheen of sweat was covering his forehead, making his hair stick to it annoyingly. But apart from that, he was feeling better.
Perhaps he wasn’t a completely lost cause.
After Peter’s self-induced injury, Remus had been paired with some blonde Hufflepuff girl named Greta Catchlove to work on their seeds together. She seemed nice enough and made for a good partner.
All the while, James and Sirius engaged in a mud-version of a snowball fight no sooner than Professor Sprout had finished her instructions and turned around. It lost them half the points they had earned Gryffindor during Charms.
Peter hadn’t returned by the time Professor Sprout dismissed the class.
Remus followed the rest of the class back into the Entrance Hall and stopped, watching the other Gryffindors climb up the staircase while the Hufflepuffs entered a door and disappeared somewhere Remus had never been.
One older student, a girl with dark blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail, shot him a strange look as he stood there beside the Entrance Portal, unmoving. He considered looking for Peter, but they would probably miss each other before Remus made it to the Hospital Wing.
He decided to post the letter to his parents.
The Owlery was probably in one of the towers. Upstairs, then.
He climbed up the big staircase and another, passing older students, suits of armour, paintings, and tapestries. Once, he almost stumbled into another student when one of the ghosts chose that exact moment to glide out of a door before him.
He was just walking along a corridor on the fourth floor when a loud metallic clatter behind him startled him. Remus turned around just in time to see that one of the suits of armour had moved in its spot.
‘Never seen that before?’ came a somewhat derisive voice, and Remus winced. He hadn’t noticed someone creeping up on him. He turned, expecting another ghost to have floated into sight, but no—he was still alone in the corridor.
It had been the painting on the wall talking to him. It showed an old man—a wizard—in a white nightshirt, perched at a small table.
The man laughed. It wasn’t a friendly sound.
‘Surprised that I can speak, boy? Are you a Muggle or simply a fool?’
‘Neither,’ said Remus, hoping it to be true.
The man—the painting—didn’t care much for his answer. He seemed content to have a conversation with himself.
‘I hear Muggles and Squips befuddle this place these days,’ he said. He eyed Remus with sharp scrutiny, as if still deciding what to think of him. ‘You are fortunate that I find myself with little to occupy me.’
Remus thought the man was definitely overestimating the appeal of his company, rude as he was, but what he said was, ‘Um, alright.’
‘Are you sure you are not a fool?’ said the man. ‘Are you not lost, boy? Pray, where is it you wish to go?’
A minute later, Remus had changed directions, heading back the way he had come. He passed a floor-length mirror, then ascended another staircase, and another, repeating the instructions the painting had given him in his head until he had climbed the last staircase.
Supporting himself on his thighs, he took a moment to catch his breath, pushing away all thoughts of the full moon and how his lungs would burn after Sunday.
He was standing before another painting, showing a bare stretch of grass with a fat dapple-grey pony grazing. A short, squat knight in armour was sitting atop it, urging the pony to move with all his might. It didn’t budge an inch.
The knight cursed under his breath and doubled his efforts, his panting matching Remus’. Whenever he rocked forward, his visor clattered down with a loud thud, and he would straighten up and curse again.
Remus watched him for half a minute, not even realising when his breathing had returned to normal.
He wasn’t sure where to take it from here—the painting’s instructions had been somewhat confusing. Perhaps, he should ask the knight.
‘Excuse me?’ said Remus.
The knight didn’t react. Remus gave a little wave.
‘Excuse me, Sir?’
This at last gained him the knight’s attention. Hand on his visor, he turned his upper body to Remus. His pony was still grazing lazily, completely unbothered by the man astride its back.
‘A trespasser!’ the knight yelled so suddenly that Remus took a step back. ‘Declare yourself, knave! Who sent you to spy upon Sir Cadogan? I shall hunt down your cowardly masters to warrant they meet their fate by my hand!’
Confused, Remus watched as the knight dug his heels into the sides of the pony—which stirred exactly no reaction—then hopped off. When he landed on his feet, he overbalanced and toppled to the ground. It took him three attempts to haul himself upright, and only then did he manage by using his sword to prop himself up.
‘I’m here for help,’ said Remus quickly. The knight was trying to draw his sword and point it at him. ‘Or, well, I’m not here because of that, but—’
‘Ha! Help!’ the knight yelled. ‘Sir Cadogan forsakes all pity! My stout-hearted steed shall be all the aid I need to conquer whatever trials destiny dares throw in my path!’
‘No,’ said Remus, suddenly grateful for the old-fashioned novels he had read every once in a while —if only for lack of alternatives. ‘I am the one in need of guidance.’ He blinked, wondering why he, too, was suddenly talking so strangely.
The knight stopped so abruptly in his attempt to unsheathe his sword that, clanging, his visor fell shut. He flipped it up, staring back.
‘I’m new. At Hogwarts, I mean,’ said Remus, ‘and I think I got lost. I asked another portrait, down on the fourth floor—’
‘And those dogs offered you no escort?’ the knight cut in, sounding no less outraged than before. His breath came in little ragged huffs, and he bent to lean on his sword, which he had drilled into the ground. One hand was now resting on his visor to keep it from clattering down again. ‘A travesty! A stain upon the name of camaraderie itself! A slaughter of virtue!’ He shook his little fist into the air, the loss of support causing the visor to fall shut at once. ‘Merlin himself would rage against such dishonour, such inglorious—’
‘No,’ said Remus, before the knight could completely lose himself in his monologue. ‘He told me how to get to the Owlery, but I think I—’
‘The Owlery, you say?’ said the knight, his voice dropping dramatically. He heaved a great sigh.
‘Yes?’ said Remus.
The knight straightened his back and yanked his sword out of the ground. He brandished it with great vigour, and Remus thought he would overbalance again—it was far too long for the short knight.
‘You have been deceived, my dear friend!’ the knight yelled. ‘An attack on honesty of the most ignoble sort! Tonight you have become victim to the highest disgrace! But fear not! You stand now in the company of Sir Cadogan! I shall escort you to this place you seek, and together, we shall tackle every quest and succeed or perish with valour!’
And without awaiting Remus’ answer, the knight stumbled out of his portrait.