December
WEDNESDAY. DECEMBER 1, 1971.
All parties present at the duel had incurred a penalty of ten points each . Each! James had considered this the injustice of the century. Why should Gryffindor be punished more harshly simply because James had more friends than Snivellus? Peter had quietly agreed, but Sirius was quick to point out that Evans was actually Sniv’s friend so the penalty was actually doubly unfair. Sprout had glowered, Remus had kicked James and Sirius in the ankles, and that had been the end of that. Sirius had been taken to the Hospital Wing to get his wrist fixed after his fall and Peter hadn't seen him for the rest of the night.
Losing the lead for the House Cup to Ravenclaw felt rotten enough, but McGonagall clearly hadn’t considered it to be sufficient punishment. While Slughorn let the Slytherins off scot-free after Professor Sprout sent them home, the Gryffindors were all given two weeks' worth of detention.
James got sent back to the Quidditch pitch, polishing and waxing the ancient school brooms for an hour at the end of every day, Remus polished trophies in the school trophy case, Lily helped Professor Sprout re-pot the mandrakes for the beginning of her course with the second-years, and Peter cleaned Professor Alderton’s classroom after all of his wild and messy demonstrations. He’d been doing it for exactly fifteen days now, and it had been utter torture the entire time. It’s not that the work was particularly hard. It wasn’t. It was simple enough– sponge down any ooze or slime or ectoplasm, tidy the tables, sweep the floor, toss anything irreparably singed, etcetera etcetera. Peter wouldn’t have minded doing it for any other Professor.
But doing it for Alderton was awful.
The entire time Peter cleaned, Alderton would sit at his desk and pretend not to be watching. Every time Peter met his Professor’s eye, the man would look away quickly as though he’d been the one caught doing something bad. But he was never fast enough to keep Peter from seeing the sad , disappointed look in his eyes.
That look is what’s been tearing Peter up inside day after day for two weeks. He doesn’t want Professor Alderton to be disappointed in him; he really likes Alderton. He’s the most interesting Professor by far. Sometimes, at the end of class, if they breeze through the prepared lesson, he’ll entertain the students with stories about his most exciting raids as an auror. He hasn’t told any stories about Peter’s father yet, but he’s certain that they’re coming… And Peter even thinks Alderton might have liked him too before Peter got in trouble. He’s never left Peter behind in a lesson, even when it takes Peter a while to properly cast a spell, and he always seems so proud when it finally clicks.
Peter hates to think that might all be over now. The very idea makes him queasy. It’s the reason his hands are shaking as he dunks his washcloth back into the bucket of soap and water for the last time.
He takes a deep breath. Be brave, Pete. “I’m done, sir.” He calls.
“Hmm?” Professor Alderton glances up from the letter he’s writing. He frowns. “Oh. Good. You’re free to leave, Peter, thank you.”
Peter sets down the bucket and collects his wand from Alderton’s desk. The professor gives him a tight-lipped smile. Peter tries pitifully to be polite and smile through the pit in his stomach.
When he’s set to leave, he pauses in the doorframe. He twists his father’s wand, running his index finger along the grooves in the wood. His voice catches when he turns back towards the classroom and tries to speak.
“I didn’t hurt anybody.” He says.
Professor Alderton looks up, a quizzical twinkle in his eye. “Dear boy, I don’t believe anyone said you did.”
“Right,” Peter says. “But I wanted to make sure you knew. I didn’t hurt anybody. I was barely even part of the fight. I only ever used one spell.”
Now that he’s begun speaking, it’s hard to stop. It all spills out of him until he’s somehow arrived at contesting his punishment.
“It was self-defense!” Peter’s chest heaves as he finishes his spiel. He frowns, instantly regretting the entire thing. He expects to be scolded– perhaps even punished more. But Professor Alderton doesn’t look angry; he looks amused. He leans forward, beckoning Peter closer. Peter obliges.
“I know.” He says.
“You do?”
“Of course I do.” Alderton shakes his head minutely, a small, excited grin on his face. “Peter, you’re a good kid. Good kids don’t go around hurting other students.”
Peter’s chest starts to swell. His response balloons up from his gut and floats out of his mouth. “Exactly.” He nods.
Professor Alderton seems to relax now that the erumpent in the room has been addressed. He leans back in his seat and flicks his wand. The door to the classroom swings shut behind Peter.
“What spell did you use?”
Peter steps forward, eager to regale his favorite professor with a story of his own.
+++
SATURDAY. DECEMBER 4, 1971.
It’s a terrible day for flying.
First of all, it’s already bloody freezing. Not even the pale winter sun that shines through the low-hanging clouds is enough to warm the pitch. Biting winds from the north howl through the stands louder than any crowd could possibly cheer. Second, it’s bound to start snowing soon. The cold is wet and clingy and becoming more so by the moment as the sky continues to darken.
But Quidditch players are mental, so the second Gryffindor-Slytherin match goes on regardless.
Quidditch cares not for the weather. Quidditch demands to be played! It calls for blood! There must be a victor!
The Gryffindor keeper, a third-year called Hamish Frater, deftly blocks a shot from one of the Slytherin chasers. James shoots to his feet. He cups his mittened hands around his mouth and shouts, determined to be heard over the wind. “Suck it, Slytherin!”
Marlene roars in agreement, blowing into a silly muggle noisemaker she’d packed from home. The face paint she and James spent the early hours of the day slathering on one another comes off on the lip of the instrument, staining the brassy horn red.
James made everyone wear face paint. Once he and Marlene had cooked up the idea, there was no negotiating. Peter complied the most quickly. He didn’t put up any fight at all, happy to be included. He sat perfectly still as Marlene striped gold across his face, only wiggling when she sponged the cold colors across his eyelids. Sirius had seemed a bit hesitant at first. But that hesitation vanished pretty quickly once James flicked burgundy paint at him and started a war. Even Remus joined in eventually, allowing Peter to cover his cheeks with multi-colored hearts.
Now, Remus stands with his arms crossed, clutching his shoulders in an attempt to stay warm as his friends all jump around excitedly. James reaches over Sirius and Peter to ruin Remus’ hair. Remus smiles wryly.
“What a catch from Frater!” The game’s announcer is a Ravenclaw lad who sounds to be in the throes of puberty, his voice crackles and jumps octaves every time he gets a little too invested… like now. “The Gryffindors take the Quaffle– Chaser Sapworthy in possession, a neat pass over to newcomer Frank Longbottom.”
“Go, Frank!” James yells, climbing up on his seat.
Frank zips across the field, nimbly avoiding the second-year Slytherin chaser. He ducks a Bludger at the last possible moment; Alice zooms up from behind him and whacks the cannonball toward Captain Steve Laughalot.
“Longbottom going the distance, goalposts in sight. Keeper Blotting dives– too early! Gryffindors score!”
James jumps down from his seat. He latches on to Sirius’ shoulders and shakes the taller boy with fervor, screaming right into his face all the while. Sirius shouts right back.
“Slytherin in possession,” The announcer says, “New Chaser Emma Vanity hands the Quaffle off to Carrow– impressive sleight of hand– Carrow flies right over Fortescue. That’s got to sting. Gryffindor Captain Gould takes a shot at her– near miss, blocked by her brother! The Carrows seem unstoppable.”
Amycus flies circles beneath Alecto, acting as her own personal bodyguard as she soars down the pitch. Alice and Gould both beat Bludgers at him at once, and he’s forced to retreat. But it’s too late. Alecto, Emma, and Florence Greengrass have all converged by the goalposts. The Quaffle shoots straight down the line, changing hands far quicker than Keeper Frater could possibly track, and sails into the farthest post, chucked by Greengrass.
“That’s ten points for Slytherin. It’s anybody’s game.”
Marlene blows into the noisemaker to drown out the cheers from the Slytherin stands.
“That’s alright,” Peter pipes up. “They can still catch the snitch.”
Marlene snorts. “I wouldn’t put that much faith in Gudgeon.” She purses her lips when she says his name. The group squints up at the Gryffindor seeker. Unlike the Slytherin Captain and seeker, Steve Laughalot, who’d chosen to hang back near the goalposts, Galvin Gudgeon had been hovering high above the pitch for the entirety of the game thus far. Too high.
Marlene’s probably right. If the snitch is ever spotted anywhere below the very top of the stands, Gudgeon will almost definitely be too far away to beat Laughalot.
“Gryffindor’s got the Quaffle again— Madelyn passes to Sapworthy— Sapworthy to Longbottom– steal by Vanity! Ooh! Vanity takes a bludger to the shoulder. The Quaffle’s back with Madelyn! Carrow and Greengrass hot on her tail from either side.”
Alecto and Florence lean out, gaining momentum, preparing to squash Madelyn into pancake. Madelyn chokes up on the nose of her broom and heaves.
James watches with wide eyes, following the sailing arc of the eldest Gryffindor chaser as she climbs in altitude, up, up, over the collision and above the goalposts. She drops the Quaffle. It plummets into the waiting hands of Selina Sapworthy and into the centermost goal. The Gryffindor stands erupt into cheers. Even Remus rises to his feet. James climbs back up on his chair. Just half a year. Just six months more until he can be part of this. Just six months until he can join them up there.
Suddenly, Sirius yelps. He hops onto the seat beside James. “Look!” He cries, grasping the back of James’ neck with one arm and pointing frantically with the other. “Look!”
In the distance, darting between Alice and Stephen, something gold flickers in the quickly fading morning light. The Snitch.
Sirius and James aren’t the only people to have spotted it. Laughalot shoots forward on his broom, alerting the entire stadium to the fact that one hundred fifty points are on the line. Everyone watches, suddenly on high alert. Everyone, that is, except Galvin Gudgeon. Despite his perfect perch, Gudgeon spots the snitch a second later than Laughalot.
But he’s right above it.
He nosedives in an attempt to make up for lost time. If James didn’t know any better, he’d say the Seeker had lost control of his broom.
The game continues around the seekers, both teams desperate to reduce the incoming loss. The snitch hovers in place, almost as though it caught a case of stage fright. Alice dives out of the way as Laughalot hurdles towards her. Gudgeon continues his dive, completely vertical and gaining speed by the second.
“They’re going to crash,” Remus says, clutching Peter’s shoulder with white knuckles. He yells louder, insistently, as though imploring the players to reconsider. “They’re going to crash!”
The snitch stays stuck in place. The Seekers get closer, closer, closer still, neither one willing to blink first until– BAM! The boys go careening downwards, intertwined in a tangled mess of sticks and limbs, spinning wildly as they fall. They nearly knock Frank off his broom.
Hooch blows her whistle and the shriek is almost as shrill as the rip of the wind through the pitch. Their brooms screech to a halt in midair. Gudgeon slips, keeling over sideways and scrambling to right himself… using both hands. James’ eyes dart over to Laughalot, who proudly raises his closed fist over his head.
The Slytherin stands explode. The Gryffindor stands collapse. Remus shouts something about cheating, Peter pats his shoulder while Sirius laughs at the confusion.
The announcer says something, but James isn’t listening. Marlene slumps against him in despair but James doesn’t react. James is staring straight at the Pitch, watching the players dismount from their brooms and shake hands whether they want to or not.
Just six more months. James thinks hungrily. That’s not very long at all.
+++
SUNDAY. DECEMBER 5, 1971.
Dear Sirius,
Do you remember that it is almost my birthday? Please do not forget just because you are at Hogwarts. It is very important this year. Mother and Father say that one of my presents will be my wand.
When you became Gryffindor against the rules Father said you might not be invited. But Mother made him change his mind and now we are all very excited that you’ll be home for my birthday. Me most of all. I have lots and lots to tell you.
Bella is going to get married soon I think. There was a big fight at Uncle Cygnus’ house. And now she is extra betrothed. I thought that meant she was engaged, but Kreature says it’s something else. Mother says Bella and Rudy made a promise. But I thought they had already promised to get married… It makes no sense. I think I am lucky that you’re the older brother. That way you can be betrothed then promised then engaged then married and I can be alone like Uncle Alphard.
Anyways. Everyone seems cross with Bella now for some reason. That’s sad because I want everyone to be there when I get my wand. But it is also good because that probably means they are done being cross with you. (I was not cross with you. I know you do not mean to break the rules.)
But please remember to say Happy Birthday when you get off the train or else I will be cross with you.
Love,
R.A.B.
+++
SUNDAY. DECEMBER 12, 1971
One might think that midterms at a magic school would be less stressful than midterms at a muggle school. One would be sorely mistaken to do so, but one might.
Lily has not spent a single afternoon or evening outside of the library since December began. She may be beginning to lose her mind– just a little bit. Thank heavens for Mary. The curly-haired girl tags along every single day, refusing to allow Lily to run herself into the ground all alone.
“Which master of the elder wand used its power to terrorize southern England in the Middle Ages?” Mary reads off a flashcard.
Lily chews at her thumbnail. She knows this. She knows she knows this. History of Magic is not her favorite subject– that’s almost certainly Potions or Charms or Magical Theory– but she knows this information. It’s just so many names. And so many of them start with E!
“Egbert?” She hazards a guess.
Mary presses her mouth flat.
“No! Emeric!” She tries again. “Emeric the Evil. Egbert kills Emeric and then disappears.”
“Good job.” Mary compliments, tossing the flashcard into the reviewed pile.
Lily shakes her head, plucking the card out of the pile and putting it back in the stack. “No. I need to try that one one more time.”
Mary sighs and rubs her eyes. The shoddy, pink paint job Lily’s shaky hands applied to her nails a few weeks ago is still proudly in place thanks to a charm from one of Alice’s friends. They frame Mary’s face as she rests her head on the desk. “Aren’t you tired yet?” She yawns.
“No.” Lily lies. She tries for a convincing smile.
Mary raises a neatly shaped eyebrow. Lily’s strained smile falls.
“Yes. I’m tired, but I need to finish these cards.”
“Fine. That’s fine, but I need a bite.” Mary stands and collects her things. “Are you coming, or shall I bring you back a muffin?”
Lily picks up the abandoned stack of flashcards. “Blueberry, please.”
“I know what you like,” Mary calls behind her as she leaves.
Lily watches her leave until she can no longer hear the click of her white weekend-shoes against the floor. Then she turns back to her revising.
How many years ago was the most recent Gargoyle Strike? What was Ulric the Oddball known for? Who headed the first Goblin uprising? How many fatalities were there in the Soap Blizzard of 1378? List three articles from the Werewolf Code of Conduct.
Lily’s vision is swimming. She’s got no choice but to put the cards down and rest for a moment. She leans back in her seat and allows her head to loll to one side. Outside the large, arched window, the moon winks at her from behind a puffy bluebell cloud. Beneath the moon, nestled into the window seat, sits Remus Lupin.
Lily perks up.
Typically, Lily would never wander up to students revising in the library– or anywhere else for that matter. But she’s exhausted, her eyes need a break, Mary’s abandoned her in search of muffins, Remus consistently scores among the highest grades in Professor Binn’s class, and Lily has yet to thank him for saving her from getting her arm cleaved off. So, she plucks up her courage and approaches the boy.
He looks up from his book when she blocks his light.
“Erm,” She begins, searching for her accursed conversational skills. Petunia was always better at this sort of thing. “Are you revising?”
Stupid question. Stupid, awful question. Lily balls up her hands into fists, pressing her nubby little nails into her palms. But if Remus is bothered by the overly obvious question he doesn’t show it. He just adjusts his book so that Lily can see it. 221 Potions Ingredients and How to Prepare Them Properly. Lily’s tense shoulders drop.
“Oh! I’ve read that,” She smiles, sitting across from him. “I could quiz you… if you’re ready for that?”
Remus puts down his book. He folds back the corner of the page he’s reading, which makes the hairs on Lily’s arms stand up, but she holds her tongue. “I’ve never revised like that.” He says confessionally.
“Really?”
“My roommates aren’t exactly revising sort.” He shrugs.
Lily snorts. That seems like an understatement. Remus gives her a half smile and moves to reopen his book. Words are tumbling out of Lily’s mouth before she makes the conscious decision to speak. “Well, I think it’s the best way to revise, really. It’s the closest thing to taking an exam, you see. Which, if you think about it, is the whole point of revising, isn’t it? To prepare for an exam?”
“That makes sense.” He nods. After a moment of further consideration, he hands the book over to Lily. “Right, then. Go ahead.”
Lily launches into a barrage of questions. She quizzes him on the uses of a dozen ingredients from Asphodel to live Flobberworms, and on common mistakes one might make in their preparation. He does decently– not nearly as well as she’d been expecting, but she supposes it’s normal for even the brightest of students to struggle in a class or two. Especially if they haven’t been getting quizzed.
“That was awful.” Remus drags his tiny hand across his face.
Lily can’t help but giggle. He glares up at her and she covers her smiling mouth, shaking her head. “No. No, it wasn’t. Promise. You just need to do it a couple more times.”
“Can’t very well quiz myself, can I?”
“I can quiz you again,” She offers. “If you want a partner. I’m here pretty much every day.”
Remus blinks at her. He cocks his head like a hound. His amber eyes bore into her, and she shifts in her seat.
“What?”
“I thought you didn’t like me,” Remus says softly. Something inside of Lily melts. She does her best to desperately force her soupy heart to hold shape.
“I don’t dislike you, ” She says, “I dislike Potter. But not you.”
Remus scrunches his nose. He looks away from her, and she feels a weight lift from her chest now that his gaze is elsewhere. “My friends are good people. James included.” He says, firmer now than before. He won’t hear any debate.
Now, Lily Evans is excellent at debating. She even finds it fun most days. It would be utterly impossible to be friends with Severus if she didn’t. But, for once, Lily doesn’t want to debate. She doesn’t want to upset him… she knows what it’s like to defend a friend. It can be exhausting, especially if you’re not expecting it… But she doesn’t know what else to say. So she says nothing.
After a while in the silence, Remus shakes his head. He exhales something between a sigh and a laugh and sets his book aside. “Do you want me to quiz you on anything?”
Lily shyly presents him with her flashcards. She’ll thank him some other time. It’d probably be a bit awkward to do it right now. Maybe she’ll offer him the muffin Mary brings her and that’ll be thanks enough.
+++
SATURDAY. DECEMBER 18, 1971.
Most of the Slytherin men made the smart decision to pack their trunks for Christmas Holiday a few days in advance. Severus is not like most Slytherin men.
Although Lily had reminded him he ought to do it as he walked her to her next exam after their Potions midterm, and although he had been seeing Edmund, Bruce, and Bertram’s trunks all neatly packed and prepped by the bedroom door for two entire weeks now, he hadn’t so much as looked at his trunk since unpacking it in September.
He couldn’t bring himself to. After eleven long years of aching to come here and get away from his wretched little house, he couldn’t bring himself to pack a trunk to head back.
In fact, he’d almost written a letter to his mother requesting permission to stay. But then he’d remembered Lily would be going home, and after four months of only seeing Lily Evans a measly four times per week, there was no chance he’d turn down the opportunity to spend two weeks with her all to himself.
So he’d steeled his resolve and spent the evening packing. It’s not as though he owns a great number of things to fit in his mother’s old trunk anyhow. The ordeal only took a few hours. In all honesty, Severus is pretty proud of how efficient he’s managed to be.
Severus lugs the dusty trunk to the line by the door where his roommates’ pristine, ornate trunks rest. He does his best not to make too much noise, worried to wake them. There’s really no hope of waking Bruce before noon, but Edmund tends to be a fitful sleeper. Even the light of Severus’ wand has been enough to set Avery’s ire upon him during a late-night revision session. So Severus has taken to his old habit of doing all his reading in the common rooms after sundown.
He plucks an unpacked book from one of his shelves and slips out the bedroom door. He pads down the hallway and begins to descend the stairs when the sounds of voices by the fire force his footsteps to freeze.
“Are you sure it wouldn’t be more appropriate to discuss this in your room?” asks Narcissa, her voice cautiously low.
“Darling,” says Lucius stiffly. “The entirety of Slytherin is asleep. We can talk here.”
Severus takes a step back, pressing his back against the wall. From his spot at the top of the stairway, he has a very narrow view of the room below. He can see Narcissa slump into one of the high-backed armchairs. She runs her ivory hands through her long, dark hair and stares into the emerald flames.
“I worry the holidays are ruined.” She mutters.
Lucius sighs. “Is this about Rudolphus?”
“It’s about everything! The entire family is in disarray. The last thing we need is him pulling out of the agreement.”
“Yes, well I think that’s rather out of the question now, isn’t it?”
“That’s not the point.” She whips her head around to stare at Lucius insistently. Severus cannot see Lucius’ response. “It’s a travesty that it came down to this in the first place. An Unbreakable Vow. Someone could die.”
“Only if someone intends to break their oath.” He counters. “Who exactly do you think is most at risk there?”
Narcissa’s face goes pale. Her chin trembles. “Stop it. It was Bellatrix’s idea. She’d never allow any harm to befall our family name.”
Lucius hums noncommittally.
“Lucius–”
“I’ll speak to him when I see him on the solstice.” He says.
Narcissa falls silent. Severus holds his breath. The sound of his own heart echoes in his ears and for a moment he fears that the older students can hear it as well, but then, she replies.
“You’re attending?” She speaks with the distinct timbre of a woman betrayed. Severus recalls the same sound coming from his Mother’s mouth in his early childhood.
Lucius replies in a kinder voice than Severus’ father ever used– though, that isn’t saying much. “Of course I’m attending.”
Narcissa turns away from him, casting her gaze back to the fire. The flame dances across her face. Lucius sighs and enters Severus’ field of vision. He approaches her chair, kneels beside her, and grasps at her hands.
“You know how hard I’ve worked for this.” He says. “I can’t walk away now. Not when I’m so close.”
“I don’t see how anything could be worth what they’re asking of you.” She hisses.
Lucius’ gaze goes hard. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You have the same strength of will as your sisters.”
Narcissa wrenches her hands away from her betrothed, and strikes him across the face. Severus bites down on his tongue so as not to gasp, and the partners stare at one another, breathing heavily. Then she flees up the staircase to her dormitory. Lucius watches her go. He heaves another tired breath and presses his ringed fingers into the back of his neck. Eventually, he stands and turns towards his own bedroom.
Severus scrambles backward and out of sight. He reaches for the handle of his door so he might slip back into his room unnoticed, but he’s too slow. Lucius lays eyes on him the moment the older boy arrives at the foot of the stairs. He looks up at Severus expectantly. The younger boy waits for Lucius to speak, but no words ever come.
“Good… evening?” Severus tries.
“It’s nearly midnight,” Lucius says. “Try again.”
“Are you angry?”
“Terribly, yes,” The prefect nods. “But not with you.”
Severus is unsure of how to respond, but Lucius’ eyes hold no fury. Sev reaches down deep into the guts of his being and plucks up the courage to inquire, “Then with who?”
He assumes the answer to be Narcissa, but the gentle way with which Lucius had reached for her hands says otherwise. Lucius shakes his head, his pristine face wrinkling minutely in distaste.
“Not who .” He says. “I can’t be angry with her. It wouldn’t be fair. See, one can’t expect a woman to understand these sorts of things.”
Severus blinks up at him. “These things?” He parrots.
“Opportunity, Severus,” Lucius says, turning back towards the hallway where Narcissa’s room stands. “Opportunity and sacrifice.”
+++
SUNDAY. DECEMBER 19, 1971.
The night before the train leaves to take the students home is a chaotic one for the inhabitants of First-Year Gryffindor Boy’s Dormitory Number One.
First, Peter misplaces the bauble Professor Alderton had instructed him to pass along to his mam as a Christmas present. So, the boys tear apart the room in search of it at the behest of the big, fat tears welling up in the youngest roommate’s eyes only to find that he’d already packed it the night before. Then James spills pumpkin juice all over Remus’ Da’s Ravenclaw jumper and the boys take turns trying to teach themselves a decent enough scourgify to fix it. They manage to get the stain out, of course. The jumper turns out fine… if not a bit moist. Remus puts the thing on for extra measure. He figures it’ll be harder for anyone to splatter it that way. Then Sirius, in a show of uncharacteristic neuroticism, unpacks everything he’d locked away several weeks ago, tidies the chest and his knickknacks with his new spell, refolds all of his clothing, and packs it all again. He does this not just once, but twice. In one day. After he’s finished reorganizing for the second time, Sirius curls up on his bed and falls asleep in his day clothes.
His roommates decide to let him rest, which may seem benevolent, but their motives are purely selfish. His incessant and unnecessary cleaning was getting to be a bit annoying.
Eventually, the boys all follow suit and climb into bed. Peter is out the moment his head hits the pillow, and James follows close behind. Soon enough, Remus is the only roommate who’s still awake. As always.
He can’t sleep. That’s not out of the ordinary. He can never fall asleep at a respectable hour, but tonight he really can’t sleep. He reckons he won’t sleep a single wink.
His stomach is churning. His fingertips are buzzing with anticipation. Remus hasn’t seen his Mam or heard directly from his Da in four whole months. He misses them both like he’d miss a limb. It’s fine to admit that in the privacy of his own head. He’s excited to hug his Mam again. He’s excited to taste her cooking. He’s a little nervous to answer his Da’s questions about life at school, but he’s also looking forward to getting his hair mussed up by his father once he gets a peek at just how shaggy it’s gotten. And he’s looking forward to Christmas– to the three of them all together around whatever sickly tree his Da managed to drag in from the field.
He knows that the sooner he falls asleep the sooner all of that will come, but he just can’t.
It doesn’t help that his roommates aren’t exactly the quietest sleepers themselves. Peter snores, of course– the boy’s as loud as a foghorn– but he’s not the worst offender. James talks in his sleep. He spouts utter nonsense nearly the whole night through. Remus supposes if he’d expect anyone to be utterly unable to stop speaking even as they slept it would be James.
Sirius typically doesn’t make too much noise, but tonight seems to be an exception. He’s tossing and turning, letting out sad little sounds as he does so.
Remus has half a mind to shut the curtains hanging from his bed in an attempt to drown them out when one of the noises suddenly stops.
Sirius sits upright in bed, clutching at his pillow. He gasps and pants as his eyes fly open. Sirius looks around, seemingly confused, before all at once he appears to realize where he is, and he begins to cry... Remus has never seen Sirius cry before.
It sounds a little silly to say, but Remus isn’t sure he knew Sirius could cry. He’d just always seemed the type to deal with his issues by getting angry– by getting even… clearly, Remus was wrong. As Remus watches Sirius press his face into his pillow to muffle his tears, he begins to feel guilty for even assuming something like that… he wonders how many times Sirius has done this. He wonders if this is the reason he’s noticed James and Sirius in the same bed so often recently.
He casts a glance towards James. Still sound asleep. Banging… Remus can be James for a few minutes. How hard can it be?
“Are you alright?” Remus whispers in a voice he hopes is loud enough for Sirius to hear.
It must have been sufficient because the taller boy’s shoulders tense and the pillow falls from his tear-streaked face. He stares at Remus, his wet eyes shining with some mix of shock and shame. Remus stares back.
“Was it a nightmare?” He attempts again. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“It wasn’t–” Sirius stops so abruptly that Remus thinks he might be about to sneeze. He doesn’t. Instead, he groans and buries his face back into his pillow. After a few heaving breaths, Sirius swings his legs over the side of his bed, walks to the center of the room, crouches down, and takes a seat on the pillow he’d been weeping into mere moments ago. Remus knits his brow as the other boy stares at him expectantly. “Come on, then,”
Remus fights the urge to roll his eyes at the bossiness. It’s surprisingly easy to let the irritation roll right off his shoulders.
He grabs a pillow of his own and joins Sirius on the floor. Sirius is still taller than Remus even when sitting down– much taller. But right now, he’s so curled in on himself that their faces are about even. Remus looks at him. Really looks at him. Up close. From an angle he’s never been privy to before. He watches as Sirius twists at his lush ring. He sees the older boy’s jaw twitch uncomfortably. His eyes trace the tear tracks that stain Sirius’ cheeks.
“It wasn’t a nightmare,” Sirius says again, firmer this time.
Remus doesn’t believe him, but he doesn’t say so. He just listens.
“I haven’t had a nightmare in a pretty long time. Months… I had a lot of them back in September but…” Sirius shakes his head, laughing humorlessly. “I don’t know. I got used to it here, I guess-- in Gryffindor, I mean, with all of you… It’s… It’s good here. Y’know?”
Sirius raises his pale eyes, catching Remus off guard. He realizes with a start that he’s being asked to respond, so he nods.
“I’m not supposed to like it here,” Sirius says. “My family doesn’t like that I’m here. I don’t want them to be cross with me all over again when they find out that I don’t mind it much. Things just got good between us again..”
Remus hums. He thinks of his own parents, of his Da’s stern warnings to keep out of trouble. “You don’t have to tell them.” He suggests.
Sirius blinks at him blankly. “They’ll ask. She’s a very inquisitive woman, my mother.”
“Well, it’s okay to tell a half-truth every now and then, I think. As long as it’s in the interest of keeping the peace.” Remus admits. He has to believe that. He couldn’t be here otherwise.
Sirius frowns and returns to twisting his ring. He still looks utterly turmoiled. Remus sighs.
“Look, Sirius, you didn’t exactly get any say in the matter. Did you?”
Sirius shakes his head.
“Exactly. You didn’t ask to be a Gryffindor, but now you are. And regardless of what anybody else thinks about it, you deserve to figure out how to be happy anyway! That shouldn’t make them cross. But if you’re sure that it will, then just don’t tell them. You and James are tied for best marks in the hardest bloody class in the whole school. There’s plenty of other stuff to talk about.”
The corner of Sirius’ mouth ticks up. He meets Remus’ eyes again. Remus expects him to respond, but he doesn’t. He just looks at Remus. Really looks. Remus has to fight the urge to shrink under his gaze.
Finally, Sirius nods, blinking away whatever thoughts had been gathering between his ears. He stands up and offers Remus a hand. “Thanks.”
Remus just shrugs, but he takes the offered help.
When Sirius crawls into James’ bed, and Remus tucks himself back into his own, the latter remains unable to sleep. He stares at the crimson canopy above his bed, shaken from the realization that he and snarly Sirius Black might have more in common than he’d thought.