larger than life

No one perished. The greatest challenge Remus faced was keeping up with Sir Cadogan, who, despite huffing for breath, hurried through the portraits—most of whom looked more than displeased at the intrusion.

At long last, Sir Cadogan bid Remus farewell with a great many important words and a pledge to serve justice to the rogue portrait that had tricked him. Remus wasn’t sure whether Sir Cadogan could actually stab another portrait, but he didn’t want to take any chances and end up responsible for its re-naming—Old Man Soaked in Blood, or something similar. He lied and told the knight he couldn’t remember.

Although, as his steps carried him up the staircase leading to the Owlery, Remus mused there was a good chance Sir Cadogan would impale himself on his own sword.

When Remus descended the staircase half an hour later, he felt a little lighter. It had taken him a while to find the way and to choose an owl, but he had managed—the letter was posted.

His mood stayed on an upswing. He made it down to the Entrance Hall with only one small detour when he ran into a little man with wicked dark eyes and a wide mouth, tampering with a door—a poltergeist, Remus knew from his father, who was an expert on Non-Beings. Although curious, Remus deemed it smarter to back away before he was noticed.

The Great Hall was already packed with students. Peter was sitting halfway down the table.

‘Remus! I was waiting for you!’ Peter quickly budged up, moving along the bench to make more room. His hands were covered in thick white bandages.

‘How are your hands?’ Remus asked.

‘Better,’ said Peter. ‘Madam Pomfrey put some stuff on them. Was Professor Sprout very mad?’

‘No,’ said Remus, although Professor Sprout had seemed a tad annoyed that Peter hadn’t listened closely enough. He eyed the plate of steaks before him and chose one that looked a little less cooked than the others.

‘It’s the first lesson. It’s not like that’ll doom your whole school career,’ said Sirius, who was sitting across from them.

Remus looked up in surprise, and his steak almost slid from the makeshift pliers he had formed with his knife and fork.

Sirius rolled his eyes. ‘Watch your steak, Lupin,’ he said, before turning to talk to James.

<><>

‘Where’ve you been?’ Peter asked that evening in their dorm. He was setting up a chessboard on Remus’ bed.

Remus wasn’t exactly in the mood to play, but Peter had looked so hopeful when he had asked that he hadn’t found it in himself to turn him down.

‘Earlier, I mean. I was looking for you.’

‘I went to the Owlery to post the letter,’ said Remus. Then, as one of Peter’s chess pieces made an abrupt movement, he frowned. ‘Erm, Peter—did that knight just yell at me?’

If so, it was becoming a theme.

'Yes, I think,' said Peter, unfazed. A look of deep concentration was lining his face as he mulled over his next movement. 

Remus had played chess before—he wasn’t particularly good at it, but he understood the rules. But wizard’s chess was nothing like normal chess. Muggle chess pieces were much more pliant—never before had Remus been called an idiot by a game.

Peter’s chess pieces weren’t exactly keen on listening to him. In fact, Remus soon realised he wasn’t the only one who had been dragged into this match against his will. It didn’t take long to understand why.

He had been so distracted by the knight’s shouting that he hadn’t noticed one of his castles was in danger—not before it was too late. Peter’s bishop smashed it in half and shoved the broken pieces aside.

‘It’s all right,’ Peter said with a small chuckle, probably catching Remus’ aghast expression. ‘It’ll mend itself later.’

But the castle was still moaning beside the chessboard, mourning its fate and the loss of its bottom half. The rest of Remus’ pieces had now come to the final—and correct—assessment that he had no idea what he was doing. They kept yelling confusing and contradictory instructions at him, while one of his pawns repeated chants of: ‘I’m going to die.’

‘Have you never played chess before?’ Peter chuckled when Remus hesitated for over a minute.

‘Normal chess, yes,’ said Remus. ‘Not this. Is it always this… aggressive?’

Peter frowned in thought. ‘I… well, I guess? I wouldn’t call it aggressive. They just like to make a bit of a fuss.’ He pointed at Remus’ castle, which had indeed put itself back together and was now crawling—rolling?—away from him as quickly as possible. ‘See? He’s all right again.’

That was debatable, Remus thought. The castle was still whimpering. But he just smiled at Peter and did his best to save his queen, hoping to avoid getting on the bad side of another piece.

He failed. Dismally.

The best thing to be said about the game was that it didn’t take long. And, of course, that it had improved Peter’s mood, which—well. Maybe Remus hadn’t failed after all.

When Peter took his king, James and Sirius had stopped whatever they had been doing in relative quiet on James’ bed. Around them lay a selection of books, some flipped open, others sitting precariously close to the edge.

‘So, first Defence lesson tomorrow,’ James said, stretching his legs against his headboard and pushing one of the tomes even closer to the edge. ‘You reckon we’ll do some duelling?’

‘First year?’ said Sirius. ‘Hardly. It’s just basics, isn’t it?’

‘But they say it’s a new professor,’ said James. ‘Who knows? Maybe Dumbledore changed the syllabus. That girl said he’s swapping out Defence professors. Maybe he’s not happy with how things have been going. Maybe he wants a more hands-on approach, with everything that’s happening.’

‘Maybe,’ said Sirius. For some reason, he didn’t seem half as excited as James at the prospect of learning duelling spells.

‘Flitwick should’ve told us more about it,’ said James. ‘I didn’t know he won the Championships. My dad wasn’t half bad at duelling himself.’

‘Was it him who taught you that tripping jinx, then?’ Sirius asked, amusement in his voice.

‘No, practised that on my own,’ said James.

‘Unsupervised? At home?’ Sirius asked, an unreadable expression on his face.

‘Well, yeah. Just a few spells. Right after we came back from Ollivander’s, before Mum asked me to hand over my wand.’ James rubbed the back of his head. Remus thought James’ mother seemed to know her son very well.

When he had begun teaching him, Remus’ dad had told him that, technically, underage wizards and witches weren’t allowed to practise magic, but since his dad wasn’t supposed to have a werewolf son that he was hiding, they had felt it didn’t carry much weight.

That had been before Dumbledore’s visit.

‘Look,’ said James. ‘I know it’s not allowed and I don’t want Dad to get into trouble, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t…’

‘What do you take me for?’ Sirius said. ‘A snitch? A prefect? Swear on my wand, I’m not.’

James grinned, shoulders relaxing. ‘I didn’t think you were,’ he said, sticking up his chin. ‘Just checking…’ He exhaled, long and slow—a happy sound. ‘I hope the Defence professor is good. Who knows? Maybe he’ll bring in a chimaera.’

‘Or an imp!’ Sirius flicked a small black thing at James, who, swift as a hawk, opened his mouth and caught it between his teeth.

<><>

The next morning, Defence Against the Dark Arts was the only topic among the Gryffindor first-years. For some reason, no other class caused as much excitement.

‘I hope we learn something about healing,’ said Mary Dobbs, glancing around the table. ‘My mum bought me a book in that wizard bookshop—it sounds fascinating. Mending bones in a heartbeat! When I broke my ankle, I had to walk around in a cast for weeks.’

‘Healing is pretty difficult,’ said Arion Zeller, one of the few people Remus hadn’t yet found a rhyme for to remember his name. Nevertheless, his list and going through it behind closed curtains this morning had already paid off.

‘He should at least bring in a ghoul,’ said James, his voice leaving no doubt he would be deeply disappointed by anything less interesting.

‘A ghoul?’ said Sirius amusedly. ‘Brave.’

‘You said there wouldn’t be a chimaera,’ James said. 

‘And I say there won’t be a ghoul either.’

‘And we all know your word rules,’ Rebecca muttered. Lily, however, looked as though she was fighting to keep the curious expression from her face.

‘Well, I can hope, can’t I?’ said James, ignoring Rebecca. He raised his left hand. ‘Fingers crossed for a ghoul.’

‘Maybe they’ll bring in a werewolf,’ said Aly. ‘I hear there are werewolves in the forest.’

Sirius, whose mood seemed to have dropped considerably, scoffed loudly.

Remus jerked his knife against his plate, dropping it with a metallic clatter. Trying to reach for it before it slid off the table, he landed his palm in his toast.

He glanced around. Luckily, no one was looking at him. 

James huffed, fork stilling in the air. ‘And then we wait for the full moon before he becomes interesting, or what?’ He searched for Sirius’ eyes, who, after a beat, exhaled and jumped in.

‘That’d be a great lesson,’ he said. ‘Meet Michael. He’s very lame except for one night a month.’

Remus was shaking. He hid his hand under the table and began wiping off the jam, his heart racing. He had known he would have to face this eventually. But not this quickly. Not this close to a full moon. He wasn't prepared. 

‘Who knows,’ said James, wiggling his eyebrows. ‘I bet Michael could tell us a thing or two about what’s going on in the forest.’

Sirius’ reply was cut off by a large dark owl landing before James, nudging him gently with her beak. James petted her affectionately and began untying the small yellow envelope she was carrying when a tawny owl dropped a red envelope on Sirius’ plate.

Remus thought it looked rather ordinary, but Sirius' face had gone pale—paler than it already was—as if the arrival of the colourful envelope had flipped a switch that drained all colour from it. Brows drawn together, he stared at the envelope, unmoving.

Then, something unexpected happened. 

The envelope began to smoke at the corners, quivering on the plate. With an abrupt movement, Sirius slit it open.

Remus winced. A roar of sound filled the Great Hall. 

A deep female voice said,

‘I thought you knew better.’

For a split second, the Great Hall had fallen silent. Then a few older students laughed and resumed their conversations and breakfast. A few younger students had broken into whispers, and Remus thought he caught Mary ask, ‘What was that?’

Sirius himself was staring at the envelope, face blank, his hand clenched on the table. It wasn’t Sirius who reacted—it was James.

Jumping to his feet, he whipped out his wand, pointed it at the envelope and muttered something Remus didn’t catch over the rising whispers. A jet of red light erupted from the tip of his wand, but at that moment, Sirius jolted against James, misdirecting the spell.

The smell hit Remus first.

Lily’s hair was on fire.

Panic broke free. Lily’s squeals and the surrounding screams of ‘Fire!’ drew the attention of every last student towards the Gryffindor table.

James’ face was frozen in pure horror. Lily was flailing. Rebecca and Aly mirrored her, trying to put out the fire with their sleeves. Across the hall, people were laughing, and some older student was yelling from down the table, the screeching of owls mixing with the noise.

Then, everything happened very quickly. James had grabbed the jug of pumpkin juice at the same moment that a sharp voice cut through the racket.

‘Aguamenti!’

Professor McGonagall, striding over from the staff table, sent a jet of water pouring from her wand onto Lily’s head. When the fire had died down, she flicked her wand and the water stopped.

‘Miss Evans, are you all right?’

Her dark eyes scanned Lily, who was drenched as if she had jumped into the lake. Her dark red hair stuck to her forehead, drops of orange and clear water falling from the tips. The smell of burnt hair lingered in the air, turning Remus’ stomach.

‘I—think so,’ said Lily. Both her voice and her body were trembling.

The envelope had burst into flames and crumbled to pieces, sprinkling Sirius' plate with bits of burnt parchment. .

‘Miss Evans, I want you to go to the Hospital Wing to have Madam Pomfrey look at you. Miss Madley, if you’d be so kind to escort her? I will inform Professor Kalkan that you will be late.’

Whether from fright or the cold, a tremor rippled through Lily as she nodded, Rebecca’s arm slung around her shoulders. Trodding off, she left a trail of puddles in her wake. A few seats down the table, Jacob Fawcett looked as if he was trying very hard not to smile.

‘And you, Mr Potter,’ said Professor McGonagall, her voice nowhere close the volume of the strange envelope but no less intimidating. Her nostrils flared. ‘Never have I encountered such foolishness. You could have killed her. What were you thinking? You are a wizard, not a baboon brandishing a stick. Fifteen points from Gryffindor and detention!’

James’ mouth had dropped open.

‘And you will apologise to Miss Evans!’

<><>

James’ complaints carried them all the way up to their Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.

‘It’s not like I wanted to set her on fire,’ James said, his voice rising in a way that made a passing student glance at him. ‘How was I supposed to know that would happen—Sirius, say something!’

Sirius had stayed remarkably quiet since breakfast—since the Howler as Peter had called the letter. Remus wasn’t sure even a single word had left his lips

‘Why?’ said Sirius. ‘It’s not like it’s going to change anything.’

‘Yeah, but it’s rubbish!’ James insisted, as though the real injustice was the house points deduction and not that he had almost burnt off Lily’s hair—or worse.

‘I thought you didn’t care about house points?’ Remus heard himself say and regretted it instantly. 

Why was it so damn hard to just keep his mouth shut? Why did he keep investing energy in getting himself into trouble? Maybe he should search for a spell to seal it.

‘I don’t,’ said James, crossing his arms in front of his chest as if shielding himself from the truth that he, in fact, seemed to care very much. ‘It’s just not right! It’s her own house and I was just helping—’

‘You set Lily’s hair on fire,’ Mary stated. Her voice was soft, almost unsure. She was watching James carefully.

‘I didn’t mean to!’ James all but yelled.

‘Setting people on fire isn’t funny,’ said Sirius, with a face too straight to be sincere, oblivious to the look Aly was shooting him. She didn’t seem to think this was the time for humour.

‘Of course it isn’t.’ James exhaled sharply, glowering at the floor. ‘Are you all really so stupid as to think I was actually trying to kill her?’

‘Next time you should cast a Flame-Freezing Charm first. Then she’d have a laugh instead of, you know, almost becoming toast…’

‘I said I didn’t—’ James started before his eyes landed on Sirius, whose lips were now twitching. ‘Ah.’

With a huff, he seemed to deflate before their eyes, his own lips pulling into a small smile. ‘Yeah, maybe.’

‘What’s that commotion?’

The classroom door had opened, and a tall wizard with black hair and dark brown eyes had appeared. A small pendant dangled from his neck, the silver chain glinting against the dark grey of his loosely cut robes. His eyes landed on James Potter, and he smiled good-naturedly.

‘Mr Potter, if I’m not mistaken? Wasn’t it you who tried grilling your classmate?’

<><>

‘I am Professor Kalkan,’ said the tall wizard two minutes later, once everyone had settled down. With a few flicks of his wand, he had pushed back the desks until they lined the walls and asked the students to grab a chair each and form a circle.

‘I will be teaching you Defence Against the Dark Arts. I hope everyone has managed to get their hands on a copy of this?’ He raised Dissolving the Shadows: An Introduction. A quiet murmur of assent followed, and a few students nodded. ‘Good, but we won’t need it today,’ he said, dropping the book onto his lap. ‘Today, we’re just getting to know each other. Maybe we’ll start with some basics—we’ll see.’

‘Getting to know each other?’ Jacob Fawcett asked, pulling a face.

‘Exactly, Mr …?’

‘Fawcett.’

‘Mr Fawcett.’ Professor Kalkan smiled. ‘I know this is an unusual approach, but I find it most effective. Defence Against the Dark Arts is a complex and wide-ranging subject, and it’s important to start at the base—build the cornerstones. Without a foundation, our house crumbles.

‘We will learn many spells in this class—defensive and offensive—and we will encounter many creatures. But before we start throwing around hexes, I want you to understand what this class is truly about. Preparation, instinct—but also trust. Trust in yourself and in others. I want you to build trust with your classmates before you bat-bogey-hex them.’ He was still smiling. It looked natural on his face, as though he wasn’t even thinking about it. ‘Besides, this class is for you. I’d like to hear what you expect from it before we dive in.’

This was so different from all their other classes that Professor Kalkan was met with ringing silence. Not even James or Sirius seemed to know what to say in response to such an open invitation to speak.

‘Why don’t I start?’ said Professor Kalkan. He rubbed his palms together and placed them in his lap, leaning forward slightly. The silver pendant around his neck brushed against his knees. ‘My name is John Kalkan. This is my first year as a Hogwarts professor, so we’ll all be learning together. I graduated thirteen years ago, and since then, I’ve been working for the apothecary my family owns. But I’m thrilled to be back here and to meet all of you.’

‘Apothecary?’ said Christopher Ackerley. ‘You aren’t an Auror or a Curse-Breaker? Not even a Hit Wizard?’

Even though Ackerley had voiced the question, Remus could see the sentiment reflected on several of his classmates’ faces. James’ mouth was tilting downward, Sirius looked bored, Aly seemed disappointed, and someone to Remus’ left made a slightly derisive sound.

‘No,’ said Professor Kalkan, his smile unfaltering despite their reaction. ‘My father runs the business, and my job was to collect the more difficult ingredients. I know it doesn’t sound very adventurous, but you’d be surprised. Some of these things aren’t easy to come by. A broad understanding of both defensive spells and magical creatures certainly helps.’

‘But if you’re here now, who’s helping your father?’ asked Mary.

‘Luckily, I have a few siblings, all of them more capable than I am,’ said Professor Kalkan.

‘Why did we get you, then?’ Fawcett muttered under his breath.

‘Sorry, Mr Fawcett, I didn’t catch that?’ said Professor Kalkan, though there was no doubt he had.

The classroom door opened, sparing Jacob Fawcett an answer. Rebecca and Lily entered, Lily’s hair looking exactly as it had that morning before James had transformed her into a human torch.

Professor Kalkan straightened his back and waved his wand. Across the classroom, two chairs rose into the air and, hovering a few inches above the ground, floated over to the circle. They slid neatly into place between Mary Dobbs and Christopher Ackerley.

‘Miss Evans, Miss Madley, I assume? Professor McGonagall told me all about the misfortune that tied your fate to Mr Potter’s this morning.’

It was impossible to tell whether he was being serious or joking. Lily had drawn her brows together and shot James an irritable look when the professor mentioned his name.

‘Please, take a seat. You haven’t missed anything—we were just getting to know each other. I’m Professor Kalkan.’

‘Is that an Aurora amulet?’ asked Rebecca as she sank into her seat beside Mary. She pointed at the pendant dangling from Kalkan’s neck. ‘My mum owns one of those.’

‘Oh, yes, it is. Very keen eye, Miss Madley,’ said Professor Kalkan, picking up the pendant. ‘It glows when it picks up dark residual magical energy—that is, dark energy that lingers in places. Very useful, but I merely wear it for sentimental reasons.’

Rebecca opened her mouth, but Professor Kalkan, not unkindly, shut her down.

‘But I think that’s quite enough about me… Let’s hear about you.’

Professor Kalkan listened patiently to their expectations but never forced anyone to speak, which Remus was grateful for. Apprehensively, he waited for someone to bring up werewolves again, but no one did. Mary Dobbs talked about healing, David Jordan discussed protection spells, and Ann Robins mentioned dark creatures but kept it vague.

When no one had anything else to add, Professor Kalkan said,

‘Let’s start with something practical, then. The Red Spark Spell is a useful little spell to attract attention whenever you are in need of help.’ He raised his wand. ‘Repeat after me:...’

This time, it was James who was the first to produce a shower of red sparks, earning him five points for Gryffindor and another glowering look from Lily. When the class ended, she quickly grabbed her bag and dashed out of the classroom, but James was quick to follow.

‘Evans! Hey, Evans! Evans!’ he called across the hallway.

Lily spun on her heels, her expression fiery. ‘What is it now, Potter? Come to even things out and set the other side on fire?’

‘No, I—I wanted to apologise,’ said James—and, to Remus’ surprise, he actually looked like he meant it.

‘Oh, I’m alight with excitement,’ said Lily. ‘Positively burning.’

Behind her, Rebecca and Mary chuckled, while James simply stared at Lily, his hazel eyes wide.

Raising her chin, Lily asked, ‘Got nothing to say? Must be a first.’ She turned on her heel again, but James grabbed her sleeve.

She yanked her arm free. ‘Don’t—touch—me!’

His hand fell away. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I—and sorry for this morning. I didn’t mean to do it, really. I wouldn’t want you to think—especially because you’re a—I would never, not because of that. It was an accident.’

‘I know it was an accident,’ said Lily coolly. She was short—barely taller than Peter and a good deal shorter than James—but somehow, she seemed to tower over him. ‘Are we done now?’

‘Yeah—I—yeah, I guess so.’

James frowned, watching as Lily turned and stalked away.

Sirius stepped up beside him. ‘You need to teach me that spell, by the way.’

‘I can’t,’ said James, his expression caught between a grimace and a smile. ‘I didn’t mean to set it on fire. I was trying to vanish it.’

Sirius let out a sudden, barking laugh.

Remus failed to see what was so funny about the prospect of Lily’s head being vanished. He supposed it could have gone horribly wrong—much more so than what had actually happened.

‘Either way…’ said Sirius, grinning. ‘Detention before the first week’s over. Might be a new record.’

<><>

Remus was glad when the day drew to an end.

It wasn’t even as if he had been doing much—he took notes in class, he took his meals in the Great Hall, he undertook week-long adventures, also known as climbing up to Gryffindor Tower, and sometimes, when he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, something slipped out. Sometimes, even deliberately.

By the time they reached the common room that evening, he was as tired as if the full moon were the next day already. Exhaustion had crept deep into his bones and made itself at home there.

All he wanted was to curl up under his duvet.

‘Where’re you going?’ asked Peter, who had turned in the opposite direction—to a group of chairs not directly by but close to the fireplace.

‘Dorm.’ Turning around, Remus almost tripped over his own robes.

‘You’re not going to bed, are you?’ asked Rebecca. ‘It’s not even eight.’

‘Er… no?’ he said slowly. Was eight too early to go to bed? Judging by the look on her face, it was. But Remus felt as though he could sleep clear through the next morning.

‘Do you want to write another letter to your parents?’ Peter asked.

‘Another?’ said Sirius in an unmistakably derisive tone. He didn’t wait for Remus’ answer but followed James, who had a bounce to his step as if excess energy needed a way out of his body, to the armchairs.

‘No, er, I’m just… just going to change, I think?’

‘You think?’ Fawcett mocked. ‘This something you have to think about a lot? Toss it around in your head?’

‘Knock it off, Jacob,’ said David Jordan. ‘I don’t know who or what got your wand in a knot, and I don’t care. This whole attitude is getting a little old.’

‘Thank you,’ said Remus when Fawcett and his friend disappeared up the staircase.

David Jordan waved him off.

‘Don’t take it personally,’ Arion Zeller said. ‘He’s just miffed he didn’t make Ravenclaw. Apparently, his whole family’s been there. Has been muttering about it since the Sorting.’

‘Of course he didn’t make Ravenclaw,’ said David Jordan. ‘He doesn’t even understand there's a difference between being brave and insulting everyone.’

<><>

Remus’ elaborate lie, of course, left him with no option but to go upstairs and change into something else. He picked out his favourite trousers and the maroon jumper his mother had knitted for him that winter. The sleeves were still a little long, but that only worked in his favour because he could cover his hands if needed.

He would probably need it.

Picking at his nails was an old habit that threatened to break free when he was stressed. It had been rising since he had boarded the train.

Even in the momentary quiet and solitude of the dorm, the itching in his fingers was back. Remus allowed himself another moment of peace and pressed his nose into the fabric as he pulled it over his head. Perhaps he was imagining things, but it smelled like tea and sugar and the detergent his mother used.

His chest tightened.

When he walked back into the common room, Peter had chosen a seat next to Rebecca and Mary on a small sofa. The two girls were talking animatedly while Peter rubbed his foot over the floor, glancing around the room. The rest of the Gryffindor first-years were scattered across the room, but—with a pang of envy—Remus noted that James and Sirius had managed to snag two armchairs by the fireplace.

‘Oh, I love your jumper, Remus,’ said Mary when he reached them. Her voice was warm, but Remus was pretty sure it wasn’t that warmth that made him feel better. ‘The colour’s really nice.’

‘It is, really fitting,’ said Rebecca with a smile that made her eyes gleam a little. ‘Come on, budge over, Peter. Oh, hush, we don’t bite. Do you want Remus to keep standing there like that?’

Peter, who had mumbled something about not wanting to make Mary and Rebecca uncomfortable, flushed a colour matching Remus’ jumper and hurried to comply.

Remus let his fingers disappear into his sleeves—despite the burning fireplace, he was running a little cold. But then again, he was always running a little cold.

A grey cat brushed against his leg, and on a table, some older student had set down their toad.

‘I still haven’t written to Mum,’ said Peter all of a sudden. ‘But I promised I would. It’s just been happening so much at once. I’ll have to do that tomorrow, and maybe we can work on McGonagall’s spell after that? Or you could help me with that Red Spark Spell.’

This wouldn’t work—tired as he already was, Remus doubted that, come tomorrow, he would be in any state to instruct Peter on spells. And how had he become his teacher, anyhow? But how was he supposed to turn Peter down when he was looking at him like that?

This was the first time ever that someone other than his parents wanted Remus around. And as much as this whole thing—talking to people, constantly fretting over what to say and what to do and whether he was being perceived as odd—exhausted him, Remus was no fool. He knew he needed friends of some sort if he wanted to survive his seven years at Hogwarts.

But more importantly, he found that he wanted Peter’s company.

Remus might not be the most socially adept person, but he was well-read, he knew things, and he had connected the dots. He might struggle to understand Sirius’ biting sarcasm or keep up with James’ pace, but he knew his parents, and he knew words, even though his own seemed to fail him more often in the last two days than in the rest of his life.

He had thought about that night Dumbledore had visited, about their moves, about how they had suddenly stopped visiting relatives, save for his mother’s sister. He had mulled it all over in his head so many times that the words had frayed at the edges, had sounded strange in his mind. That was how much he had thought about it.

He knew his parents had tried protecting him from a world that had shut him out before he had even formed the will to enter it. And, sure, sometimes Remus had felt a pang of longing when he had watched other children, but he had never felt like he was missing anything, because it had never been real.

But now it was. Peter was offering it to him, was pulling the door wide open, was making it real.

And the longing grew.

How was he supposed to say no to this?

‘Of course,’ he heard himself say. ‘It’s not like I know anything about Transfiguration, but we could try working it out together?’

However little energy he would have tomorrow, it would certainly be more than Sunday. Sunday. Remus didn’t want to think about that. ‘If it’s alright with you, we could go to the library and see whether there’s something useful in there?’

‘Pixie!’ a girl yelled. ‘Pixie, no!’

The grey cat had leapt onto one of the armchairs and climbed onto Sirius’ lap, where Sirius’ hand hovered as if unsure whether to pet the cat. A girl in a sweater and jeans hurried over to scoop her up. Without a word, she turned around and hurried off.

It was only then that Remus realised half the common room had fallen silent. Something was happening, only he had not the faintest idea what. 

James, mouth open, slowly raised his eyebrows. ‘You can’t be serious,’ he said without a trace of humour in his voice.

‘Just let it go,’ said Sirius, who seemed to have sunk a little deeper into his armchair. ‘I don’t mind.’ His whole posture betrayed his words. His shoulders were tense, his whole body rigid—a look all too familiar to Remus.

However, this—backing away, pressing himself deeper into the cushions—wasn’t a look that suited Sirius, who usually seemed to pull himself up by confidence alone.

‘No,’ said James firmly. ‘No.’ He raised his voice and got to his feet.

Even if James Potter had been the tallest in their year, the gesture wouldn’t have had much effect with the fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh years scattered about. But James didn’t seem to mind.

Crossing his arms in front of his chest, he glowered at the crowd. ‘This is ridiculous.’

For a moment, it seemed as if no one would answer him, but then—

‘What’s ridiculous is a Black in Gryffindor,’ said a boy with sandy-coloured hair that curled around his ears. ‘He has no business being here.’

‘The Sorting Hat put him here,’ said James, his voice taut and quivering with rage. ‘He’s just as much a Gryffindor as any of you.’

‘Maybe the Sorting Hat ought to retire,’ someone yelled from the back of the room, eliciting a few nods, a few ‘yeah’s from the crowd.

Sirius was looking up at James with an unreadable expression.

‘This is supposed to be a safe place for everyone, no matter their birth,’ said a girl with big round glasses, who looked at least five years older than them. ‘We all know about his family. And frankly, I don’t understand how you don’t care. Hasn’t your family always been outspoken on Muggle rights?’

‘This is a safe place for everyone, no matter their birth?’ Jams repeated, incredulously. ‘Talk about prejudice, yeah?! You’ve got him all figured out just because of his last name. What’s that? Who cares about his family. He is in Gryffindor, isn’t he? Doesn't that Howler prove—’

‘James.’

Sirius, who had kept his eyes glued to James the entire time, sat up straighter. His expression was still blank, but his jaw was clenched, and the quietness of his voice didn’t quite hide the edge it had taken on.

A silent conversation seemed to pass between them, Sirius raising his eyebrows, James shaking his head. At last, James slouched down again. ‘Well, you’re not getting rid of us,’ he said with finality, arms still crossed in front of his chest, looking like a sulking child.

Even though he seemed to be pretty talented when it came to magic, Remus was sure he wouldn’t stand a chance against the older students. Which, of course, made his little speech all the more impressive. Impressive and a little stupid, maybe, but impressive nonetheless.

Remus wasn't sure whether he had convinced anyone or whether the older students had simply decided they didn't much care about a first-year's opinion. 

‘And you, Madley,’ said James. He turned to Rebecca, apparently nowhere near finished. ‘You can also keep your snide remarks to yourself.’

‘Gladly, if he keeps his,’ said Rebecca. ‘It’s simple—if you throw around curses, you can’t complain about being hexed.’

‘You know he doesn’t mean it that way,’ said James.

Remus’ eyes flitted to Sirius, whose jaw was still tight. He had no idea what ‘that’ was, nor what they were talking about—at all.

‘No, I don’t,’ said Rebecca. ‘Just because he hasn’t used the m-word yet doesn’t mean he won’t. Other than his sorting, he’s acting exactly like you’d expect—making fun of Muggle-borns, being rude, and ordering Remus to use his last name like he belongs to some kind of royalty. And frankly, I don’t care what he means by it. My mum is Muggle-born, I know what it’s like to be treated like dirt by people like him. They need to learn there are people willing to stand up to them—’

‘When did I make fun of Muggle-borns?’ Sirius cut in. All humour had vanished from his voice.

Rebecca shook her head, scoffing. ‘Come on, Mary, let’s go upstairs.’

Sirius turned to James. ‘When did I make fun of Muggle-borns?’