Chapter 8
The Marauders spend winter break divided for the first time in almost four months. Remus returned home, enjoying a cozy holiday with his family followed by the worst possible New Year’s Eve. Madam Pomfrey had been right: a second moon in the same month was inherently much, much worse than the usual moon. Pairing that with the frigid chill in his bones and the wary, worried looks of his parents left the previously refreshed and cheerful Remus in the aftermath of the holidays suddenly sullen and withdrawn. He couldn’t wait to return to Hogwarts.
Letters came from Peter, James, and Sirius, frustrating Remus further. Peter’s long-winded letter reviewed his dinner, his gifts, and the way his mum badgered him with questions about his classes, his friends, and his grades. He detailed his visits with Sirius and James, playing chess with his sister, and even the neighborhood-wide Yule Quidditch Match. James wrote with questions – how was your Christmas supper? What did you get from your parents? What did you do for Yule? Do you have a big family? His own family, he wrote, was small and tight-knit, but filled his home to the brim with holiday joy. Sirius’s letter, the most frustrating, contained many, many words that told Remus nothing at all. He resisted the dramatic urge to burn them all when they arrived New Year's Day.
Sunday, January 2nd, the four boys reunited on the Hogwarts Express. James and Peter arrived arm in arm, laughing about something Remus had no context for. They beckoned Remus over, practically dragging him into the empty compartment they’d found even as he protested that he really could walk for himself, thanks. James had chocolate frogs to hand out, and Peter’s mum had sent along a tin of mince pies that was bewitched to stay warm and fresh. They sat together, chatting and munching and trying not to mention the elephant in the room...or missing from it.
Suddenly, the compartment door slid open. “Miss me?” asked a tired voice, and Sirius slumped in, flopping down on the empty seat besides Remus and dropping his head on Remus’s shoulder.
“No,” Remus said, giving him a gentle nudge that was ignored.
“Of course we did!” James replied jovially, handing Sirius his snacks. “Erm. How was your holiday, then?”
Sirius rolled his eyes. “The usual. Feasts and balls and and rituals, all the stiff ceremony of a pure blood Yule, devoid of even an ounce of joy. Was good to see you at the lighting of the Yule log at the Malfoys’, Pete. Thanks for making me look respectable.”
Peter blushed. “Did I really?”
“You may not be Sacred Twenty-Eight material, but you’re a pureblood wizard and your mum’s related to the Burkes. Having good manners and talking about James’s blood status and Remus’s dad’s job at the ministry may actually have saved my holiday. My mum called you a ‘little darling.” Sirius pretended to gag and Peter laughed nervously, eyeing James with some discomfort as if waiting to be redirected.
“Glad to help, mate,” he said awkwardly, fiddling with a loose string on his sweater.
“It’s good to be going back, isn’t it?” Remus asked, trying to cut the tension.
James shrugged, looking at Peter with an odd expression, and Sirius nodded emphatically.
“It’ll be good to have seasoned food again,” he said with a grin. “Reg and I were able to convince Kreacher to roast the Yule duck, but he still didn’t put anything but salt and pepper on it.”
“It’s a start,” James said, and that was almost all he said for the rest of the trip, leaving Remus and Peter to pick up the slack.
Thankfully, the return feast seemed to heal all awkwardness between the four Marauders. They settled into their normal places at the table and tucked in to a truly phenomenal spread.
“Heaven,” Sirius said with a cheesy grin as he piled meat, potatoes, and pastries onto his plate. He snapped his tongs at James. “I’ll duel you for the last pakora,” he said, pointing to the platter between Peter and Remus where one golden brown triangle sat innocently waiting to be eaten. James and Sirius drew their wands wordlessly, staring one another down.
“Idiots,” Lily murmured from the other side of Jenna Layne, shoving another tray down the table to them.
“You owe Evans your life,” James said seriously. "I'd have had to strike you down, on my honor as a Potter."
Sirius, who was stuffing food in his mouth, rolled his eyes then grinned, showing the food he was chewing and causing Remus to ball up his napkin and throw it at his face.
“You’re disgusting,” he said, sipping his drink.
“Is that jumper woolf?” Sirius asked innocently, plucking at Remus’s sleeve. Remus, for his part, spit his pumpkin juice out onto his plate and coughed, hard.
“Gross, what the heck?” Peter scooted away from Remus on his other side as if whatever had choked him might be catching.
Remus ignored him. “Excuse me?” he asked Sirius, clearing his throat and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.
“Is it wool? From a sheep? Or is it that fake stuff that muggles are making, wotsit, idyllic?”
“My sweater is made of alpaca,” James chimed in. He hadn’t looked away from his eggs, which he was eating with ardent fervor. Remus felt like he might never eat again.
“It’s wool, yes. Not...nylon? Acrylic? I don't even know what you're trying to say/” He glared at Sirius. It was possible that he’d heard him wrong, but he still felt like he was being toyed with somehow. How could Sirius possibly know, though? And if he did, how could be be so casual about it? “My grandmother made it. She makes us all jumpers every winter.”
“The Prewitts do the same thing,” James said, nodding toward the red-haired twins in matching jumpers. “Yours looks nicer, though. Softer.”
“Made with love,” Remus said with a smirk. “Also mum uses a really nice detergent.”
"What's detergent?" James asked.
"It's like a liquid soap for clothes. I suppose you use some kind of potion?"
James frowned. "I think our house elf does it, actually. I've never seen my clothes getting washed before. I'll have to ask mum and dad."
“It’s so weird that your mum does your washing,” Sirius said. “My mum thinks that manual labor gives you peasant hands.” He wiggled his own soft, pale hands an a “boo” motion.
“Probably does,” Remus said with a shrug. “I guess that’s just not something we’re worried about.” He didn’t miss the way Sirius’s expression fell, just for a second.
There was an angst in Sirius some days that James and Peter didn’t know what to do with. He’d go from wickedly funny and jovial to stormy and silent at the drop of a hat. James, sweet and warm and earnest, did everything in his power to cheer him from his low moods, and Peter distanced himself to avoid upsetting him, or else to avoid being the target of his directionless ire. Remus, who couldn’t abide by moping, found himself rolling his eyes and huffing when Sirius was in his moods. It was rude, he knew it was, but he couldn’t help being frustrated. Rich, intelligent, well-liked – Sirius was and had everything.
One tumultuous Tuesday mid January, Sirius sat in his favorite armchair near the commonroom fire, glaring into the flames and ignoring his friends’ rowdy game of exploding snap. Remus heaved a deep sigh.
“What?” Sirius snapped.
“What what?” Remus snipped back.
“Do you have a problem?” Sirius asked.
“I might. The question is, what’s yours?” Remus was only a few days out from the full moon, his fuse shorter than usual, but he didn't think that was what was setting him off. Maybe it was the nagging thought of Sirius's "peasant hands" comment. Maybe it was the histrionics. “You’re the one moping, not me.”
“Oh really? Huffing and puffing and giving me dirty looks is a sign of me having a problem, right?”
“I’m only irritated because you’re irritable!”
“James – am I irritable?” Sirius demanded.
James put up two hands to fend off the question. “I’m a neutral party. Totally not interested in this conversation.”
“Well I think you’re both irritable,” Peter muttered, then flinched as they both rounded on him, each with their own variation of "shut up".
"Should have kept it to yourself, mate,” James muttered, patting Peter’s back sympathetically.
“So we’re both irritable, fine. I know what my problem is,” Remus said to Sirius, “what’s yours?”
Sirius glared at him fiercely, and Remus glared right back. They stared one another down for a long moment, and Sirius deflated. “Got a letter from my brother. I guess he heard from mum how we got caught putting wet shellac on the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. He told me to stop embarrassing the family so he doesn’t have his work cut out for him when he’s sorted into Slytherin.”
“Ouch,” James said with a wince, and Peter nodded.
“You were hoping he wouldn’t want to be a Slytherin because you’re not?” Remus asked, and Sirius looked offended.
“Of course I was! They’re a load of miserable wankers!”
“Right now, so are you.” Sirius tossed a throw pillow at him, and Remus caught it, rolling his eyes. “I’m serious,” he replied, tossing it back.
“No, I am.”
“Shut up. What I mean is, he’s not seeing all those Slytherins being awful. He’s hearing you complaining when you’re around, which isn’t much right now, and your whole family talking about how embarrassing your actions are when you’re not there. You can’t blame the kid for not getting it. Besides, every Slytherin isn’t automatically terrible, just like every Gryffindor isn’t automatically tolerable. Can you stand Mundungus Fletcher?”
“I don’t mind him,” Sirius said. “But I think I get your point. Not all that impressed with Evans.”
“I heard that!” Lily called from her perch on the arm of Mary’s chair.
“I meant you to!” Sirius shouted back, and though they didn’t talk about it anymore, it seemed that his mood had broken for the moment.