Painful and Invasive
Chapter Three: Painful and Invasive
His father had been right about one thing: that castle sure was a bit big and rambling. It towered over them, all old stone and glowing golden windows in the cool September night. The first years followed Hagrid up the broad staircase and were met by Professor McGonagall, one of the staff members Remus had met with over the summer to prepare for his full moons at Hogwarts. Just as he remembered, she had an intense stare and a very neutral face. Not the look of a woman who would appreciate him bursting into hysterical giggles over Muskrat Ears and the like, so he fought his nerves down. Behind him, someone else was not able to suppress that urge.
“Welcome to Hogwarts,” she said, eyeing the first years critically. “I am Professor McGonagall, head of Gryffindor house and deputy headmistress of Hogwarts. As some of you may have noticed, the train ran late this evening. This means I’ll be leading you all directly to the Great Hall to the sorting. Please do your best to smarten yourselves up along the way.” Her eyes lingered on the sickly-looking boy, whose greasy hair was falling in his eyes, a blonde girl at the front of the crowd who may or may not have been picking her nose, and James, who was trying hard to flatten his wild hair to no avail.
“It just doesn’t lie flat!” he whispered frantically to Remus, who nodded sympathetically. As a scarred eleven year old, he knew all about snap judgments based on appearance. "I should have let mum slick it back, I can't believe she was right about this -"
They filed through the front door into a lobby, then to another, even larger set of doors. Hagrid and Professor McGonagall shoved these open, and the first years made their way into the astonishingly quiet Great Hall.
Being stared at unnerved Remus, so when he realized that four large tables full of children and another of adults was watching them, he looked down, watching his feet, trying to focus on not panicking rather than the burning feeling of eyes.
“Thank Merlin, it’s just a hat!” Sirius whispered behind him. “No one would tell me anything, but Bella made it sound like something painful and invasive.”
Remus had already known about the sorting ceremony, but he didn’t feel any better about it for the knowledge. He knew when his name was called, every face in that room would turn to look at him, every eye would focus on his scarred cheek, his awkward demeanor, his tired eyes, and there was the slightest chance that one of them might somehow see him for what he was. He had no idea who was sorted where before him. When his name was called, James had to give him a little shove to get him to move. As if in a dream, Remus made his way to the stool and sat, the grubby hat sinking down onto his head.
“What’s this?” the hat asked slyly in his ear.
“A child?” Remus thought. The hat seemed amused.
“You’re a funny kid. You think you know where you’re going, on some level at least. You seem to have already been there.” Remus’s heart raced. So his memories were real, then. Not that it changed anything.
"Brave, certainly," the hat mused. "Chivalrous, in a more knightly way than a lady-killer way, good for you. Clever and cunning though, and academically brilliant. What a predicament."
Remus gripped the rim of the stool firmly, his knuckles going white.
"But you seem so strongly against Slytherin! Hmm. Interesting. Is the house itself so bad, or is there a prejudice there? Well, no matter. Let’s keep this short, no need to waste your time. As I said, you know where you're going..."
“Gryffindor!” that hat bellowed aloud for the hall to hear. The red and gold table applauded and hollered, and Remus saw Sirius waving him over frantically. He hurried over and settled on the bench beside him.
“That was terrifying,” he said, breathing a sigh of relief. "That hat is super creepy, I feel like it just read my whole brain."
“Sure is.” Sirius looked pale, maybe even a little green.
“They can’t kill you til the holidays,” Remus said comfortingly, and Sirius managed to laugh at that.
“How long do you think I’ve got til the Howler gets here?” he asked. Remus looked over at the Slytherin table, where among many unfamiliar faces a girl with Sirius’s delicate features and wild curls pinned back from her face with her wand appeared to be scribbling on parchment with a battered quill.
“Not as long as you’d hope," Remus said, nodding at the girl. Sirius's face fell. "But hey, I’ve heard Slytherin sleeps in the dungeons. At least you won’t be cold!”
It wasn’t long before first Peter, then James joined them. In fact, the Gryffindor table gathered quite a few first years. Most of them looked pleased, but one girl was in tears, being comforted by an older student sitting beside her.
“I only have one friend in the whole world,” she said, her voice quavering, “and we’re not in the same house!”
“It’ll be alright,” the older girl soothed. “You’ll make more friends. And you can have friends in other houses. One of my best friends is in Ravenclaw. We have classes together, we study together, we spend free periods together. It’s not so bad, Lily, I promise.”
Lily, Remus realized, was the round-cheeked ginger girl with the glowering friend. She seemed sweet, but he had doubts about her friend doing well without her. He didn’t seem to have the same level of social skills, if his glare from earlier was any indication. He smiled at her in what he hoped was a comforting way.
“I told you we’d all end up together,” James was saying jovially to Peter, who appeared to be breathing normally for the first time since they got off the train. Lily glared daggers at him, but he didn’t notice. “The four Market Deers!”
“You have to be getting it wrong on purpose,” Remus groaned, but James just looked confused. Before Remus could explain himself further, the tables were suddenly piled high with steaming plates of food. Roast potatoes, pakoras, and buttered parsnips in mounds on wide golden chargers, roast beef, chicken, and pork, tureens of gravies and sauces, vats of green, red, and yellow vegetables speckled with seasoning, all piping hot and filling the room with the strong aroma of spices. Remus inhaled deeply and began piling food onto his plate.
"None of this is boiled," Sirius was saying to Peter. "Our house elf is a nutter, he can do anything but cook meat without boiling it, I swear. Either that or mum is crazier than I thought and likes boiled chicken. I've begged my brother to convince him to roast a turkey, but he just gives me this sour look and says we can't eat a whole turkey ourselves. Shows what he know."
Peter laughed. "I think I could eat a whole turkey if it was cooked like this," he said, motioning to the crispy leg on his plate before dunking it in mashed potatoes.
James was talking to a prefect about Hogsmeade. "I was there once with mum and dad when I was small," he was telling the older boy, "but we were only Christmas shopping and it wasn't very exciting. What are the weekend visits like?"
Frank, the prefect, was cutting into a large piece of roast. "You won't be able to go until your third year, mind, but Hogsmeade is a lot of fun. I really like visiting the radio station, but that's not always open to the public. Honedukes is amazing as well, you'll never get sweets like that anywhere else."
For Remus, the feast seemed to drag. The food was lovely, well beyond his expectations, but he was too tired to enjoy it properly. Even the tart, though sweet, seemed to turn to sand in his mouth. Today had gone as well as it possibly could, he reasoned, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t worn him out. When the Gryffindors finally slogged off to bed, he was elated to find that his bed was comfortable and had curtains that closed for privacy. With hardly a word to his dormmates, he shut the curtains tightly and went to sleep.
“Do you think they hurt him?” a quiet voice was asking.
“Who, his parents? I dunno, maybe?”
“How else would he have scars like that?”
“Maybe he’s clumsy?”
“Did he seem clumsy to you?!”
“He seemed...quiet.”
“I can hear you,” Remus called with a yawn. “My parents don’t beat me. I’m clumsy.”
He opened his bedcurtains to the embarrassed faces of Peter, James, and Sirius. James in particular was a brilliant shade of red.
“I’m sorry,” James said. “We’re sorry.” He elbowed the other two boys, who sheepishly apologized.
“It’s fine,” Remus said, rubbing his eyes and yawning again. “You guys were obviously worried about me. I have a weak immune system, I get sick really easily and sometimes get dizzy and faint. So sometimes I hit my head, bump into things…” This wasn’t a lie, not all the way. After a full moon, he definitely had dizzy spells, was overtaken by clumsiness, and tended to fall down or run into doorframes or dressers.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Sirius demanded. He looked skeptical.
“I’ve known you for...what, twelve hours minus sleep? Why would I tell you my personal problems?”
“Because we’re roommates! And friends! And muscle gears!”
“We are most definitely not muscle anything,” Remus said dryly, pulling his robes from his trunk.
“Speak for yourself,” James scoffed, flexing a bicep, and Sirius laughed at him.
“Can we go?” Peter asked. “I’m starving.”
As they made their way downstairs, Remus asked Sirius in an undertone, “muscle gears was definitely on purpose, right? I mean, you’re the one who knew the word musketeer to begin with.”
Sirius grinned and mimed zipping his lips. “Dunno what you’re talking about, Lupin.”
There was no howler waiting for Sirius at the table that morning, but there was a small stack of mail. He flipped through it quickly, then tossed it aside.
"Shouldn't you open those?" Peter asked.
"Nope," Sirius replied carelessly. "They're not from anyone important."
"But isn't that your mum's name?" Peter pressed.
"It most certainly is," Sirius said, ripping the envelope in half and stuffing it neatly in an empty glass before pouring pumpkin juice over it. Peter blanched and didn't push the issue further. Remus only just kept himself from rolling his eyes at Sirius's dramatics.
"What's the schedule look like, lads?" James asked, dumping sugar in his tea.
"Potions first thing, then defense against the dark arts, then study hall. Charms after lunch, then we're done for the day," Remus read from the sheet that Frank Longbottom had passed down to them.
"There's a lot of measuring in potions," Peter fretted.
"On the first day?" Remus said. "I doubt we'll do much besides look over the course syllabus."
"The what?" Peter squeaked.
"Syllabus," Sirius said grandly. "From the Latin meaning list."
"We're going to talk about what we're learning this year, Pete," James explained patiently. "We probably won't make any potions or do any spells today." Peter was visibly relieved, but Sirius looked bored.
"Why bother?" he groaned. "Let's just get going already."
"I don't know if you've noticed, but not everyone here comes from a pureblood family that was groomed to learn magic their entire lives," Remus pointed out. "D'you think that maybe the muggleborns deserve a chance to get oriented?"
Sirius looked momentarily chagrined, then brightened. "Maybe lessons will be short today!" This time Remus did roll his eyes. He couldn't help himself.