Alea iacta est

“Alea iacta est.” McGonagall said after throwing her textbook down on the table. “Can anyone tell me about that quote?” 

Silence. 

Not a single person in that classroom wanted to take their shot at answering her question. It was Latin, and not to sound like the most British person on the planet, but James could only speak english. Exclusively. 

“No one?” she asked, looking around at her students through their thin framed glasses. James never quite understood why she chose to wear them. She was an older lady, but the years had been kind to her, but she still chose to age herself up ten years with them. He knew for a fact that she wasn’t seventy, but those glasses almost convinced him. 

“Mr Potter?” her eyes were looking right at him, cold and firm. 

See, normally James would be the first person to jump at the opportunity to answer her questions, but this time he was completely empty.

“Sorry,” he said, shooting his eyes down to the desk. Out of all of his teachers, McGonagall was likely the toughest one. She kept asking him questions that weren't even on the reading material, like she wanted to make him look dumb in front of everyone. 

She nodded before turning to the blackboard behind him. The room filled with high noises of the chalk scratching the surface of the board, leaving behind jagged white lines in its path. It made chills go down his spine. 

Alea iacta est

James read the sentence over and over again, hoping that some part of his memory would serve him with something he had simply just forgotten about. The issue was that he couldn’t connect it to anything, he didn’t even know what it meant. If it had been ancient Greek or something, he would have been able to make a guess based on the place it came from, but Latin was hard. It had been used for far too long by far too many places. Even up until the reformation, the Bible was exclusively written in the language, and it was still used to this day in fields like medicine. It was impossible to even determine a time period of a hundred years it could have come from. It could have been Cicero or Marcus Aurelius giving another one of their one liners, or it could have been some pretentious pope spurting out propaganda. How was he supposed to know?

“Can anyone tell me about how Rome became an empire?” she asked, and this time, all the hands were in the air. No history student worth their penny didn’t have an answer to that question. It was standard secondary school history. 

“Miss Granger?” McGonagall said with a point to one of the students with her hand raised. 

Safia cleared her throat. “It was Julius Caesar who overthrew his former ally, Pompeius, to cease control over the Roman state, and he then named himself dictator for life. After he was executed, his great nephew, Augustus, seized the power, who is considered as the first emperor.” she said, almost like she was reading it from a textbook. They had read recountings of it at least a thousand times, so it was hard to not say it like that .

McGonagall nodded, clearly pleased with her answer. Safia was one of her favourite students, that much was clear, especially with the amount of times she would place James with her whenever they had projects. The woman must have thought he was an idiot. 

“But when exactly did Rome go from a republic to an empire?” she said, taking a few steps into the classroom. He heard the clicks of her heels although they were hidden by the length of her skirt. “Was it when Augustus was named emperor, or when Julius Caesar made himself dictator for life? Or was it sometime later, or earlier?”

James felt like it was a trick question. It would make sense to say when Augustus became the emperor after being named heir by Caesar, because an empire needed a ruler. It was when the order of succession was solidified, which was the driving factor to bring qualified rulers to the empire. It probably wasn’t a coincidence that Commodus’ time was considered the start of the end by many because his father started up the primogeniture, where the first son became the ruler instead of some general that had to prove themselves capable. 

Still, this was McGonagall asking. She didn’t want the hardcore facts and evidence, she wanted speculation, thinking outside of the box, new ideas. That was the reason she asked questions like this, why she was so fond of their projects. 

Their project the first semester was to create a Shakespeare inspired play of historical figures where they had to place themselves in the person’s shoes, had to make up believable side-stories and characterise them in their respective historical context. It was one of the hardest projects he had done, but also one of the most fun. Him and Safia had made one about Joan of Arc, which was fairly interesting. 

When nobody answered her, she pointed to the chalkboard behind her. “Does anyone know what that means?” she asked again like the crash course might have unclogged someone’s memories. 

Another silence. James could draw the logical conclusion that it had something to do with when Rome became an empire, but he still didn’t know who. Basically everyone from that time was spitting one liners like it was their job. 

Unluckily for McGonagall, Latin was not one of the electives Covington offered. 

“The die is cast.” she said. 

James first thought she had meant it wrong, that she really meant to say ‘dice’, but that was too much of a foolish mistake for arguably the most knowledgeable person in the building. James didn’t buy that it wasn’t intentional for a single second. It was always intentional with her. 

“Still doesn’t ring a bell?” she asked. “Well, what if I said it was spoken by Julius Caesar as he crossed the Rubicon.” 

He did know that story, the one when after Caesar had gone around conquering Gallia like it was no one’s business, the senate led by Pompeius was scared of the amount of power one general could hold, in the fear of a potential coup. They ordered him to return to Rome without his troops that were loyal to their general. The Rubicon river marked the border between Rome and Gallia, and if he crossed that river and returned to Rome with his army, it would be as an enemy of his country. 

James slowly raised his hand. McGonagall gestured for him to speak. “So you mean that the Rubicon was the moment when Rome became an empire? But this was just the start of Caesar's civil war, Pompeius was still the consul.”

McGonagall looked pleased enough with this question. One thing James had learned from her classes was the power of asking questions. The obvious reason was that they led to answers, but there were other reasons as well. When he didn’t really know what to say, he would just ask a question, making the other person answer it themselves. He didn’t have to know everything, but he sounded like he was active enough by just asking, which was probably the only reason McGonagall had been forced to give him a full score on participation. 

“Do you know what a defining moment is, James?” 

Of course he knew what a defining moment was. He had been twenty two years on this planet, he knew what it was. “A moment that determines the outcome for following events.” 

McGonagall nodded, taking a few steps forwards again. “And wouldn’t you call the Rubicon a defining moment in not just Caesar’s life, but the life of Rome? Maybe even the entire world?” 

“Well, yes,” he said, looking straight at her. “But that’s more of a butterfly effect, which is found all over history. We don’t say that some art school in Vienna is responsible for the deaths of over 6 million during the holocaust.” he defended. 

MacGonagall clicked her tongue. “But is it truly a butterfly effect?” she asked, taking steps closer to him. “Did the acceptance board know what Hitler would eventually become?” 

James could have tried to come up with an answer, but it was clear that she had more to say. “When Caesar crossed the Rubicon, he said this phrase.” she pointed to the chalkboard behind her. “When he said this, he knew the consequences of that particular action. He knew of the power both him and Pompeius had, and he knew about the changes in the republic it would inevitably create. Whether or not naming himself the emperor for life was his initial plan is unclear, but that is how it ended. He knew that after he crossed that river, it would change Rome as he knew it. 

“But don’t be mistaken in believing that it was a butterfly effect, Mr Potter. Crossing the Rubicon was simply a manifestation of the choice he had to make. Did he make the choice to be an enemy of the state and former ally, or did he cross it by himself and take his chances against the senate? It was never about the river, but what it represented.”

She stopped in front of his desk. “Can you tell me what it represents?” 

James looked at the pattern of roses trailing up her sleeve, trying to come up with an answer. He was never a good philosopher or poet. He was never good at placing himself in a historic person’s shoes the same way Minerva McGonagall and Safia Granger could. Still, he felt as though the answer had been served on a platter for him. 

“Betrayal.” he answered. 

McGonagall didn’t say anything, but rather looked at him expectantly.

He continued. “Pompeius had been one of Caesar’s most trusted. Along with Crassus, they created the first Triumvirate, and as a sign of their allyship, Pompeius married Julia, Caesars’ only child. They might have even been considered ‘friends’ by the modern definition. By crossing the Rubicon, he didn’t just return to Rome as an enemy of the republic, but an enemy of Pompeius.”

She looked at him with a look that he couldn’t quite decipher. It made him feel uneasy, not knowing whether it was approval or disappointment. 

“Can you now tell me the meaning of ‘Alea Iacta est’?”

James looked up at her. He didn’t know any latin, but he did know the context of when it was spoken. This was what McGonagall always said she expected from them. Not to just understand and remember events, but to get them. To be able to predict what happens next because they’re so integrated into the thinking of the specific person, of their friends and foe, of the society they grew up in and the society they lived in. They were in the first week of the semester, long before any exams, but James already felt like he had his own defining moment. 

He thought of the phrase. ‘The die is cast’. Maybe it had more to do with dice than what he originally thought. When a dice is cast, you can’t know the exact outcome, because it was out of your hands. It all depended on which side it landed on. Did it have one eye or six eyes? You knew that you were casting a dice, and you knew to a certain degree what the consequences of each outcome would be, whether it was good or bad, whether it meant losing or winning. 

“It means that whatever happens, happens. It means that he accepted the consequences of crossing the river, that he knew everything would change, for good or for worse. His decision started a chain of events that would be oftentimes out of his control. He didn’t know exactly how Pompeius and the senate would respond, but he did know that by crossing that river he was automatically accepting whatever outcome it may be. He accepted the possibility of being executed for treason, and he accepted the eventual end of Pompeius losing his head because of this one choice. The Rubicon wasn’t just symbolic in the sense that it represented his choices and betreyal, it also represented the point of no return. After it was crossed, Caesar could never go back, could never undo the damage he had made. Pompeius would never trust him again, and neither would the senate. Everything changed.”

The words spilled out of him without stopping, but he didn’t feel too sure about it. He didn’t know if this was the answer she wanted, or if it even was right in any sense. He was mainly guessing and drawing his own analysis, trying to see the situation from Caesar’s perspective. The perspective of a man about to betray his friend, of a man who betrays him even though he has another choice. 

He cleared his throat. “I don’t know about the phrase, but I do know about the river. It is the physical manifestation of the point of no return.”

If he didn’t know any better, he would have said MacGonagall showed him the shadow of a smile. 

“I’m telling you, it would have worked.” Sirius boasted with his hands thrown out, pride smeared all over his face. 

Marlene and Peter both shook their heads while Mary just looked at him like he’d told her that he was Prince Philp himself. It was safe to say that the popular conclusion was that it would not, in fact, have worked. 

“And you have scientific evidence of this?” Remus asked, looking like he’d never been more disappointed in his entire life. 

“Duh. I am a scientist of honour, Remus. I would never buy into the falsification of the unmistakingly proven facts.”

James couldn’t stop the laugh that poured out of him. “The fuck does that even mean?” he choked out. 

Sirius pointed to him with both hands. “See. You people don’t even know the language of science, how can you say that my science is wrong?” James was fairly sure that Sirius didn’t even know how to use those words. 

“Because it’s rubbish, is what it is.” Lily shot in with. 

Sirius shook his head, lifting up his tea like it was a fancy glass of whiskey or something. It was truly a talent, making a mug with the text ‘Villain, I have done thy mother’ look elegant. “You just don’t have any faith.” he said, swirling the cup around. Impressingly enough, the spoon made clicking noises mimicking the sounds of ice in a glass of whiskey. James found it absolutely ridiculous. 

Mary snorted. “Watch him try to create a religion.” 

Sirius scowled at her. “Out of all the people who distrust me, you do too?” He said it would be shocking. Mary was quite opposed to anything that came out of that man’s mouth. 

“No Sirius, you absolutely fucked Moses, you slut.” she continued without even acknowledging that he had ever spoken. 

“Don’t you mean Joseph?” Marlene asked with a startled expression. James was not proud to say that he hadn’t even noticed the glaringly obvious mistake. 

“I meant what I meant.” she said with a dismissive look. In too many ways for James to ever bother to count, Sirius and Mary were just two sides of the same coin. The day either of them admitted to being wrong would be the day it snowed horizontally in hell. 

“Hey, let’s not agitate the religion with the biggest kill count, eh?” James said. 

“They’ll live.” Mary scoffed, but Lily looked over at him with questions written all over her. 

“Did you just make that up, or is it an actual statistic?” she asked. 

Honestly, he had never heard or read it in those exact terms before, but he used something he liked to call an educated guess. 

He started listing off. “I mean, the crusades, the witch trials, the inquisition… Did I mention the crusades?” It might have been completely wrong, but he couldn’t be bothered trying to find any sources for a simple joke. Besides, questions like what religion had caused the most amounts of death’s were near impossible to answer. There wasn’t enough time or accurate sources in the world. 

Sirius groaned. “Don’t get him started, please.”

Marlene shot him a look. “James actually has interesting things to say besides claiming he could fly if he put magnets in his shoe soles.”

He leaned forwards in his chair, leaning over his legs and looking down at where both James and Marlene were seated on the floor. “But it would work.” he insisted, and a choir of groans ensued. Everyday, James thanked whatever higher powers existed for making Sirius want to become an actor. If he ever learnt things like physics and engineering, James would have feared for the safety of the world. 

“No, you’re top heavy, mate.” Peter chimed in from the edge of one of the sofa’s. It was funny how everyone would immediately turn to him whenever he spoke, without fail. It wasn’t often, but the guy was smart. A lot of people in their little friend group were smart, but Peter was the only one of them that was maths smart. 

Sirius immediately frowned. “Are you saying I’ve got man boobs?” he asked.

James tried keeping in his laughter, but the second he heard Remus let out a choked snort, it was out. Sirius shot them both a death glare. 

“Nah, just regular tits.” James choked out, which did not soften Sirius’ gaze. 

“You wished I had tits, you perv.” he said, and if it was meant to be a joke proving he wasn’t annoyed, it failed. 

“I just mean you’ll topple right over if you tried.” Peter clarified. “Maybe it could work if the surface area of the magnetic field is large enough…” he pondered, but didn’t finish the sentence. As much as Peter was smarter than the rest of the bunch when it came to these matters, he was a music major at the end of the day. Not that he didn’t have the grades to get into those fancy American Ivy leagues or whatever, but he didn’t even apply. He was likely the most committed artist out of them all. 

Sirius shook his head. “It’s all about balance, Peter.”

Peter grimaced. “No, actually try and imagine standing in a pool on top of those floaties that kids use around their arms before they learn how to swim.”

“I could definitely do that.” 

“No.”

Sirius blew him off with the wave of a hand. “As I said, it’s all a matter of faith. Jesus walked on water, did he not?»

Marlene huffed. «You’re not comparing yourself to Jesus.»

«I do recall a few people who also believed they were godly. Not a good ending.» James added. 

«Liberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead!» Mary excitedly called out. They would sometimes do that, just spurt out lines from different plays that neither James, Peter, nor Dorcas had ever even heard about. Well, usually James hadn’t heard the lines before, but there was one play about a certain dictator that he just recently had a class about. Of course he had read that specific play. 

Sirius scoffed as he looked down upon her. «Doth not Brutus Bootless kneel?» 

James was always amazed by the way they could just off the top of their heads remember lines from quite literally anything written by Shakespeare. James had once tried starting to read Romeo and Juliet just because he wanted to understand what the hell they were talking about, but he didn’t have the brain for that sort of language. The only reason he’d ever gotten through Julius Caesar was because it was the summer when Sirius and James had been stuck in horrible weather somewhere in Scotland. Sirius had to feed the lines to him with a silver spoon for James to understand anything, translating things like ‘doth not Brutus Bootless kneel?’ into easier phrases like ‘Why are you kneeling when that shit didn’t even work for Brutus?’. It had helped him understand the story of the play, but he was still lost on how somebody ever managed to decipher that. Absolute insanity at its very best, if you asked him. 

“Speak hands for me!” he called out because it was really one of the only lines he could remember, and that was mainly because it was the last thing said before the dude stabbed Caesar. 

Sirius looked at him with a slightly proud expression which completely ruined the illusion of the tyrant who compared himself to gods and stuff. 

“ Et tu, Brute?” he clutched at his chest with the shadow of a smile on his face. A part of him was glad that he bore no resemblance to the man mad with power. For the few seconds it lasted, it had been rather terrifying. 

«Famous last words.» Lily shook her head. 

“Ok, but let’s get back to English, please?” Marlene asked with an annoyed tone. James was with her, he’d spewed out the only line from Shakespeare he could remember with the exception of ‘To be or not to be’. 

“That is more English than what you’re speaking.” Lily defended. Technically, that might have been true, but what did James know? 

“Ok, understandable English then.”

“Cheers.” James backed her up. He was used to the old English language because of all of the primary sources he’d read, but even he struggled with Shakespeare. The man was just making things up as he went, it honestly should have been illegal. Maybe it would have been if people didn’t insist on glorifying him at every turn. Sure, James had to admit that the man was great at what he did, but he had to be the most overrated writer to exist. You could be so good at what you did, but nobody deserved the hype that man was getting. ‘He’s the greatest writer of all time’ then explain the ‘I fucked your mom’ joke James was currently reading from a mug. Ridiculous, really. He’d also had Remus explain to him the amount of penis jokes in Romeo and Juliet, and there was just no way in hell. 

“How about we discuss outfits for the party?” Marlene suggested instead. James smiled while he rolled his eyes. For a girl that didn’t drink, Marlene was the biggest partier of them all. It was really incredible how much energy that girl had in her, and he couldn’t really decide whether it was because of ballet or despite it. 

“What was the theme again?” Mary asked. “Dead poets?” 

“Yeah.” Sirius nodded, bringing his cup up in a toast with just himself.. “We’ll have to go grave hunting.”

“But what does that even mean?” James asked, ignoring Sirius. “Am I going to have to dress up as Edgar Allen Poe?” He really should have seen something like that coming. Every year was kicked off by the literature seniors in the same manner as it was ended with the theatre seniors' end of school party. They loved themes that had everyone scrambling their closet for things to wear. He remembered last year simply being ‘pride & prejudice’, and they all showed up looking like some regency hell. 

“I think it’s really loosely up for interpretation.” Lily said with a shrug. 

It was then Marlene’s sudden movement made James jump as she started slapping at Lily’s legs from where she was seated on the floor with a loud gasp. “Jesus..” Lily muttered in surprise. 

“The Brontë sisters!” she excitedly called. “Can’t we go as the Brontë sisters?” 

That made the red head snort out a laugh. “Why the Brontë sister?” she asked, rubbing her thigh after Marlene had stopped abusing her. 

Marlene looked at her unimpressed. “Emily.” she pointed to herself before turning the finger to Lily. “Anne.” Then it slid over to where Mary was seated on the couch. “Charlotte.”

“Why am I Charlotte?” Mary asked at the same time as Lily simply replied “ok.” James actually thought it was a nice idea, all of the girls dressed in a group costume. Especially considering Marlene’s clear excitement from it. She was such a sucker for those old novels by the Brontë sisters and Jane Austen, that sort of crowd. James would know, he had been delivered book after book after she had discovered that he would actually read them and talk to her about them. 

“Ah, thank you, thank you.” she gleed with a huge smile plastered on her face. 

James snorted as an idea rolled into his head. “What do you say, Sirius, should we be siblings as well?” he asked. 

Sirius pressed his mouth together in consideration. “What are you thinking? The Grimm brothers?” 

James pondered. Like he knew anything about the Grimm brothers. Something about disturbing childrens’ stories. “Maybe the Booth brothers.” In all honesty, he only said that because it was the only other brothers that popped into his head. He might have been a historian, but one with a horrible memory at that. 

Sirius rolled his eyes. “They were actors, not poets.”

Despite himself, James found himself shrugging. “I don’t know, ‘sic semper tyrannis’ was rather poetic.”

Mary shot him a look. “You think Lincoln's assassination was poetic?” 

That made him cut a grimace. “Actually, no. I do not.” Stupid idea anyways. 

“We can go as cowboys.” Sirius said while pointing finger guns. “Jesse James and that other guy.”

“Not sure they were poets either, unless you actually do find murder poetic.” He shot in with. 

“Anythin’ in this accent is poetic.” Sirius replied with a thick and old western dialect. 

“Not poetic enough, I fear.” 

Lily then caught their attention. “Well, Shakespeare is a dead poet though, is he not?”

That was like dropping a piece of meat in a pool of piranhas. Sirius immediately turned towards Remus, and he was looking right back with the same amount of excitement. “The trio!” they called out at the same time. 

James, Marlene and Peter were the only ones that didn’t look like they understood anything about that. Mary and Lily both rolled their eyes. 

“What do you mean?” James asked. The trio? Maybe they were talking about the three musketeers. James was completely down with wearing a sword and a feather hat. 

“The trio!” Sirius turned to him with wild eyes. “Romeo, Benvolio and Mercutio.” 

“They have been talking about doing that costume for ages.” Mary said with a sigh. 

“Who are they?” James aside, receiving a bunch of looks, even from Marlene and Peter. He quickly elaborated. “I mean, I know who Romeo is, but who are the others? I haven’t actually read it or seen the movie.”

Sirius scoffed at him. “And you dare call yourself my best friend?” 

“Mercutio is Romeo’s friend, while Benvolio is Romeo’s cousin and friend.” Remus explained. 

Sirius nodded, seemingly completely over the fact that James didn’t fully know the story of the play. “Obviously, you’re Romeo.”

“Wait, why am I Romeo?” 

That made the other’s shoot him a look again. “You’re Romeo, alright.” Mary said in an amused tone. James couldn’t really argue because he knew next to nothing about the guy. He knew he died, so that wasn’t really that great. 

“And Remus is Benvolio…” Sirius continued. 

“Who’s that?” James interrupted. How was he supposed to get the costume idea if he didn’t even know half of the people it was based on. 

“I’m getting to that.” Sirius scolded him. “As Remus said, he is Romeo’s cousin and friend, and he’s like the sane one of the group.”

“Ah.” James mused. “Sounds like Remus.”

“Exactly.” Sirius smiled while Remus rolled his eyes, though a smile grazed his lips.

“And he thinks he’s Mercutio because he likes to think he’s the funniest.” Mary shot in with. 

“She says that, but she’s laughing at my jokes.” he shot back at her. 

“Laughing with you or at you?” she crossed her arms. 

“Does it matter?” 

“Okay, let’s just agree that the arrangement makes a lot more sense with Sirius as Mercutio.” Remus cut them off with. Once Mary and Sirius got started, they really got started. 

“But aren’t we supposed to dress as the poets, not their characters?” Peter asked. 

With a jolt, James realised that everyone had now grouped up for costumes, leaving Peter completely alone. “Yeah, shouldn’t we just have costumes inspired by poets? Maybe just some of the types of clothing they used in Narnia or The Lord of the Rings?” 

“No one has read Lord of the RIngs, James. It’s too damn long.” Lily told him. 

“But that would have been fun. You have Frodo, and Sam, and then Pippin and Merry.”

Sirius shook his head. “But then we’re just based on characters again.”

James sighed, trying to think of something. Luckily for him, Remus seemed to have caught up to his little dilemma. “What if we have Peter as Shakespeare then? We’ll have the dead poet and his characters.”

Sirius snapped as he pointed over to him. “Genius. Peter would be a lovely little William, wouldn’t he? Too many thoughts going through that head of his.” 

James was happy with this, especially after the small smile Peter sent his way. He knew Sirius didn’t mean anything bad, that he didn’t write the trio, but sometimes he didn’t really see further than his own nose.

Mary snorted. “If you’re all being a group of four, why can’t you just be the March sisters?” she asked, making both Marlene and Lily laugh. 

“Ah, Sirius would have made a great Amy, I think.” Lily added. 

Sirius looked at her, disimpressed. “I don’t even know who that is.”

James was not ashamed to say that he did know, and Sirius would have absolutely made a lovely Amy. Mostly younger Amy. 

“Peter as Beth then?” he asked, making Marlene point over to him. 

“Perfect.” she said. “You and Remus can quarrel over Jo and Meg.”

“Do we have to be girls?” Peter asked quietly.

Sirius laughed at that. “Don’t you worry, Peter, you’ll be going as Sir William Shakespeare.”

Luckily for James, it was Remus and Sirius that took the responsibility of putting together their costumes for the party. He wasn’t exactly sure where they would get clothes to match whatever time period Romeo and Juliet was set in, but he did know that the school had a ridiculously large room just for costumes for the dancers and the theatre students. They would probably find something. 

Now, for James, all he had been tasked with was the alcohol. It would have been madness to have the poor literature seniors stand for the drinks of the entire school, even if it was a small one, so the only thing they would be served with at the party was champagne and some snacks. The rest was their own responsibility. 

With Remus, Sirius, Marlene, and Mary all busy trying to find the costumes, Lily and James were left to take care of alcohol for everyone. Peter was of course also free, but the little worm had managed to squeeze away to some room with a piano that James couldn’t be bothered to look for, so he just let his escape from responsibility remain successful.  

They debated for a moment about which car they should take, but ultimately ended up using James’. The catch: Lily was the driver. 

Now, James had to admit that Lily was an excellent driver, but he still felt nervous. He wasn’t really a fan of anyone driving his car. He mentioned this at the risk of sounding like a rich dude in a fancy private school driving a car he got from his parents as his eighteenth birthday gift, but that was exactly what he was. He couldn’t be blamed for being careful with one of the most expensive gifts he’d ever gotten. Probably, he’d never get anything better (or like it) than that again.

«Change the station, it’s awful.» Lily complained. 

James shot her a look. «It’s not awful, Lily, it’s music.» he said. 

«I don’t care what it is, I don’t like it.»

James made a show of crossing his hands over his chest. «I’ll have you know that I love it.» he said proudly. «Really, you can’t keep driving my car if you’re going to be spitting on…» he trailed off, leaning forwards to read the screen on the dashboard. He had never heard this song before in his life. «…Creedence Clearwater Revival?»

Lily laughed at him. 

«What?» he defended with a stupid grin on his face. «I am a massive fan of theirs, actually.»

«Oh really?» she cast him a sidelong glance that lasted for just a single moment before covering the dashboard screen with her hand. «Tell me the name of the song then.»

She wasn’t looking at him anymore, but James could see the smug look on her face, even from the side. A line formed in the corner of her mouth. 

He tried to listen to the lyrics of the song, tried to guess the name of it. Something about hurricanes blowing and an end coming soon. 

«Hurricanes.» he guessed. Lily shot him another look with clear green eyes before she removed her hand. 

Right there, black letters on a beige background, it did not even mention the word ‘hurricanes’. 

Bad Moon Rising - Creedence Clearwater Revival. 

He quickly shot out his hand, covering the screen. That only made her snort. 

«Didn’t like the answer, huh?» she said in an amused tone. 

He clicked his tongue. «No, no. Just as I had thought.» Lily didn’t even look slightly convinced. «Besides, I think you’re getting too caught up in that screen while driving my precious baby.»

«Am I now?» she shot him a smile, one that was soft and cheeky all at the same time. The duality of Lily Evans. 

«Yep.» he popped the p. «In fact I do believe you said something about changing the radio station…»

«Oh, no, no, no.» her hand snapped out trying to stop him before he got rid of all evidence. 

It wasn’t a difficult task acquiring what they needed. Some bottles of wine and coconut cream and rum. Lily refused to let James get them some beer, insisting that if they were being dressed as sophisticated people, they should drink sophisticatedly (he didn’t know if he'd say pina coladas were sophisticated, but each to their own). Of course, that didn’t stop him from getting them a little treat as well. 

After they stored it all away in Lily and Marlene’s room, they both went to find their respective costume partners. Lily didn’t find them in their room, but she was lucky enough that Mary lived just a floor below them, and James had to guess between two different buildings that Sirius and Remus lived in. 

He took a wild guess and went to the western dormitory building, and was relieved upon hearing chatter from inside the door. When he opened it, he was met with the familiar sound of music and chatter. Peter was standing in the middle of the room looking like madness. His legs sported tights and ballooning pants that stopped at his thighs. Sirius was in front of him, fastening a doublet. 

James couldn’t have held his laughter in if he’d tried. Peter immediately turned to him with a shameful look on his face. 

“What the fuck are you wearing?” he choked out, slamming the door shut behind him. 

Peter sent a helpless look towards Sirius who was finishing up a knot. “I told you this looked ridiculous.”

Sirius shrugged, stepping back to observe his work. “William Shakespeare looked ridiculous.” was all he responded with. 

“It is historically accurate, Peter.” James defended, though he couldn’t completely quiet down his laughter. There was just something about the whole scene. Peter in tights. 

“Don’t laugh too hard James, we found something for you as well.” Remus said from where he was sitting beside his record player at Peter’s desk, pointing to a pile of clothes on the bed. 

James grimaced. “Do I have to wear tights too?” 

Remu shook his head as he moved over to the clothes, James dutifully following behind him. “Just tight pants.”

“Lovely.” he deadpanned. He didn’t know how tight ‘tight’ was, but he’d seen their plays. They could get pretty tight. 

“Take your pants off and we’ll see.” Remus said as he pulled out some clothing. 

James whistled. “Invite me for dinner first, at least.” 

“Remus, you slut.” Sirius chimed in from the background. 

Remus rolled his eyes. “Do you want the costume or not?”

“I don’t know, actually.”

Sirius’ voice came again from behind him. “Yes he does.”

Remus gave him an apologetic smile. “Get undressed then.”

The pants were tight, but James was relieved that they weren’t more so than regular jeans. They were brown and striped, rather horrendous if you asked him. He was then forced into a creamy white cotton shirt before a tight doublet was placed on top. In his belt was a little sheath of a knife that he was disappointed to discover was fake. It even retracted away from his hand when he pushed at the tip. Useless thing. 

“How will anyone even recognize who we are?” James asked, looking at his nearly finished costume in the mirror. He did look like he was from mediaeval times, but he didn’t think anybody would have ever thought of him as Romeo. 

“We tell them.” Sirius responded. Him and Remus had also put on their costumes that looked just as ridiculous as James and Peter’s (he was selling Peter short, his was worse). 

“We might as well put a sign on our backs.” he mumbled. Maybe some of the theatre folks would realise who they were, but he was sure nobody else would have a simple clue. James wouldn’t. 

“It doesn’t really matter though, it’s just a theme.” Remus responded. He was leaning against the door, clearly waiting impatiently for the rest of them to get done. It was Peter and James who were the slowest, using lots of time to try and make the clothes sit comfortably. The two others had slipped right in like it was nothing. 

“I think I would have liked those sisters better.” Peter said, making James laugh. It would have been fun at least. Not that looking at Peter wasn’t fun, but it would have been funnier. 

“Well it’s too late for that.” Sirius said. “In fact, it’s too late for a lot of things, because we are late.”

James groaned. “You should have given us a couple of hours for this.” 

“Too late for that too, get those boots on you.”

“All right, mum.” James grumbled. 

The shoes were hard and leather, and went up along his calves. They also looked quite ridiculous and just tied the whole outfit together. Now he could truly look like a strange, strange man. 

“They’re uncomfortable.” he complained.

“Oh, cry me a river, I’ve worn heels for entire plays before.” Remus responded. He looked down at his feet, but it seemed that his boots matched James’. It would have made his night better if he’d gotten to see Remus in heels. 

“Let’s go Romeo.” Sirius ushered him. “Supper is done, and we shall come too late.”

James had been blessed enough to see the hall of the south dormitory on a multitude of occasions, but it was truly a whole different set when he saw it dressed for a party. The seniors had set up curtains and hanging flowers along the walls that complimented the dark and classical interior of the building. It was nice on it’s own, but it felt magical once somebody took enough care to bring it to life. 

People were swirling around in all different kinds of costumes, and James realised that they didn’t really stick out at all. Some people looked even more ridiculous than Peter did, while others had a way of making it work for them.

“Wow.” James said, completely in awe of the transformation that had been made. 

“Ah, there we have our Romeo.” a voice sounded from his left over the music coming from the speaker system. Marlene, Lily and Mary were coming towards them, all of them dressed in similar looking dresses with white collars. The major differences lied in their hair. Lily had it curled and put up so that it looked like it only reached her neck. Marlene’s was put at this one big bun thing while Mary’s braids were put in a low and loose ponytail. Mary continued speaking: “Don’t you just look ready to jump into an early grave?”

James gave her a flat look. “I’m ready to jump into an early bed at least.”

“Ah, but you’ve just arrived.” Lily said, shoving a glass with a thick yellow-ish liquid inside. “How about a pina colada instead?” 

James whistled. “You’ve read my mind, Evans.”

He had a glass or two of Lily’s pina colada. Then he had a glass or two of wine. Maybe three. It didn’t matter. What did matter was that he was having loads of fun. Every now and then he would see some girl in a nice dress and bid her up to a dance with a bow like it was the fourteen-hundreds, and she would accept with a curtsy, taking his hand. They would dance to some music playing in the background and joke around in an old accent, using words like ‘thou’ and ‘methinks’. 

He sometimes panned back to his friends, but other times found himself with people that he only really talked to in class or situations like these when they stumbled upon each other at the snacking table. 

At one point, he met Safia when he was just about buzzed. She wore some beige dress that vaguely resembled something old, but you couldn’t blame her for not having anything better at hand. James was just lucky that his best friends were Shakespeare nerds. 

They usually could get quite at each other’s last hairs when they were in class together, but she could also be great fun. Get a couple of drinks in them, and they were acting like their kids would be at each other’s weddings. 

«You know, one time he told me to brush out the worms.» she said, making James cut a grimace. He was good friends with Mary and he knew a bit about how curly haired people felt about their hair. 

«That’s just rude.» His eyes looked over her hazel head of hair which was put back in some sort of ponytail. «And untrue.» he added quickly. «Very untrue. I like the worms.»

Safia scoffed at him while crossing her arms. «They’re not worms.»

«Of course not.» James said with one eye squeezed shut. «I’m just saying, by his logic, that they are very nice worms. If the worms were real, I would have liked them very much.» he could practically see Mary in his mind doing that rowing motion with her hands by swirling her thumbs, saying things like ‘row your boat to Denmark, James, row your boat’ . He wasn’t entirely sure what it meant. 

He was endlessly thankful for the sound of her laughter after that. «You’re wankers, Potter.» she said. 

He shrugged. «I’m a man of a great many talents.» 

Sirius was as usual a goner, coming in and out of James’ world. Sometimes he would be ambushed from behind, other times he would catch him trying to chat up one of the dancers. 

James himself was chatting up one of the dancers, but absolutely not in the same sense of ‘chatting someone up’. James wasn’t even quite sure what it meant, and he feared it might be something about flirting. That was not what he was doing. 

«I think you’re just lying» he said with a sceptical look. 

Marlene rolled her eyes. «I’m not, James, I promise.»

His suspicion did not ease. He was sure she was up to something. «No..» he dragged out the word. «You’re being mean and sober, manipulating us to do your bidding.»

«And what exactly is my bidding.» he took another look at her with squinted eyes before bringing his can to his lips.

«I don’t know yet.» he mumbled into it as he took a sip from a sweet wine. 

It was then that he became victim of another attack from behind, making him spill out some of the red wine onto his chin and doublet. 

«What the fuck?» he mumbled, trying to par himself dry with his bare hand. It just ended up with him being just as wet as before, but this time he had a sticky hand. Lovely. 

«You promised tequila.» Sirius’ voice came into his ear. 

«Oh.» James’ face lit up. «I do believe I did.»

«Are you sure?» Marlene asked with a sceptical look on her face. 

James waved her off. «Absolutely. Me and Sirius are professional at this.»

Marlene was just being protective because she didn’t really know exactly how alcohol worked. She was a ballerina, couldn’t go around treating her body like shit, could she? James, on the other hand, could very much do that. 

«Professional?» she asked. «You mean you’re both alcoholics?» 

He felt Sirius’ head turn around where it was placed on his shoulder. «Is that what alcoholism is? Being a professional drinker?»

Marlene grimaced, clearly regretting saying anything. «No, absolutely not. It’s a problem, is what it is.»

Sirius huffed. «Well, if you're looking for problems, look no further than your best friends.» he said, gesturing over to the snacks table where Lily and Mary were currently putting ring chips in Mary’s braids. 

«Ah, what the fuck?» Marlene said with a sigh before hurrying over to stop the madness. 

«Easy.» Sirius laughed into James’ ear after she was gone. «Now, I believe we have shots to do.»

James wasn’t too sure he needed the shots. He didn’t have Sirius’ tolerance, and felt wobbly from the second he stood up. He decided that he would be there as emotional support, but he discarded the remainder of his beer. He wasn’t nineteen anymore, he knew about this thing called responsible drinking. 

«It’s up in Lily’s room.» James said, ushering his best friend towards the stairs. 

He turned back to give him a look. «We can’t just go into Lily’s room.»

With an eye roll, James pushed him upwards. «We can, she said it was fine.»

«She’s used to you being in her room, eh?»

James resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. «I’ll have you know, me and Lily sometimes play chess.»

«Chess.» Sirius repeated. «My favourite metaphor for shagging.»

«We’re not shagging.» James said, annoyed. The push he gave was only supposed to be small, but ended up making Sirius trip. 

«Oh!» James gasped, as he saw him hit the steps. 

«Ow.» He looked up at him, but James could tell that he was holding in a laugh. «You could have just ended it with you weren’t shagging, no need to murder me.»

«Do you want the shot, or no?»

«Oh, yes I do.»

It was supposed to be a quick and quiet walk up to where Lily lived, but that turned out to be easier said than done. She lived on the third floor, right along with Marlene, so they had to look for a bit to locate the second flight of stairs. It had been a while since the last time James and Lily had one of their chess matches, and his fuzzed brain kept mixing the place up with the north and east wings. Who built these buildings, and then decided that they should all look different?

«I thought you and Lily played chess?» Sorius mocked, pushing away his head once they found the staircase. These buildings were unnecessarily large for such a small number of rooms.

«Sometimes.» James reiterated. 

«Sorry, I forgot, you were too busy thinking about shagging her to…»

«Shut up, we’re not shagging.»

Sirius laughed, pressing down on James’ shoulder as they passed through the halls in an intoxicated state. «Whatever you say, Jamie.» he grinned. 

James looked at him with no trace of humour in his eyes. One day he and Lily would beat the shagging allegations, but that meant convincing Sirius. «We’re not, I’m serious.»

There really was no excuse for that slip up by him. He’d known Sirius for half his life, he should have had sentences like that trained out of his vocabulary. 

Sirius’ grin morphed into a smirk. «No, no. I’m Siri…»

James tripped him. He didn’t want to even hear the end of that sentence. «You’re so unfunny, I can’t fucking stand you.»

Sirius laughed dryly, picking himself up. «Well, I’m the one who can’t stand…»

«Shut the fuck up.» James groaned, starting off towards the stairs. Sometimes he found himself praying for Sirius’ future child. The dad jokes would be unbearable. 

«Okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.» Sirius laughed as he struggled to catch up with him. «I won’t be funny anymore, I promise.»

James rolled his eyes. «Like you were funny to begin with.»

«See, I’ve been keeping my word before I even made it.»

«Impressive.»

Their conversation distracted them both, and they both started up the stairs without paying much attention to what was around them. It was merely luck that James happened to wonder if they fixed that bump in the wall at the landing from when Lily, Marlene and Mary dropped that statuette before summer break. He didn’t see that particular bump, but certainly a bump in the road. 

At the landing, two people made their way towards the second flight of stairs. She was dressed in a long blue dress with her white hair curled and pinned behind her head while he was in what looked like an old fashioned tuxedo. They were giggling at something together, but that came to a halt along with their progression towards the stairs as soon as the boy cast his eyes down the stairs and landed on James and Sirius.

It took James two seconds too many to realise who he was staring at. Two seconds that he could have used to try and pull Sirius with him, maybe convince him the tequila was in his room, not Lily and Marlene’s. Now it was too late, because Sirius had noticed James' sudden halt, and looked up to see what that was about. 

Under normal circumstances, this would have been fine. It wasn’t like Sirius didn’t ever see his younger brother in the halls, they went to the same school after all. The issue was that this was likely the first time they had seen each other since the end of last semester. And Sirius was drunk. 

For a few seconds, nobody spoke. Then, it was Sirius that broke the silence. “You’re back.” he said. 

The face of his brother mirroring that empty expression was looking right at him with icy grey eyes. “Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked. James didn’t understand, but he knew there were more to those words than what it seemed. There were always more when it came to the Black brothers. 

“Sirius, we should just go.” James said lowly, reaching for Sirius’ arm. He ignored James completely, keeping his undivided attention on his brother. 

“Why would you?” he asked. Riddles, riddles, riddles. Every time the two of them spoke, it felt like it was some code, like if James had read it in a novel, he would have spent hours trying to figure out all the hidden meanings to get to the actual conversation that was being held. 

“I live here.” he simply responded, making Sirius chuckle. 

“Do you, now? Is this where you sleep?” 

Their conversation flowed slowly but surely as it always did. It was like a dance where the meaning of their words twirled around each other to make one great mess. James cast his eyes on the girl, who was looking onto the situation with concerned, yet curious eyes. 

“No.” Regulus answered. 

“Then what are you doing here?” James felt Sirius’ arm flex underneath his palm and fingers, yet his composure remained the same. Sometimes James wondered if this control was the reason he was a great actor or if it was because of it. What came first, the chicken or the egg?

Regulus took his time with this one, letting the silence hang in the air. James heard the echo form the party going on downstairs through the corridors. People yelling and laughing that felt more distant than he’d expected. 

“Nothing for you to worry about.” he finally responded, voice cool and soft. That was one of the major differences between the two brothers, despite the fact that they could look so similar. Sirius was loud and harsh and raspy when he spoke, but Regulus was soft and quiet. Somehow, it made his words all the more powerful. James could tell how they seeped under Sirius’ skin even though he was trying hard to hide it. 

“Really?” Sirius huffed. “Are you sure?” 

Regulus took a deep breath, and James felt himself let one out. That looked like a man who was done. He was about to leave. 

“What do you want, Sirius?” he asked, and James felt that relief flood right out of him. He kept forgetting that Sirius’ younger brother was his brother. He was also a Black, backing down didn’t lie in their genes. Maybe James was just used to the glimpses of the young boy he had seen at certain times before Sirius stopped bringing him around his family, but Regulus was all grown up now. Sirius wasn’t an annoyed older brother who wanted his younger brother to leave him alone, just the same as Regulus wasn’t a clingy puppy anymore. 

“I want you to leave,” he responded. Once again, James’ eyes flew up to the white haired girl who seemed not nearly as lost as James felt. Maybe Regulus actually told her things about his family instead of shutting down every time they were mentioned. 

This time it was Regulus that huffed. “Ok.”

Whatever James thought was going to happen next, it was not that Regulus rushed past them down the stairs without even the slightest of hesitation, his girlfriend or whoever running down after him. 

James didn’t look down after them, neither did Sirius. For a few moments they just stood there, both of them glued to the wooden surface of the stairs. 

He couldn’t help but study his friend, trying to see if there were any hints of anything in his face. Maybe anger in his black brows, sadness in his grey eyes or resignation in his lip muscles. Of course, there were none, Sirius being arguably the most talented actor James knew. He didn’t show anything he didn’t want to be perceived. For every passing year, James realised more and more that the person that knew him the best, he would never fully understand. He didn’t think Sirius would either. 

“Are you ok?” he asked after he decided that the silence had lingered for long enough. Sirius could have stood like that for ages, staring into nothing. For such an energetic person, it was remarkable how still he could get when the situation ‘called’ for it. James didn’t think it was a good thing. 

Sirius cleared his throat, rolling his shoulders back as if he was releasing tension that had been sitting there for ages. “Yeah.” he said, voice cool and unaffected by whatever had just happened. Maybe it was a good thing - after all, it was the most calm interaction between the two James had seen in a long time. 

He knew there were things that he would never get about Sirius, but there were many more that he did. One of those facts was that Sirius Black loved his younger brother. After everything that James could only imagine had gone down in that family, Sirius still loved Regulus. Even when Regulus had hated him so much that he wouldn’t even look at him, even when Sirius was shaking in bed crying, even when he would punch the walls because of him. Even when Sirius hated Regulus, James still knew that he loved him. 

That was the reason that there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that something was off when Sirius let him go, just like that. He was a chaser, one that would run to the ends of the world just to tell someone to go fuck themselves, tell them that he loved them. When Sirius cared about you, good or bad, you had to run from him to get off. Regulus had walked. 

“Let’s get that tequila.”