8
James had almost screamed at his best mate.
He had the words on the tip of his tongue—the scolding, the berating—but willed it all back down his throat at the sight of him.
Sirius, on the other hand, wasn’t seeing at all. His gray eyes seemed duller than usual, fixated on faraway nothingness. His hands were slightly trembling—the same way they had that night, he noted.
“She’s—,” he frantically mumbled to himself, “She’s lying. She’s friends with Carrow. She’s never been disowned. She’s faking it.”
“Let’s head to the dorms, Sirius,” Remus spoke, grounding the boy. He took his shaking friend by the shoulders, guided him towards the stairs.
“I didn’t hurt her.”
“We’ll talk about this tomorrow,” Remus soothed with his usual calm voice.
“She’s like them. She deserves it.”
James knew Padfoot wasn't good with guilt. He strived on anger, stayed alive thanks to his stubbornness—his need for vengeance—but guilt required self-reflection. It required feeling small, considering yourself an equal to the person you had hurt. It required empathy.
Sirius knew loyalty.
He knew passion, compassion, and justice.
But he did not know empathy.
James scribbled down a few words on a piece of excess parchment paper—Amita’s asleep, please come and get her—and charmed it to fly up to the girls’ dorm.
The common room was still as silent, the curiosity at an all-time high, and James bit his lip in annoyance. “What are you looking at?” He finally snapped, sounding more like an angry Sirius rather than his usual suave voice.
***
When Amita had told him nonchalantly how she had been disowned by her bigoted parents—just like him—and that Slughorn didn’t give her the light of day—just like him—, he had felt so seen.
He had felt understood in a way James’ with his loving parents couldn’t or how Remus, with his modest upbringing, couldn’t either.
Amita was rich, shunned and Gryffindor.
What more could he possibly want?
She was exactly who he needed in this very moment, thus why he should have seen it coming. It was too good to be true.
She had deceived him by becoming close to Prongs—too close, his mind supplied—and threw him the ‘disowned’ argument only when he had started to become suspicious enough, in the hopes it would completely extinguish his doubts.
It had worked.
He had been fooled.
He just hoped she wouldn’t get into too much trouble when she’d inform Walburga of her failure.
But that was the least of his concerns, wasn’t it?
Sirius nodded to himself in reassurance and dozed off, restlessly.
***
Amita woke up in the dead of night to the sound of hitched breathing and a throbbing temple. It didn’t take long for her to realize she was the one making the noise and instantly closed her mouth, cheeks hollowing like a gaping fish. Her mouth threatened to open up once more, but in order to quell the sounds, she placed her palm to cover her lips.
Her thoughts grew faint, but eventually her heaving lessened and she could lay flat on her back, eyes riveted on the ceiling of her canopy bed, without feeling as if she would die. She reached over to her bedside table and grasped the polished handle of her wand.
Amita inhaled slowly, exhaled even slower, and closed her eyes. When she opened them, the tip of her wand held a faded shimmering light.
She cried.
***
Sirius’ curtains were closed off, and none of the other Marauders managed to guess the counterspell to wake him.
“Should we just,” Peter cautiously started, “leave him?”
There was a tense silence in the room and James couldn’t wrap his mind around the right course of action. Yesterday had exhausted him in a way he hadn’t felt since that summer night, and he couldn’t form coherent thoughts.
“Let’s leave him asleep for now and come back after breakfast,” Remus announced, “It’s the first Hogsmeade weekend, we all know Pads’ would hate to miss it.”
The bespectacled boy nodded and they left for the Great Hall. Every step he took seemed to resonate inside his guts, guilt dripping down his throat as he tried to swallow his insecurities.
What could he even tell Amita? “Sirius didn’t mean it?” “He’s a prick?”
Every excuse fell flat and when he finally came up to the Gryffindor table, his mouth turned so incredibly dry, the sanest reasoning seemed obvious : sit as far as possible from the girls and gulp water regularly enough so he didn’t have to speak.
Yes, that seemed reasonable. Interfering would impede on Lily and Marlene’s efforts to cheer the girl up. He could feel Lily’s piercing eyes on the side of his face and hear Marlene’s half-hearted insults towards his best mate and her quidditch rival. James just knew Amita must be feeling better already even if just slightly, and he wouldn’t jeopardize that.
Even if that meant not stalking Lily at Hogsmeade and instead making sure Sirius’ was occupied enough not to end up crossing Amita by accident.
***
“Amita, their whole lot is rotten, they’ve always been,” Marlene groaned as they crossed Hogwarts’ threshold. “You can’t let someone like Black ruin our monthly Hogsmeade visit.”
“You didn’t have to come with me,” Amita remarked, somewhat irked that she was the reason they weren’t out having fun.
“Don’t be daft,” Lily laughed in a way only she could. The unreasonable tension in Amita’s shoulder lessened and guilt bubbled up instead. “We wanted to hangout with you. You’re our friend.”
Amita felt her heart swell.
Lily and Marlene walked hand in hand. She wondered if Lily would take hers as well if she reached out her hand.
Her hesitation got the better of her, and she never got to test her hypothesis as they boarded the thestral led carriages. As always, the girl seemed to be the only one to see them.
Tightly snuggled between Marlene and Amita, Lily seemed particularly happy. She laced her arms with the two girls and simply smiled as two Ravenclaw girls entered the carriage behind them.
Amita nodded in acknowledgement and when the two girls’ eyes didn’t stray away from her, she finally realized something was wrong.
The short walk from the train station to the village was eerily silent as groups of students parted, letting them walk through unobstructed. Amita racked her brain trying to remember if people had always behaved this way towards Lily and Marlene.
Lily first dragged the pair inside Scrivenshaft’s. It smelled of ink and parchment, and Marlene groaned exasperatedly.
“Why do you keep needing quills? What do you even do with them?” She inquired.
Lily’s fingers grazed a Sapphire feather as she picked up the quill to weigh it upon the tip of her index finger. “This one is for Quentin. He’s a muggleborn second year—doesn’t know how to choose a quill yet.” She dipped the quill in a pot of free use ink and expertly scratched the surface of a nearby piece of parchment. “He keeps buying those cheap Diagon Alley ones. They explode in his face because he wears them down to the core, and his year-mates laugh.”
Marlene stayed silent as she watched Lily scribble and doodle, and seemingly having had enough, gave a quick “I’ll wait outside” before exiting the shop.
Amita didn’t follow the athlete, and instead opted to stay with the redhead, her utter concentration reminded her of when she used to paint herself. Hunched over her canvas, people could come and go, and she wouldn’t even notice.
Once Lily was satisfied with her choice and the parcel was sent, she grabbed Amita’s arm once more and led her to Spinwitches’ with a knowing smile. “Marlene always ends up ditching me halfway through Scrivenshaft and head to the sports shop, it’s right next door.”
The charmed doorbell chimed as the pair entered and Lily made her way towards the back of the shop where the Quidditch apparel was located. They found Marlene surrounded by the leathery smell of Quidditch gloves as she eyed each pair sternly.
“Found what you were looking for?” Amita spoke tentatively, and wasn’t all that surprised to see Marlene groan out again.
“No,” she complained, “the stitches on these are crooked and the leather on those are already flacking out. I knew I should’ve gone to Diagon Alley before the new school year.”
Amita barely listened as Lily tried to reason with Marlene, telling her about different spells that could mend or upgrade her gear. Instead, she browsed alleys of numerous sports apparel. James probably had much of these products already, didn’t he?
What about Sirius? If she bought him something, could they make up? No, knowing his pride, he’d scoff, yell something about trying to buy his friendship and ridicule her again.
Amita reached for the door, the shop suddenly feeling stuffy when her eyes locked with a panicked James. He seemed to break out of his torpor with a snap, turned heels and threw his arm around Sirius’ shoulder expertly steering him away and towards what she assumed would be the Three Broomsticks.
“You alright there?” Marlene asked, arms crossed and empty-handed.
“Yes,” she lied. “Have you ever been to Olsen’s? It’s my favourite.”
***
James gulped down his third butterbeer wishing it had been muggle beer, or at least spiked with firewhiskey. His gut sat heavily at the bottom of his torso and he couldn’t rid his mind of Amita’s hurt face at seeing him avoid her. It clashed with the way Sirius’ laughter seeped through the Three Broomsticks and etched itself in its walls, bringing the tavern to life.
“Prongs?” Remus inquired as Sirius went to fetch another round of butterbeer from Rosmerta.
He didn’t need to ask if he was alright, it was painfully obvious he wasn’t. His quivering smile melted off as he looked up at his friend.
“Amita saw me walk away with Sirius.”
“Okay?” he answered, his tone clear enough for him to omit the “And?”.
“We locked eyes, Moony,” he explained as if it fully made sense, “she saw me purposefully ignore her.” James scratched lightly at his scalp, rubbing his hair in a way that completely removed all of the Sleekeasy he had applied diligently that very morning. “Merlin, I’m such a shitty friend.”
“No, you aren’t,” Remus sighed, before pointing towards a stupid Gryffindor propped so far back on the bar he was pretty much on the other side of it. “You did that, and Amita is probably having a good enough time with Lily and Marlene. You can’t control everything.”
James locked eyes with a brimming Sirius and the action seemed to make the boy’s smile grow ever wider.
“You shouldn’t control everything.”
***
Amita still didn’t know if introducing them to Olsen and his shop was interesting enough for them. They had never discussed art before and they both weren’t in Hogwarts’ optional art class.
Still, they crossed the shop’s threshold and Amita was glad she did. The room hadn’t changed at all with the canvases stored on the left, and loads and loads of paints and pigments on the right side. Front and center stood a desk—the one where Olsen noted down the clients’ purchases and packed up their orders—and behind it, her painting.
She heard Lily gasp as her eyes laid upon the scene and unconsciously edged closer to it, Amita glowing under the unknowing praise. She still remembered the way her paintbrush had glided along the porous canvas as it etched on it flowing waves and thunderous clouds. The scene was chaotic—on the edge of a devastating storm—as dark clouds encircled a lone sailboat braving high water walls.
It had taken nearly a semester to make, and from February to April, Amita was cooped up in the Art Tower, practically ripping the image from her mind and pouring it unto the canvas. Olsen had commissioned it during last year’s January Hogsmeade outing, and since he had done so without specifying a due date, she had taken her time to make sure it was her best work yet.
“That painting is breathtaking!” Lily gushed, seemingly hypnotized by the rocking of the boat.
“It sure is,” Mr. Olsen laughed, gaze falling upon Amita’s figure. “I commissioned it from an exceedingly talented artist.”
Amita’s cheeks grew warm under the praise and she chuckled awkwardly, “I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”
“I truly am not, Miss Amita,” he insisted with a smile.
Another reason why she enjoyed Mr. Olsen, the elderly man had never once uttered her surname since knowing she had been disowned and preferred it so.
Lily and Marlene had gone to explore the business and now Amita stood alone at the front desk. Mr. Olsen reached for a suede bag behind him and handed it to the girl. It laid heavy between her palms and she didn’t quite know what to say. She hadn’t painted in half a year and didn’t intend to do so either.
“‘Sir, I—“
“I already know what you’ll say,” the man dismissed with a wave of the hand. “I’ve been filling the bag with a few paints for each one of your Hogsmeade visits. You haven’t come in a while, thus why it is so full,” he explained matter-of-factly.
Amita bit her tongue to keep from spewing nonsense and inadvertently hurting the man. Instead, she placed the content inside her travel bag, and went to find Lily and Marlene.
“Marlene!” She heard Lily whisper-shout, “They made paint out of Murlap essence, look how purple this is.”
“As purple as your ear hair will be, if you don’t stop screaming my bloody head off,” she answered, although there was no bite in her tone, only in her words. She too seemed enthralled by the strange paints. “How come no one talks about this place?”
“Maybe because barely anyone at Hogwarts can paint?” Amita spoke with slight spite, not meaning to come out so rude. Maybe if Hogwarts made art a mandatory class, people would actually care about this sort of place.
“It’s probably best they don’t know,” Lily reason as she wordlessly levitated a vial closer to inspect it, “can you even begin to imagine the chaos the boys’ pranks would bring if they had access to such pigments?” She then delicately placed the paint back on its shelf and Marlene whistled.
“You’re getting quite good at wordless magic.”
Green eyes beamed at the praise. “You say that but I know you’ve mastered it already.”
“Props of being Pureblood, I suppose,” Marlene shrugged before her gaze fell on Amita.
***
James thought it was about time the Marauders leave, and not just because Rosmerta was getting more and more irritated by Sirius’ shameless advances. They had been here for more than an hour and his senses kept telling him that staying here meant upping their chances of coming face to face with the Gryffindor girls.
He wouldn’t lie and say he didn’t wish to see Lily. He wanted to—desperately—but more than his love for Lily, there was his love for Sirius. He didn’t want to see him when his denial would fade and he’d realize what he’d done—not yet. He’d have to, he had hurt Amita, after all. But not right now.
Not when there was a quidditch match tomorrow, not when his best mate was having so much fun.
***
The Three Broomsticks was as crowded as one would expect for a Hogsmeade weekend. Amita usually didn’t come here at all, her pride might not be of Slytherin level, but it is imposing enough for her not to venture in such a place alone. She had seen a Ravenclaw boy at Madam Puddifoot’s alone once. While she commanded his bravery as a Gryffindor, she couldn’t possibly try to replicate such a feat after witnessing the pitying glances thrown his way.
“Three Butterbeers, please,” Lily asked Rosmerta as Marlene steered Amita to a table that had just been emptied out.
By her look of relief, Amita instantly knew the tables were hard to come by. They sat down, careful not to bump their chairs into the girls sitting behind them. They were hunched over whispering and Amita could tell they were gossiping. She smiled at their childishness.
Quickly, Lily placed three foaming butterbeers on the table and went to fetch tissues to wipe down the trickle of the beverage she had spilled on her way over.
Amita picked up a mug and brought it to her lips, the sugary taste shocking her more than she had expected. When was the last time she had such a drink?
Finally, Lily sat next to her and grabbed her own mug, conversing softly with Marlene about her upcoming match against Slytherin. At some point, though, all Amita could hear was the growing chatter from behind her.
“She isn’t even that pretty,” one of them whispered, “you’re telling me she cheated on Sirius for a muggle boy?”
“That’s what they are saying! They fought in the common room, turns out she only wanted his money.”
“But isn’t she pureblood? Why would she need the money? How greedy can she get?”
“You sure she’s not a Slytherin?”
“What I want to know,” the girl directly behind her replied, her tone teasing, “is just how hot that muggle is?”
The girls giggled and Amita decided to oblige. She turned around and leaned forward so she was practically whispering in the girl’s ear. “You have no idea,” she started, startling her, “Soft hazel skin, chestnut-brown hair, and his smile—oh, Merlin…”