January
SUNDAY. JANUARY 2, 1972
Returning to Platform Nine and Three Quarters is nothing like arriving there for the first time. It’s a much smoother affair all around. There’s less crying, less trolley crashing, less squabbling. Peter finds that he misses the chaos. Just a bit.
Bernadette doesn’t weep as she kisses his cheeks this time. James doesn’t tug him onto the steam train by his arm.
He still gets trainsick, though. Because of course he does. Why should the thing that most inconveniences Peter change?
As Peter’s sitting in the corner of a compartment, knees tucked beneath his chin, eyes locked firmly on the horizon as it runs like a river outside his window, James is pacing the corridor just on the other side of the door. Peter wishes he’d just sit still. The sound of his footsteps as they fall up and down the hall in tight circles makes Peter’s nausea worse. He says nothing. Let James pace. Let him tire himself out.
He’ll sit down eventually. He always does.
Remus finds them first. James claps the tiny boy on the back and takes his trunk. Remus doesn’t complain. Peter thinks he knows better by now too. Let James be James. It’s futile to fight him when he’s so wound up like this.
The cause of James’ hyperactivity is fashionably late. Much like the first time around, Sirius is last to arrive at the compartment. This time around, though, there is no awkward silence. From the moment Sirius and James spot each other they’re jabbering. Their voices overlap in such a way that it’s difficult for Peter to pick out precisely who says what.
“Oi, Potter!”
“Sirius! Look at you, you’ve shrunk!”“I’ve done no such thing–”
“Did you hear the news about Crow Kettles?”
“--If anything I’ve gotten taller, I think. The Wasps pl–”
“He was the Wasps player. He got traded!”
And so on and so forth until it’s given Peter a headache. Remus places a small, supportive hand on Peter’s shoulder.
“It’s alright,” He says. His accent seems thicker somehow after a few weeks at home. “I’ll crack open a window.”
So, Remus does and within a few minutes, Peter thinks he might have to kiss Remus square on his tiny Welsh mouth. He doesn’t, just in case he still winds up being sick. But it’s the thought that counts.
Their seats are different this time, too. Peter notes once his vision has ceased swimming. We’ve switched seats.
During their first ride to Hogwarts, James and Peter had sat together on one side of the compartment, across from Remus and Sirius respectively. Peter had curled in on himself because he was queasy, and James had taken up far too much legroom because he was James. Sirius had sat perfectly upright like some trained little soldier, and Remus had folded himself into an even smaller package to get away from Sirius.
Now, it’s Peter and Remus who are sat together, each boy positioned to take up practically no space. Seated across from them are James and Sirius respectively, and, despite being the same amount of people, those two have practically no space left. James is sprawled out just the same as he was before, but gone is the cross-ankled properly postured Heir to the House of Black. Sirius sits just the same as James now… slouched against the compartment door, legs propped up by the worn and weathered seat beneath him.
For a split second, this makes Peter dizzy all over again. It feels, suddenly, as though things have begun to change around him without his awareness. One thought strikes him over the head the way lightning strikes a tall tree, so quickly you barely see it at all.
How am I meant to keep up?
It burns its way through his brain, leaving a stain on the back of his eyelids like a phosphene. It chokes him up for the briefest of moments.
And then it’s gone.
It’s hit him and ruined him and left him all in the span of a couple of seconds. Nobody else even noticed it was ever there at all. Not even Remus. Not even James.
It passes so quickly, in fact, that Peter feels a little silly about how hard it hit him in the first place. He’s left to marvel in secret at that singular moment of panic.
How very strange, that things can feel so different when not much has changed at all.
+++
SATURDAY. JANUARY 8, 1972
It’s been exactly one week since The Marauders returned to Hogwarts, and James is itching to make everyone aware. It’s been far too quiet over the last seven days. It seems everyone’s still half asleep from break, still sauntering about in the hazy dreamlike place between Christmas and New Year’s.
Even his friends seem to be sleepwalking through life these days. Peter’s picking absently at the curls of the rugs beneath his bed. There’s a pile of fluff next to his worrying hands– one James doubts he’s even noticed yet. Sirius is lying stomach-down on James’ bed, fumbling with a sugar quill that’s too sucked down to be used in class anymore, and Remus is sat in the center of the room, taking notes while the boys brainstorm.
“I say we use the skin-staining spell again,” He says. “It’d be a waste not to.”
Sirius pulls the quill from his mouth; it xylophones against his teeth. “We can’t do that again so soon. They’ll think we’ve lost our edge.”
“We’re eleven.” Remus retorts. “We’ve got no edge.”
“Twelve.” Sirius corrects.
Remus rolls his eyes and scribbles his thoughts onto the parchment. “Whatever. I’m writing it down.”
“I’d like to pretend we’ve got edge, I think.” Peter says to no one in particular.
“Pete’s right.” James declares. “It can’t be the same exact spell.”
Sirius flicks two fingers at James in a crass salute. James giggles with glee at the unrefinedness of it all. He much prefers this version of Sirius to the one he’d met half a year earlier.
He wasn’t worried, because, as you may remember, James Potter wastes no time worrying… but if he were the type to worry, James might have worried that going home for the Holidays might jolt Sirius back into proper form. But it hadn’t! Not at all! If anything, it’d done the opposite. Sirius felt less and less Heir-ish by the hour.
“What do you propose then, if my idea’s so unthinkable?” Remus says.
“Not unthinkable, Remus,” Peter says reassuringly. He pauses and shakes a bit of red fluff from his hand, blinking rapidly at the graveyard he’d unthinkingly made of his rug.
James agrees. “Just ahead of its time.”
Remus grumbles unappreciatively, but his cheeks color all the same.
James flops back onto his bed, making Sirius yelp as he’s vaulted into the air for a moment.
“School’s nearly over.” He says, allowing his head to roll to the side so he can keep an eye on the others.
Remus wrinkles his nose. “It’s really not.”
“It is, though!” James insists. “Think about it. It’s the second week of January.”
“Almost.” Peter interjects.
James plows right over his contribution. “Even if we come up with something today, that’ll take time to execute. Even if it’s something small. We’ll have to survey the target, probably learn a new spell, pick an opportune time to strike… it’ll probably take a week or so. Then we’ll want a week to bask in the glow of a job well done. And then it’s February! We’ve only got about five cycles left– four if we break for Easter.”
Sirius rolls over in bed, he bites down on his sugar quill at last. It makes a sound like shattering glass. “All for little things everyone’ll forget by the time we start planning the next one.” His speech is slightly garbled around the bits of candyfeather in his mouth, but James understands him regardless. They’re on the same page.
“Exactly.” James says. “We’ve got no time to waste on small stuff. We need to think big.”
“But I’d rather not get caught again,” says Peter.
Remus points without looking up from his list of ideas. “I’m with Pete here. I won’t do anything too risky.”
“Oh, please.” Sirius tosses the inedible nib of the quill off towards the bin. He misses. “Life is dreadfully dull without any risk. Trust me, I’d know.”
Remus’ face contorts as though he’d just smelt something rotten. James, sensing an argument that would most definitely not be productive to planning, steps in. “We won’t get caught.” He promises.
His friends all look unimpressed. Even Sirius.
“You said that last time.” Remus points out.
That’s true. James did say that last time. And the time before that. And the time prior. But this time is different.
“Last time we didn’t have this !” James exclaims as he rushes over to his trunk.
Sufficiently intrigued, the other boys make their way over to him one at a time. First comes Peter, scampering over the moment James bends down. Then Remus and Sirius follow. Once his audience is in place, James opens the trunk.
“Wingardium Leviosa.” He says, just for dramatic effect.
The invisibility cloak rises impressively from its resting place. It almost looks alive, the way it ripples and sways in the air.
“No.” Breathes Sirius.
“Is that a-”
“Invisibility cloak!” Peter exclaims. “You’ve got an invisibility cloak!”
Peter reaches out and snatches the cloak from the sky, holding it close to his eyes like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.
“Where on Earth…?” Remus trails off, running his hand along the shimmering fabric in amazement.
“My Papa gave it to me,” James says, puffed up with pride. “It’s ours to use now. For Marauding.”
And in that precise moment, something changes in the Gryffindor boys' dorm room. A switch somewhere gets flipped. A whole new world of possibilities has been unearthed, and not a single soul in that room is unwilling to go along for the ride. Sirius grins at James over the cloak.
James has seen Sirius smile plenty of times in the short while they’ve been friends. But , he thinks with a sudden sureness, this one is his favorite by far.
+++
WEDNESDAY. JANUARY 12, 1972
Sirius doesn’t think he could ever hate James Potter. Sirius is very good at hating people. But James feels entirely off-limits for that sort of thing. So, he won’t say he hates James for joining Frog Choir. But he is terribly cross with that glasses-wearing git for it.
He leaves Sirius alone every afternoon after free period. It’s dull and awful and almost unforgivable.
Except for when it’s useful.
Typically, Sirius might just sulk around the dorm until James came home, but today, Peter’s also serendipitously absent. He’s off with Professor Alderton, being tutored or something of the sort… which leaves Sirius alone with Remus.
It’s exactly what he’s been waiting for ever since he’d come back to school. Honestly, Sirius hadn’t realized just how little time he and Remus spent alone until it had become necessary that he catch the younger boy by himself.
It finally happens two weeks into the term. Remus is perched by the window, reviewing his Astronomy homework as the sun sets and the stars slowly begin to dot the sky. Sirius is standing a few feet away like some sort of hidebehind, clutching a ratty old book behind his back.
Sirius squeezes the sides of the frayed, clothbound cover and wills himself to approach. But his feet simply will not move.
“Is there a reason you’re still staring at me?” Remus asks, without even turning around.
Sirius’ stomach drops at getting caught. He bites back any defensive snark. All that tumbles out of his mouth instead is a weak. “‘M not staring.”
“You can’t copy my homework.” The other boy says, sounding as disinterested as ever. “Ask for an extension.”
“I don’t need to copy your homework!” Sirius scoffs. Sirius Black does not need to copy anyone’s Astronomy homework. He’d be disowned if he did. He’s named after a star for Merlin’s sake! “Or an extension, for that matter.”
Remus seems skeptical. He finally turns around, raising a brow as he does. “Then what is it?”
Deep breath, Sirius. It’s only Remus.
“I’ve got something for you.” He says with a shrug that’s meant to be nonchalant but might come across as rehearsed.
The shorter boy puts down his quill, officially abandoning Astronomy. He looks at Sirius curiously. Like Sirius is a particularly tricky arithmetic problem Remus hasn’t quite puzzled out yet. Sirius forces his shoulders to relax. He lets Remus look.
“What is it?” Remus asks at last.
Sirius pulls the book from behind his back and thrusts it towards Remus unceremoniously. The shorter boy takes it, his hands moving slowly, cautiously. “Happy Christmas.” says Sirius.
Remus furrows his brow at the faded cover. The gilded vinyl of the title peels up in odd places, making it hard to identify at a glance.
“It’s Sonnets of a Sorcerer,” Sirius says, though he’s certain Remus could read that for himself. The glare the younger boy shoots him confirms that. “Have you heard of it?”
“Can’t say that I have.” Remus frowns, running a finger along the book’s cracked spine.
Sirius glides up to Remus's seat at the windowsill and joins him there, pulling up his legs to rest his chin on his knees. “Well, it’s a poetry book, see? Only it’s cursed.”
“You’re giving me a cursed Christmas present?”
“I’m giving you an UNcursed Christmas present.” Sirius corrects. “The curse is in the book. Laced into the words, I mean. Everyone who reads it can only speak in limericks from then on. So most bookshops don’t sell it.”
“I don’t particularly fancy having a book I can’t read. My trunk’s cluttered enough with music I can’t listen to.” Remus frowns.
“But you can read it.” Sirius protests. “This one’s safe. That’s the gift.”
Remus turns the book over in his hands a few times as though testing the weight of it. “How?” He asks. “Who broke the curse.? You?”
Sirius tries not to be upset by Remus’ suspicious tone. He shakes his head. “My Mother. Probably.” He says. “Father might have, but he’s not particularly interested in poetry... Either way, I swear it’s safe. I’ve read it myself.”
“You have?”
Sirius nods. “‘During homeschooling.”
Remus seems to relax a little. He’d been holding the book a short distance away from his body, as though he were worried it might explode. He stops that now.
“You’re always in the library.” Sirius continues. “I wanted to give you something you wouldn’t find there.”
Remus finally looks up at Sirius. His amber eyes shimmer a bit wetly. Sirius pretends not to notice the misty look, for Remus’ sake. Remus hadn’t mentioned it when he caught Sirius crying before break. The least Sirius can do is return the favor.
“That’s,” Remus pauses, mouth twitching as he searches for the right word. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Sirius.”
Sirius shrugs, though the praise sends an acidic drop of guilt burning through his stomach.
“I haven’t got anything to give you,” Remus admits quietly. “I didn’t think we’d…”
“It’s alright,” Sirius says straight away. “I don’t need anything. Besides, it might be more of a bribe than a present.”
Remus’ warm eyes go cold in an instant. Sirius can practically feel the younger boy shuddering himself off. “Excuse me?” He says.
“An apology!” Sirius rushes to correct himself. He’d nicked that book from the family library to fix things between he and Remus, not make them worse. “Sorry. Not a bribe, an apology.”
Remus wrinkles his nose. He says nothing.
Sirius twists the Black family wring around his finger so roughly it almost hurts. Remus never makes talking to him particularly easy, does he? Not like James who Sirius could talk to for ages. Or Peter, who at the very least doesn’t require much forethought. Remus is complicated. It’s like he downright refuses to understand what Sirius is trying to say.
“I haven’t always treated you fairly this year.” Sirius finally admits. “I’ve been a bit prickly I guess. Though, that’s only because I thought you didn’t like me.”
“I didn’t like you,” Remus says plainly. “Not completely anyway.”
The admission stings. Even though Sirius had pretty much already known it to be true– even though he hadn’t liked Remus very much either– it makes him want to shoot out quills like a porcupine.
Remus puts down the book so he can focus solely on Sirius. “I think I’ve changed my mind since then, if that helps. I’m sorry.”
“‘S fine,” Sirius says, although he’s not sure that it is. “I reckon I’ve changed my mind about you too. We’ll call it even.”
Remus smiles. His canine teeth are extra sharp. Sirius holds back from telling him just how cool he thinks they look.
“I’d like that.” He says. Then he picks up his quill again and returns to his Astronomy homework. Sirius’ present lays abandoned on the cushions.
Sirius shifts uncomfortably for a moment or two, rotating his ring. He listens to the scritch of Remus’ quill on the parchment. Before he even knows what he’s going to say, he’s opened his mouth. “Do you want me to check that for you? So you can start to read?” He asks.
“Really?” Remus pauses; his lips quirk upwards ever so slightly.
Sirius is a bit surprised at the offer himself. But he finds that he’s actually quite excited to be able to talk to Remus about the book. After all, the only other people he knows who’ve read it are his cousins and Regulus. He’s heard everything there is to hear about their thoughts on the poetry.
Remus is strange. He’s a bit difficult. And he’s terribly intelligent.
Which makes him interesting.
“Why not?” Sirius says. “It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do until James gets home anyhow.”
+++
SUNDAY. JANUARY 16, 1972
Mary Macdonald has lots of friends. She spends lots of time at breakfast every morning flitting about from group to group just like the colorful butterfly clips she adorns her hair with. It seems to Lily that Mary Macdonald knows positively everyone. She knows Alice Longbottom well enough to borrow her magazines, and Madelyn Day well enough to loan her tubes of lipgloss. The only girl in Gryffindor it seems Mary doesn’t know is Marlene McKinnon. But, in all honesty, Marlene McKinnon doesn’t appear to be particularly interested in getting to know anyone other than the boys on the Quidditch team and James Potter. So, Lily doesn’t weigh Marlene very against Mary’s social achievements. Mary knows everybody. And everybody knows Mary.
Lily, on the other hand, knows practically nobody.
She knows Severus, of course. But that doesn’t seem to count for much at Hogwarts… especially not now that he’s made friends with those horrid boys in his own house.
It was Sev’s birthday last week, and she hadn’t seen him at all. She made him a card and even enchanted it so that the candles would really glow… but she didn’t get to give it to him until the day after. He spent the entire day with his other friends.
Lily’s quite cross with him for that.
She knows Remus too, she supposes. Lily likes Remus– just a bit. He’s more tolerable than his friends, and he’s wicked smart. But knowing Remus doesn’t count for much either. He’s got his own friends too, and they’re just as horrid as Sev’s. Actually, on second thought, Remus’ mates might be worse since Lily has to see them so often and they’re so awful to Severus… who she is still cross with.
The only other person Lily knows is Mary.
But, apparently, knowing Mary counts for absolutely everything . All Mary has to do is flash her perfect smile and suddenly Lily’s gone from moping about Severus alone in their bedroom to moping about Severus in Alice Fortescue’s room, surrounded by girls a full year older than her.
It’s a little strange. Lily’s not uncomfortable with the fact that Mary’s so popular— Petunia’s plenty popular and she and Lily used to be the best of friends. It’s more the fact that Mary seems so eager to share this popularity with Lily.
It makes Lily’s stomach flutter.
“But we always listen to the Beatles.” Emma Vanity gripes. She and Amelia bones are rummaging through the box of albums next to Emmeline Vance’s record player. “Isn’t there anything else?”
Amelia plucks out a pristine vinyl. Imagine by John Lennon. “There’s this.”
“That’s just more Beatles.” Emma pushes the Hufflepuff away from the box, redoubling her search. “I want something new.”
Emmeline, who, up until this point, had stayed out of the squabble quite diligently, pipes up from her place at Alice’s desk. “I got something new for Christmas, actually. We could try that?”
“No, thank you,” Amelia says, and Emma jabs her in the shoulder.
Alice looks terribly bored with the entire kerfuffle. She chews on a blue ballpoint pen as she reviews her History of Magic report. Lily thinks it’s quite a queer sight: a pureblood witch using a pen like that. “Pick something or knock off, please.” She says a bit irritably.
“Beatles,” Amelia decides just as Emma decides the opposite.
“Let’s not fight.” Emmeline frowns. She twists the bottom bits of her plaits as she watches her friends. It makes Lily think of her nubby little nails, bitten raw and bloody after a few weeks at home with her sister.
“Flip a coin?” Lily suggests. That may have been the first time she’s chosen to speak in this room full of beautiful strangers.
They certainly look at her like it was. Emma Vanity looks at Lily like she’d forgotten Lily was even there. “I don’t have a coin.” She says, her sharp brows knitting together, furrowing just barely above her coffee-coloured eyes.
“I do.” Mary offers. She places down the comb she’d been attacking Lily’s tangled tresses with and fishes around in her bag for a quid.
When Mary pulls it out and forks it over to the older girls, Amelia examines it with interest.
“Dragons!” Emma calls quickly.
“There’s no dragon.” Amelia says, handing the coin to the Slytherin. “‘S muggle money.”
The girls flip the coin over a few times, as though searching for the dragon that’s stamped on the backside of every sickle. It’s an easy enough mistake to make, Lily supposes. They’re both silver, after all.
“Fine. The side without the face.” Emma says.
Amelia nods and, with a flick of her thumb, the quid goes flying into the air. It lands facing down.
Mary returns to combing Lily’s hair as Emma gloats and Amelia rolls her eyes. Emmeline abandons Alice to drop the needle on her new record. She taps her wand against the record player, “Circumrota.”
The tune that comes from the machine is a familiar one. Lily feels the last of her nerves settle as the melodic piano line washes over her. She turns to Emmeline. “You like Elton John?”
“Well enough, yeah.” Emmeline gives a little half-nod. “Haven’t heard the whole album just yet.”
“It’s lovely.” Lily promises.
Emmeline smiles brightly at Lily before settling back down next to Alice. Amelia drapes herself across Alice’s bed. Her head hangs of the edge, landing right next to Lily. Lily jumps
“Hold still.” Mary chastises.
“Sorry.”
Mary’s long, pink nails gently rake over the back of Lily’s neck by way of forgiveness. Lily toys with the rug beneath her.
“You said you got this for Christmas?” Emma asks. Her dark eyes remain fixed on the rotations of the record, tracking the miniscule movements of the needle.
“Jude gave it to me.” Emmeline says. She nicks the pen straight out of Alice’s hand and crosses something out on the Gryffindor’s homework. “That’s not how that’s spelt.”
“You mean your dad got it for you and Jude put his name on the card.” Alice takes her pen and goes right back to chewing on the cap.
“How was your Christmas, Lily?” Emmeline asks, carefully avoiding any reaction to Alice’s assertion.
Lily startles a bit, but tries not to show it.
“It was alright,” She shrugs. She chooses her next words carefully. Mary may be vying to be Lily’s second favorite girl in the entire world, and Alice and Emma, Amelia, and Emmeline are all nice enough, but Lily doesn’t particularly want to share the details of her falling out with Petunia with everyone here. “We went carrolling.”
“Lily’s in Frog Choir.” Mary says from behind Lily. “She’s got a lovely voice.”
Amelia turns towards Lily. Her bright blue eyes look startlingly clear up this close. “Never been carroling. The neighborhood’s too small.” She says matter-of-factly.
“My neighborhood isn’t terribly large,” Lily says. She’s not sure why she feels the need to defend herself, but she does so anyways. She may live in East End, but she’s practically right next-door to the playground that divides east from west. Most of her toys growing up had been Petunia’s hand-me-downs. The only reason she doesn’t wear Tuney’s old clothes is because she’d never fit in them. “On my street, everyone knows everybody.”
Amelia just hums.
Mary dangles a set of green ribbons in front of Lily’s eyes. “These?” She asks.
Lily nods and Mary gets to work braiding her hair. She’s far gentler than Petunia ever was– as gentle as Lily’s mum. Mary’s gentle hands twisting Lily’s hair into art, Elton John tinnily crooning from the record player, the sight of Alice smudging her fingers blue with pen ink… it all feels comforting. It all feels familiar. It makes Lily want to keep talking.
“We just all like carrolling, is all.” Lily says. “So long as they were home, they were happy to see us?”
Emma, who’d been perusing Alice’s stack of magazines, raises a brow. “Aren’t most muggles home for Christmas?”
She doesn’t say muggles like it’s a bad thing. Lily’s noticed some wizards have a tendency to do that. Especially Slytherins . Some of them say muggles the same way Petunia says Spinner’s End. But Emma doesn’t.
“Some go on holiday.” Mary replies in Lily’s stead.
“There was one house on my street that looked like a ghost town.” Lily says, recalling the vacant home with the dingy lights. “Their tree was dead.”
“That’s strange.” Emmeline hums. “Why do you reckon they left so suddenly?”
Alice’s writing hand pauses for a split second. The sudden jolt of movement draw’s Lily’s attention, but Alice resumes writing as though she’d never stopped in the first place. “Who says they did?”
“Well, they bought a tree.” Emmeline shrugs. “Seems like they’d take it down if they planned to go somewhere.”
“Maybe they got arrested.” Emma snorts, nose back in a magazine.
“Or murdered.” says Amelia.
“Nobody was murdered, Melly.” Alice scoffs. “Merlin, you’re morbid.”
“They were on holiday.” Mary declares. “They must’ve forgotten. My mum forgets loads of things when we’re traveling.”
She pulls the green ribbon into a tight bow around the bottom bit of Lily’s plait and ushers the ginger towards the bathroom mirror. Lily allows herself to be herded without much complaint.
Mary did a wonderful job. Not a single strand of carrotty hair is out of place. It all winds into a great long plain around the side of Lily’s head and down her shoulder, tied in place by a bow the precise shade of Lily’s eyes.
“Well?” Mary prompts from behind Lily.
Lily meets her warm eyes in the mirror. Mary flashes her picture-perfect smile. It’s all Lily can do not to melt at the attention. “It’s wonderful.” She admits.
Mary shoots forward, hooking her arms over Lily’s shoulders and squeezing tight. “I knew you’d like it.” She exclaims. She pats Lily’s head affectionately and returns back to the bedroom.
“Who’s next?” Mary asks. “Amelia?”
“Not a chance.” Amelia rolls off the bed just to get away from Mary’s little hair salon.
Lily exits the bathroom, running a hand up and down the plait, appreciating the texture. “D’you think you could do this again on my birthday?”
“Of course.” Mary beams as she packs up the rest of her supplies. Dozens of colorful ribbons, a gorgeous antique brush, an array of combs. All of them get rolled up and stuffed into Mary’s bag. “Remind me when that is?”
“The thirtieth.”
All movement in the room halts. Emma even lifts the needle off Elton John.
“Of January?” Emmeline sets down Alice’s homework.
Lily nods.
“That’s so exciting!” She gushes. “Are you going to have a party?”
Mary doesn’t wait for Lily to respond. “Let us throw you a party.”
Lily feels like a deer in headlights. But it also feels… nice. Amelia’s already gone over to the wall and circled the date on the calendar. Knowing Mary Macdonald means Lily Evans gets to have a birthday party. A real party. Thrown by her friends, attended by kids her age, and not just her family members.
It feels very twelve-years-old. Very Hogwarts. Very special.
Lily pities anyone who doesn’t know Mary Macdonald.
+++
THURSDAY. JANUARY 27, 1972
Lily gave Severus a card for his birthday. He received it exactly seventeen days ago on during the few minutes he’d seen her between Transfiguration and Defense Against The Dark Arts. She’d marched right up to him and thrust it into his arms– in front of Bruce and Edmund, no less– then she’d marched right off. She hadn’t said anything, not even Happy Birthday . And Severus had read the card no less than one hundred times since then.
He carries it everywhere, right in the breastpocket of his robes.
It wouldn’t be safe to leave a gift from Lily in his room. Bruce or Edmund could get their hands on it. They could soil it. And there’s no doubt they’d want to. They’d teased him mercilessly once she’d stomped off. Bruce called him ‘cherry cheeks’ for days .
It infuriated him… but it’s not as though he could tell them off for it. They were right. Sev does fancy Lily Evans.
So much.
He fancies her so much that just sitting here in the common room looking at her chicken-scratch handwriting is making his heart pound. Severus traces the way she wrote his name with his index finger and silently thanks whatever deity may exist that the common room is empty. He’s well aware that he looks pathetic.
Lily’s birthday is in three days. Severus has no idea what to give her.
He could give her a book. Or a new quill since she keeps pressing too hard as she writes and mangling all of her nibs. Or just a card. But suddenly none of those options feel right .
Nothing’s felt right every since he started fancying her… or realized he fancies her… or however that works.
He’s ben avoiding her. It was a terrible idea, of course. He recognizes that now. But he didn’t know what else to do! It felt like if he looked at her too long he’d explode. How was he meant to spend any time around her while he felt that way? He couldn’t possibly. She’d see right through him.
…But she saw right through him anyways. Just like she always does. He knows she’s cross with him because she’s started avoiding him right back. Today, in potions, she hardly spoke a word to him. Severus can’t handle another period of that.
He’s got to fix this by Tuesday, and giving her the perfect gift is the best way to do that.
Severus tucks his card back into his breastpocket. Just as he stands from the overstuffed chair by the fire, stretching his arms overhead with some difficulty, the wall falls away and Lucius Malfoy enters the common room.
He’s wet. Droplets fall steadily from the tip of his nose, the edge of his jaw, the lobes of his ears. His white hair looks see through, drenched with water and refracting light, casting a strange ghostly glow around his marble physique. He looks like a sculpture in a storm.
Lucius shambles forwards. His eyes look vacant and tired, but Severus can tell Lucius is looking at him. It sends a chill up his spine. The older man laughs without humor. “Severus.” He says. “I should have known.”
Severus does not know what to say. Apparently, it doesn’t matter.
“Do you ever sleep?” Lucius sneers. He makes a positively grotesque face, transforming from grecian god to parisian gargoyle in seconds.
Severus steps backward, bumping into the emerald loveseat. “I was just about to.” He replies.
“Good.” Lucius says. “You should be careful with all that sneaking around you do. Not everyone will be so forgiving.”
Then he’s gone. He’s darted up the stairs; his robe billows behind him. The only proof he’d been there at all is the trail of water he’s left in his wake.
Severus feels sick to his stomach. It looked like Lucius was crying.
+++
SUNDAY. JANUARY 30, 1972
Lily Evans’ birthday party is a big fat deal. It’s a full-day affair that takes up the entirety of the Gryffindor common room. At exactly eleven o’clock. Girls begin pouring through the portrait hole. They set up streamers and balloons and towers upon towers of fairycakes. One of the girls– a Slytherin Remus might recognize from the quidditch team– heads upstairs and returns with Alice, the two of them carrying a record player down the steps.
A girl in a Ravenclaw scarf stands a few steps behind them, shouting for them to be careful as a Hufflepuff bustles up and down the staircase, bringing album after album to the floor for deliberation. The Beatles. Elton John. More Beatles. More Beatles.
Girls have been flocking downstairs all day. Even Patricia Rakepick, the pointy-looking fifth-year who’s supposedly got a penchant for hexing her exes. Even Annalena Murk, the prefect who’d brought all the first-years to the common room on the first day. Even Marlene, though she claims it’s just for the pudding. Remus can’t blame them. The whole thing looks marvelous.
There’s just one glaring issue: Lily Evans’ birthday party is strictly girls only.
About halfway through the set-up, Alice’s gang gave Fabian and Gideon Prewett two galleons each to stand guard at the portrait hole and the bottom of the boys’ staircase. Anyone permitted to pass between the two was not to loiter, under penalty of Prewett.
James paces around the bedroom, wearing footprints into all the rugs. It’s killing him that there are festivities nearby and he’s not allowed to join; Remus can tell. It doesn’t take any finely tuned powers of observation to come to that conclusion. James has never been good at hiding his opinions.
“It’s unjust, that’s what it is!” He declares on his third loop around the room in thirty seconds. “They can’t just commandeer the common room like that.”
“I think it’s sweet.” says Peter mildly. “Just wish we could go too… or that we knew a girl who’d smuggle us a cake.”
James glowers at Peter, but it only lasts for a second. James can never stay cross with Peter.
“We do know a girl.” Remus points out. “Marlene’s down there right now.”
It’s partially true. Remus is sure that if James only asked, Marlene would find a way to get the boys some sweets… but Marlene isn’t the only girl Remus knows down at the party. He’s become acquainted with the birthday girl.
He’s pretty sure his roommates don’t know about it. It’s not as though he’s told them. He’s not quite hiding it either… but it’s just not information Remus feels like freely volunteering.
Hey, James. You know the only girl in the whole house who dislikes you? Well, we’ve met up in the library a few times. I think we might be mates now. Small world, yeah?
At the mention of Marlene, James clamps his hands over his ears. “The traitor!” He hisses. “Speak not her name.”
“Marlene?” Peter asks, fixing James with a perplexed stare.
“She abandoned us in our hour of need,” James exclaims dramatically.
Sirius rolls over from his spot on James’ bed where he’s been idly flipping through one of the comics Remus brought back after Christmas break. “Oh, how fickle the fairer sex can be.” He grins.
“You’re all a bunch of numpties.” Remus pushes himself off his bed and strides to the door. On his way, he knocks the old Jetsons comic off James’ bed. Sirius flicks him a two-finger salute. “ I’m going to talk to Marlene.”
James yowls as though he’d been burned, flopping backwards onto his bed, landing plum on top of Sirius.
“Ask for strawberry cakes if they’ve got any,” Peter instructs as Remus exits the room and starts down the stairs.
One of the Prewett twins stands at the bottom of the stairs– it’s impossible to tell which one. He folds his arms as Remus approaches. Remus’ palms tingle. The Prewett boy positively towers over Remus. He’s only about two years older, but he’s clearly already gone through his pubescent growth spurt.
“Afternoon.” Remus says. His voice sounds like a little flute. He wants to retreat back up the stairs.
“No boys allowed, Firsty.” GideonOrFabian flashes a playful smile, but he also flashes his pearwood wand.
Remus gulps. “I just need to ask my friend something.”
“Yeah?” GideonOrFabian raises his brows. “Point her out.”
Remus scans over the sea of girls. His eyes get pulled this way and that by all the chaos in the common-room. Someone’s wand is raining bubbles down upon the partygoers. The Slytherin from the Quidditch team and Alice are wrestling over a record. He can’t see Marlene anywhere.
But in the center of it all, stands Lily Evans. She’s dancing with Mary Macdonald, twirling around to the tail end of Twist and Shout. She looks happy. She looks the happiest Remus has ever seen her.
As the song comes to an end, Lily allows herself to fall into Mary, laughing all the while. And she locks eyes with Remus. Though it didn’t seem possible, her face lights up even more upon laying eyes on him.
“Remus!” She calls, beckoning him over.
GideonOrFabian chuckles. “The birthday girl, hmm?”
“Erm…” Remus clears his throat. “Yes?”
“Should’ve just said so, then.” The third-year steps to the side, allowing Remus entry into the party.
It feels as though the crowd gets even louder the moment he crosses the threshold. He passes by the girls swapping out the record, and watches with fascination as they cast a spell to make the thing spin without any elecktrycity. The muggle record player crackles to life and the opening notes of I Want To Hold Your Hand float into the air.
Lily stretches out her hand and grasps Remus’ arms excitedly. “Isn’t it lovely?” She says. Her eyes sparkle with joy.
“It’s wonderful.” Remus agrees.
He looks around again at all the revelry. He had no idea Lily had this many friends. She’d always seemed rather shy when she wasn’t chewing out James. His eyes suddenly land on the mountain of trinkets placed beside the fairycakes and guilt sweeps over him.
“I wish I’d known it was your birthday.” He bemoans. “I could have brought you something.”
She shakes her head furiously. Her orange hair flies all about her face. “I don’t need anything else, thank you. I’ve already got no idea where I’m going to put all that stuff as is.”
A comfortable silence falls over the two of them. Remus follows Lily’s gaze over to Mary Macdonald and Alice Fortescue adding magazines to the pile of presents.
“This is actually my first birthday party,” Lily says softly. “My first real one, anyhow.”
Remus turns back to her. Her eyes shimmer with a sheen of vulnerability she’s never shown before. He feels privileged to be looking at it. He leans closer, lowering his voice to something barely above a whisper. “I’ve never had a real party either.” He confesses.
Her mouth twitches. A look of sheer determination melts over her face. “I’ll fix that for you.” She promises. “I’ll throw you a great party.”
Remus laughs. Lily laughs with him.
“I mean it, Remus.” She says once the laughter is over. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
Remus nods. “Thank you.”
Lily nods once, victorious. Then she takes him by the hand and leads him to the tower of cakes. “Have some pudding.” She orders.
Remus puts up no fight. He feels his smile spreading ear to ear as he allows himself to be pulled along by the ginger girl.
Lily Evans is a remarkably special witch. He decides then and there. And he’d be lucky to call himself her friend.
***
That night, after a transformation that’s as excruciating as ever, the wolf sleeps soundly. Not a single howl is heard the whole night through.
In the morning, Madam Pomfrey chalks the almost miraculous lack of lacerations up to the lunar eclipse.
Remus knows she’s probably right. It explains why he hadn’t felt half as sick as he typically might. But some small part of him can’t help but credit Lily Evans.