Eight Minutes

The throne of time 

Is a kingly, a kingly thing 

From whence youknow 

We all do begin 

And dressed as you are girl 

In your fashions of fate

Baby it's too late

'Monolith' T. Rex

The idea took form in between piles of toast, marmalade spread, cheesy eggs, and Sirius’ howler. 

Peter had his transfiguration essay against his chest to avoid the worst of it, and a furrow had dug into James’ brow as they all looked on in fascination. 

The howler spit at Sirius before anything else, his chips going flying over his lap as its over-active mouth spat obscenities about honor and why the hell he had uninvited his relatives with the faux handwriting of his mothers to Regulus’ celebratory dinner. 

Spite probably, is what Sirius would say to her if she were there. Definitely boredom. 

He let his eyes drift away, accidentally making eye contact with his brother from across the hall, where Regulus’ young face was pulling a microexpression of distaste. 

Sirius sighed and glanced back towards his howler, who had somehow increased in volume. 

“ I CANNOT believe the insolence, the temerity, of your disgraceful cheek. You sully the NAME OF BLACK, disrespect the pledge of our family, and mock the ancestors who watch as you RUIN them.” 

James had a scoop of eggs still waiting to be eaten by his mouth. 

“ Your father WILL decide your fate once this debacle is over with, and you WILL attend the dinner in a fortnight, and you WILL act your very best. I swear on the signet ring I will make you regret EVER doing such a thing.” 

Sirius nodded along gamely as the hall looked on as his mother’s disembodied voice screeched in his face. He was certain he would not go back to the old house without some sort of retribution from his parents, that much he was sure. It had taken a year for James to believe it wasn’t just words, and he would bet it would take ten years more for James to even know the extent of it. He wondered when she would finish her rant when the Howler grew uncommonly quiet, but he held up a finger as Peter made to open his mouth. 

“Your brother deserves better.” Then, with that last note, promptly tore its own red enveloped letter up on his plate of toast. 

Sirius tried not to let it show on his face, lest it be talked about all week, which is exactly what he needed with the tension between him and Reggie already at odds from the sorting ten days ago.

He clapped his hands in approval to ignore the slight ache in his chest. “A stunning performance, lads.” 

James finished eating his eggs, eyebrows still raised. “Her best yet, I would say.” 

“Don’t give her so much credit,” said Remus, flipping the page of his book, not even looking up. “I wonder if it's possible for her to actually attack you with one.”

Peter set his transfiguration essay back down. “I think your mum handled it well.” 

“I think I still hear her,” Sirius leaned his head down closer to the table towards the shredded pieces of paper on his plate. He tsked, “Poor thing.” 

“Traitor!” One of the Slytherin’s hollered from down the hall and Sirius lifted his head, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. He was a second year now, he knew not to get upset at the scandals he stirred amongst the common folk of his peers. He was a celebrity in infamy, if he could say it humbly he wouldn’t. 

First years were stupid anyway, and he was one year older. The difference made him more mature than Regulus’ arrogance, and the others could never imitate his trademark demeanor. 

He blew a kiss, in general towards the Slytherins but specifically towards Snape, who was smirking into his breakfast with Mulciber and his malicious posse. 

“I’m never going to hear the end of this,” Sirius muttered to the boys, letting it sink over him as the other students went back to their conversations. 

“If it makes you feel any better, Dad’s a laughing stock at the Ministry right now after he proposed flying memos instead of owls. Can barely make it through the security desk without a paper ball being tossed at his head.” James said in an attempt at consolation, but Sirius wasn’t in the mood. 

“ Your dad isn’t facing lineal assassination.” Sirius bit out, “this is an utter nightmare.”

He rested his elbow on the table, no longer hungry for his toast with a garnish of howler. 

Peter glanced back at the Slytherins, pursing his thin lips. “You mean they’re going to be a nightmare.” 

“Exactly.” Sirius dropped his face into his hands. “And now Reggie hates me, so it’s not like I even have a shot at surviving.” 

Remus pointed his fork at him. “It’s unfortunate, mate. I’ll be sure to invite your cousins. Do you still have your gran? I’ll bring her too.” 

“To what?” 

“The wake?” 

“Piss off, Lupin.” Sirius scoffed, but Lupin only smirked and went back to his book. What was so riveting about the tosspot subject of transfigurations, anyway? Sirius had already learned the material ages ago, and this was definitely more devastating. 

“We just need a way to distract them,” James mused, absentmindedly picking at his eggs again. “So everyone has something else to talk about.” 

“And how do you suppose we do that?” Sirius grumbled, ignoring some of the glances sent his way. 

“I dunno.” James sighed, shoulders sinking. “Last year’s courtyard prank?” 

“We can’t do the same thing again,” Sirius shook his head. “That would be boring. And not clever.”

“We could charm the pudding at breakfast to sing to them?” Peter offered, and at that Remus’ book suddenly shut with a snap, drawing their eyes instantly. His face had lit up, a wicked gleam in the brown flecks of his irises.

Sirius sat up a little taller. 

“Just give the school the same thing to talk about.” Remus set the book down, nodding at Peter, who flushed. “Peter’s right.” 

James leaned forward excitedly. “That's a thought. I’ve seen Peter’s mother make one before, so I say we make hundreds.” 

Peter went red as the idea started to form between them. “Do you think there's a potion for altering voices?” 

“I’m confused,” Sirius stopped them, feeling a tad annoyed he hadn’t caught on. “Potion for what?” 

Remus reached one scarred hand forward, picked up one of Sirius’ forgotten toast corners, and tipped it sideways. Now littering the center of the oak table was six different shreds of his mother’s howler. 

A smile started to lift the corners of Sirius' mouth, and his heart started to pound in his chest. “When do we get started?” 

Peter glanced at the timepiece on the wall. “Class starts in eight minutes.” 

James shrugged. “But it's history of magic.” 

A look passed between them and Remus sighed. “Merlin forbid I actually go to class.” 

James clapped him on the shoulder, standing from the bench. “That’s the spirit!” 

Sirius and Peter grabbed their bags, hauling stray ink bottles into their pockets as they went. When all four of them had secured their things, it was a sprint down the Great Hall, ignoring the calls after them and the snide comments about heirs and disappointments. James lingered for a moment though, when passing some of the second-year Gryffindor girls, but Sirius was on a mission. Besides, girls were annoying and wouldn’t know the first thing about pranks. 

Sirius even ignored Regulus’ own lingering stare as he left the hall, knowing it would only pain him. Regulus was picking his side, Sirius was holding onto his. 

No matter how much it stung. 

The boys were up late, later than curfew, crouched under James' invisibility cloak in the west wing of the library with the light of a single candle. They had textbooks of potions, spells, and all things troublesome stacked between them, which they had scoured through ever since that morning. Sirius had missed most of it due to the Gryffindor beater tryouts, which he was still worried about if he was honest. 

But for what it was worth, there was definitely a potion for altering voices. 

Their research was taking longer than expected, but Sirius knew the best pranks had to have the best preparation. He hunkered down beside Lupin and watched him twirl his wand in concentration. 

Since James was the best at transfiguration, that left Sirius and Peter to write the howlers. Remus was left to learn the incantation to make the howler and procure the ingredients list for the potion.

Thankfully, all the potion needed was memory, and would only take them a lovely, painstaking ten minutes with their smuggled cauldron.

Peter yawned. “I’ve read the same sentence three times.” 

James knocked his shoulder into Pettigrew’s, keeping his voice lower than a whisper. Already they had the misfortune of drawing the attention of Pince and Filch both. “Think of tomorrow morning, Pete, this is important.” 

“Is this really going to work?” 

“Of course it is. Right, Lupin?” 

Remus looked up, chewing on his lip. “If it doesn’t go horribly wrong.” 

“Brilliant,” Peter whined. “Now we’re going to be murderers.” 

“Just you mate, you’re the one sending them in.” James grinned at Peter’s devastated expression, before settling back on his haunches. They were all still small enough that they could fit under the cloak, but it was a tight fit and his elbow speared Sirius in the gut. 

“Almost have it all,” Remus mumbled, quill moving down his parchment where he listed his ingredients. “Then we can go back.”

Sirius watched him silently, still wondering about how much the boy had changed since the train cart a year ago. The months it had taken to actually get a good morning out of him had been trifling, and honestly, there had been times when only James had faith in making him come around, but eventually the stubborn bloke had accepted his fate. He still had his secrets, and his background was an entire mystery, but it was a start. And it helped that he was a bloody genius. 

“Alright,” Lupin nodded, his flop of brown curls shaking as he lifted his gaze and met Sirius’ eye and quickly looked away. “You owe me, Potter.” 

James winked as they stood, parchments in hand. “My life is yours, now onwards!” 

They shuffled as a group, stepping on each other's trainers and treading outside of the cloak when Sirius would push James a little too hard. They somehow made it past the library doors, pattering down the corridors under the guise of a magical cloak and the stain of pale moonlight. 

Peter stood in front of the parade, so it was Peter who spied Filch's cat first. Remus and James slammed into their backs the moment he hissed, “Mister Nolan.” 

“Shite,” James whispered, and Remus was so close Sirius felt his heartbeat against his back. 

Remus inhaled then exhaled against Sirius’ neck, then said, “Ditch the cloak.” 

“What?” 

“I said ditch the cloak, Black!” Remus slipped from their circle, shrugging at them before he started sprinting down the hall. 

“What a bloody psychopath!” Sirius glanced at James before taking off after Remus. He heard the cat meowling behind him, and Filch’s tell-tale gravelly voice only halls away and it spurred him on. 

Peter and James scrambled after him, stumbling down the corridors and through the ghosts strolling along the empty halls. 

“Shhh!” James pleaded as he passed the Bloody Baron, “Tell him we went left!” 

The bloody Baron touched the side of his nose and glided on. 

Remus was fast for a scrawny boy, and Sirius chased after him with a wild grin. This was so much better than snooping with the cloak. Only Peter still had it still wrapped around his shoulders, his floating head bobbing along the halls. 

“Hurry!” Lupin called over his shoulder, sliding into a banister for a moving staircase. His typically bored expression was engulfed with the thrill of the adventure. “C’mon!” 

They pounded up the steps, disturbing portraits who grumbled behind them as they raced up the stairs. James had caught up, surpassing Sirius and Remus, leading them through the mazes. Legs burning, lungs hurting from the chill in the castle, Sirius couldn’t help but cough out a laugh he was afraid Filch could hear. 

Perhaps he’d never forget it, drenched in crescent moonlight residue running through the castle, pushing Remus in an attempt to get ahead and dragging up Peter when he slipped. It was a scene that would play in his head even when they had made it back to the dorms and gasped out the password to a sleeping portrait. 

It would play in his head as they sat on the floor with their letters and did their best to write the worst howlers for the Slytherins, then as the potion was simmering to play Remus’ old record player. 

It was pushing two in the morning when James tested out the potion with Sirius’ own voice, which had sent them into snickers when he said, 

“I want to be a quidditch star!” James had bemoaned. “Don’t touch my hair!” 

Sirius threw a pillow at him as the other boys laughed. “I don’t say that!”  

But it was like he had said it himself, with how perfect the potion was. They spent the next hour teaching James to screech at the papers before him, tearing up a few when James would giggle and they’d have to restart. Sirius, knowing the socialites the best of all of them, critiqued his technique here and there until it was relatively passable.

Pushing four in the morning, their howlers sat in a pile at the foot of James’ bed with Peter out cold by the hearth and the other three nodding off. It looked like a tree had bleed red papers all over their floor, a rising tide at their feet. 

Remus sighed through his nose. “I suppose since Peter’s asleep I’ll take them.” 

“Hmm?” 

Remus glanced at him from where he sat cross-legged on the floor. “Unless you want to hand it to them ourselves, we have to take them to the owlery.” 

Sirius blanched, looking over to James who was upside down on his bed with his mouth dropping open. “Shite, but I have chaser tryouts in the morning.” 

Remus went to stand, but Sirius had already slipped on his trainers. “You two get some sleep,” he said, stooping to grab the letters, “I’ll do it.” 

Remus shot him a look and shook his head at James. “Can I have your cloak, James? It’ll be quick, I promise.” 

“Don’t even need to ask, mate.” James tossed him the cloak, and Sirius gave James a scowl. 

“C’mon Lupin, I hardly did anything for this prank.” 

Lupin didn’t even budge. It looked as though he didn’t even hear him, with the way his eyes blinked at him in the low light. “I have my own letters to send off.” 

Sirius cocked his head, miffed. “Well, then I’ll take them.” 

“No.” Remus held his gaze, not letting go of the cloak and Sirius not handing over the howlers. 

“Why not?” 

“It’s not your letters.” 

“I won’t eat them on the way there.” 

“Gods, just leave it alone.” 

“Why?”

“Because I said so, Black, that’s why!” Remus gritted out, his lashing tone making Sirius’ hair stand on end like he had been struck by a jinx.

“You’re so touchy about some things,” Sirius snapped back, “It’s starting to seem like you don’t want us to know anything.” 

“You know plenty.” 

“Yeah, what ever .” Sirius folded his arms, weirdly upset about it all. He ignored James' look of warning. “Do you even have a middle name, Remus Lupin? Or is that a secret too? You oughta know you really piss us off when you just disappear–” 

“It's John!” Remus said incredulously.

Sirius opened his mouth and then closed it, trying to find something to fight back with but coming up with nothing. “Well-”

A pillow flew from behind Remus and rammed into the back of his head. Sirius stepped to the side to see Peter glaring at them from the floor. “Both of you go, or I swear I will do it without the cloak and with my pants down.” 

James snorted, giving the two of them a true Potter shit-eating grin with a fix of his square-wired glasses. “That’s horrifying, Peter. Well done.” 

Remus rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepishly at the floor and not towards Sirius’ burning glare. Sirius wanted to say more, but the looks on the other’s faces made him sigh. “C’mon then, Remus John Lupin.” He opened the door with a flourish, meeting Peter’s beady stare from across the room. 

“Bloody ridiculous,” Peter muttered as he turned onto his back, so Sirius gave him a mocking salute to his frame under the blanket he had pulled to the ground. 

“I’m just looking out for my fellow peers and portraits.” 

“You better come back with pants on, Black.” James teased as Sirius shut the door with a bark of a laugh. 

“Right.” Sirius shook his head at Remus, who had his hands in his pajama pockets and was staring out the stairwell window when he turned around. Already Sirius had screwed things up between them, and it hadn’t even been ten days. “I might have been a git.” 

Remus gave him an odd look across the darkness of the landing, then snorted, saying, “You are a git,” before passing Sirius with a pat on his shoulder. 

Sirius gaped after him. “ I’m trying to apologize.” 

“‘I am a git’ is not an apology.” 

“Fine! We were both gits, and I’m sorry.” Sirius grumbled as he followed Lupin’s retreating silhouette down the stairs. 

Remus said nothing in reply, but Sirius could sense the satisfied smirk from there. 

The rest of the trip was spent in total silence, but contrary to what it sounds like it was relatively peaceful, walking with the cloak into the owlery. 

In minutes the letters were tied to Hogwarts’ spare tawny owls, and Sirius waited shivering as Remus turned his back on him and sent off another owl through the window. 

“Go ahead and say it, Black.”

Sirius pulled a face. “Say what?” 

Lupin shot an ‘ I’m not that thick’ look over his shoulder. “Just another secret, yeah? It’s to my mum.”

Sirius inhaled, knowing this was Lupin trying to make amends but not knowing what to say or do with his hands. The silence stretched without Sirius saying anything back. “Do you…do you like your mum? Is she still sick?” 

Lupin laughed, hands going into his pockets. “Do you send letters to your mum?” 

Sirius stared at him but couldn’t help but look away with an incredulous huff. “Fair enough.” 

“I’m sorry, too, by the way.” 

Sirius glanced at him, then towards the owl flying off in the distance. “That’s not all of it.” 

Remus rolled his eyes, but Sirius was fighting a smirk now. “No, c’mon, I want to hear you say it like I did.” 

“I was a prat, alright?” 

“You’ll grow out of it.” Remus shook his head and motioned for Sirius to let him into the cloak, which Sirius forgot was still wrapped around his shoulders, making him a floating head that entire time. 

They made it back to the dorms before the sun could crack over the trees and the black lake, feeling like kings. 

Needless to say, all four of them got detention because Minerva McGonagall hated joy.

The next morning, James in his quidditch gear, Remus with his tired eyes, Peter in his backward sweater, and Sirius as perfect as always, all sat in the prime spot of the Gryffindor table to watch the mayhem unfold. 

The owls swooped in like usual, a Prophet being dropped in front of James, who flipped it open conspicuously and pretended to read. 

One red letter, then two others, then six more, started raining down before the Slytherins amid the morning mail. One by one, their horrified eyes recognized what was before them, solidified by the cursive ink addressed to them in stunning penmanship (Sirius wasn’t a sacred twenty-eight heir for nothing). 

The first howler made even Sirius jump, James' magicked voice ringing out like a siren. 

“ You believe for a SECOND I wouldn’t find out what you did?!” 

Bellatrix Lestrange dropped the letter, dark eyes widening. 

Sirius looked at James in an instant, not able to withhold his snicker as the rest of the Great Hall turned to listen. 

“ TRAITOROUS, DISGUSTING, AND HONORLESS–”

“How dare you fraternize with half-bloods! In our own home!”

“You call yourself a Rosier? Think you are worthy of our name when you fail every potions exam you’ve ever taken–” 

“Count your days until your home, young Mulciber–” 

“Your great-grandmother hexed seven muggle villages before breakfast, Severus! The family name is ruined! Our HOUSE-ELF?” 

It was like listening to a choir sing. Sirius went back to cutting up his breakfast. “You'd make a great Dad, James. You have perfect pitch.” 

“Think so?” James wriggled his eyebrows. “I knew my talents were being wasted on school.” 

Peter had both of his hands over his face to hide his laugh, but it was futile since his shoulders were trembling. 

“Oi, here we go.” Sirius shushed Peter to no avail. “Look at wee Snape.” 

The boy had gone ghostly white, his heavy brows scrunched together in horror and confusion. 

“ Are you even listening to me through that curtain of hair?!” 

“-Running your mouth isn’t the exercise you’re needing, Evan–” 

The obscenities unfurled, each one worse than the last. Sirius watched Bella try to burn her letter, but the red envelope remained as it projected even louder how she was secretly engaged (which was actually true, so to speak). Rosier was blinking slowly as his father’s voice roared about his terrible loss in quidditch and the fragility of his name in the will, while Mulciber had dropped his head onto the table as his own howler cried about missing his important appointment for St. Mungo’s accidental pregnancy department. 

“Oh, pity,” Remus said lightly, taking a bite of his toast. 

The fourteen other letters shouts ricocheted off the high ceiling of the Great Hall, and Sirius and the three boys basked in its beauty. The other students had disregarded their plates to turn towards the Slytherins, laughing incredulously as the secrets spilled out for the entire school to hear. James, who must’ve sensed her eyes, made a face at Evans, who naturally outraged. Even those at the professor’s table could do nothing but watch, their surprised faces and Dumbledore’s raised white eyebrows enough to sate Sirius for the rest of the week. Year, maybe, if he rationed. 

Of all the eyes Sirius’ prank had ensued the attention of, only Regulus was watching him, a regular cream letter clutched in one hand. Sirius did nothing to acknowledge it, knowing what was written and not wanting to think about what his younger brother would think of it, or if he would read it at all. 

Sirius was ready to take another bite when Bellatrix’s howler cried out above the rest, “ My dad is uninviting YOU to the family dinner.”

Sirius scrunched up his face as the rest of the boys suddenly groaned. He must not have realized it when he proofread last night.

Remus cursed into his eggs. 

“She’s looking over here, Sirius,” James whispered, and Sirius peeked over his shoulder, where indeed, Bellatrix was breathing incredibly hard with shreds of red howler in her curly hair, dark eyes pinned on him like daggers. 

The other howlers began to tear into pieces, the birdsong of revenge being snuffed out one after the other, until the Great Hall was silent once again. 

Sirius had the gall to glance at the Professor’s table again, where after an excruciating moment McGonagall had sighed and pushed from her chair. As the rest of the students started speaking over one another, the witch walked her way down the Gryffindor table until she was looming right behind James and Peter. 

A final, weak howler croaked out a victoriously deflated, “ Disgrace!” that had Sirius wincing before it tore itself into pieces right before Mcgonagall came upon them with her looming shadow.

“Family troubles, Professor.” Sirius cleared his throat conversationally, knowing the gleam in his eyes was giving him away. “It gets us all eventually.” 

“Quite.” She folded her hands, looking at each of them in turn. James, with his quidditch uniform, Remus with his charms textbook, Peter with his mismatched socks, and Sirius, with the daggers in his back. She pinched the bridge of her nose, not even deigning to look back as she started to move away. “In my office, boys.”