11
To say Amita woke up absolutely seething would be inaccurate, she hadn’t really slept at all.
She had committed every single wooden ridge and recess of her canopy bed to mind; read all her Polyjuice potion books; had counted every single star in the sky—had blatantly scoffed at the brightest one and felt her heart twinge at sight of the lion constellation.
She hadn’t even peeked at the DADA notes the owl had dropped in her dorm. She was still debating whether she had any dignity—any pride—before deciding what to do with them.
For perhaps the first time in her life, her guilt won over her self-preservation. She would give Aiden Carrow his notes back and not talk to him ever again.
When her tempus charm indicated 8:30, she finally pried herself out of bed, spelled her eye-bags away as best she could and put on her Gryffindor tie. I know, shocking, but it was the weekend and Amita felt a rotten sort of pleasure for wearing her necessary apparels only when they weren’t required.
To her relief, when she infiltrated the Great hall to scarf down breakfast before heading for the library, not only was Carrow absent, but James, Sirius, Remus and Peter were all missing as well.
She eased down in her seat—one conveniently far away from every hungover Gryffindor—, placed a few pieces of fruit on her plate and watched as the familiar owl of Lady Cardania settled in front of her.
***
James complained he had woken up absolutely seething because his arm was prickling from under his cast, but that was a very obvious lie. The smile ripped across his face and Sirius grumbled at the sight of such a bad omens. For Morgana’s sake, wasn’t he even a tad bit hungover?
The party the night before had never truly ended, the last contenders passing out before they could truly call it a night.
“Had fun with Marlene, Pads?” James spoke in earnest, a small jump to his step.
“Like always, Prongs,” he grumbled before turning around to face the wall. He rarely closed his bed curtains, relishing in the morning sun when it would prickle his skin, but, this morning, he wished he could bask in darkness. Maybe then his temple wouldn’t throb as much.
“How can you be so peppy?” Peter inquired, genuinely curious, as he slipped on his weekend robes. “You almost died, Prongs.”
“Meh, Carrow’ll get one coming soon enough,” he dismissed with a hand as he opened his trunk, eyes gazing upon all his clothing.
Sirius knew he’d choose muggle ones anyway. The ambivalence was a fluke, just like his anger towards Carrow.
“Are you that happy Lily was concerned about you?” Remus grumbled, his voice an octave lower than usual.
“No, no, dear Moony. She was not concerned about me,” he tutted at the sleep-deprived werewolf. “She was concerned for me.”
“That’s the same thing,” he mumbled under his breath before burrowing his head beneath his covers.
Remus wasn’t hungover—he could barely get tipsy, after all—, but he was getting increasingly tired as the full moon rolled around, and all of the Marauders knew today was a dorm-room kind of day.
Everyone, but James, seemingly, as he finished applying a fine coat of Sleekeasy to his hair, taming the volume down and combing it lightly back.
Sirius watched as he practically ran out of the room at the sound of Evans’ voice.
He grumbled and went back to sleep.
***
Amita waited in the library, knowing fully well he would find her eventually.
Her stomach churned at the prospect, and when she finally saw the slight golden tinge of his hair, she stood up and motioned him to follow.
He smirked her way and complied.
They rounded the library corridor, passed by the Great Hall and—finally—found their way out and into the courtyard.
She reached for her bag, accioed the pieces of paper and handed the notes back to Carrow, her face stern. “Take it back.”
“Why?” he practically purred. “It’s a gift. You did come to support me, even if we did lose in the end. Completely unexpected, that little McKinnon.”
“You don’t seem particularly bothered,” Amita snapped as she let go of his notes, patience wearing thin from her lack of sleep. They fluttered in the wind slightly before settling against the ground. He might not want to take them back, but that didn’t mean she needed to accept them either. “You seem happy about what you’ve done.”
“Positively beaming,” he confirmed, a smug look on his face. “Getting revenge for you felt particularly rewarding.”
The girl clenched her wrist in order to ground herself, to convince her instincts—over and over again—not to hit the smirk off his face, not to plummet his big nose in the slightly crunchy autumn soil. She exhaled shakily and raised her Occlumency shield.
“Don’t you dare say you did that for me,” she spoke, monotonously, “you didn’t. You did that for yourself—for whatever sick pleasure you feel when you hurt others. You crossed the line, Aiden Carrow, playing with others’ lives.”
Somehow, Amita felt like she wasn’t just scolding him, not just standing up for James’. She was facing someone else, someone far more sinister, looking them in the eyes and shielding poor Regulus behind her back.
Amita fought the shiver riding up her spine and placated her most detached expression, waiting for the Slytherin’s response. She wouldn’t let him see her irked. She wouldn’t let him do something like that again and get rid of his guilt by attributing his actions to someone else. She hadn’t asked for this, no one had.
“Playing with people’s lives? Oh, Amita,” he spoke soothingly—patronizingly—as if calming a crying child, “that’s just what wizards do.” He smiled one of his chilling smiles and collected his notes from the ground, his eyes never leaving hers. “You just have to learn how to play—how to win.”
He walked slowly away, his back fully turned to her—confidently, fearlessly—and Amita’s legs shook.
She plopped down on the cold grass and raised her eyes to the sky. She tried to count the stars as she had yesterday, but they had completely vanished behind the sun’s warm haze.
No matter how much Amita hated to admit it, there was some semblance of truth behind Carrow’s words. She just wished someone had taught her the game’s rules, instead of playing with her as a pawn.
***
When Sirius and Peter finally left to fetch lunch food for Remus, they were shocked to find a tame James seated next to a smiling Lily.
Or well, Sirius seemed to be. Peter simply flopped down next to James and started filling his plate up. The boy smiled as Lily acknowledged his presence and once his plate was full, he started packing up bread and sweets inside his handkerchief. Sirius couldn’t help, but notice how he purposefully avoided food with meat in it.
Remus always felt guilty about how pleasurable eating raw meat before the full moon felt. Sirius wished he could grab the teen by the shoulders, shake him a bit and tell him that he wasn’t an animal, that he wasn’t a monster no matter what he enjoyed. But Remus hated when they addressed the subject before his transformation.
He hated when they addressed the subject at all, actually. He preferred when they acted like everything was normal.
Exactly what James’ doing, Sirius conceded, slightly letting go of his irritation.
“Lily, you need to take care of yourself as well! It’s barely been a few weeks since the start of the year,” he nagged, “how could you already be tutoring 8 different students?!”
“They need the help, Potter,” she sighed before sipping her tea, “and I can give it to them. What more is there to say? Besides, it helps me revise the school content from our first few years. It’s never too early to start studying for our NEWTs. ”
James’ mouth snapped open as if to add something, before it slowly closed. He looked at her for a few seconds, before finally saying, “I trust your judgment.”
Lily’s face was impressively neutral, but Sirius could tell, by the longer than necessary eye contact, that his best mate had said the right thing.
And somehow, them getting together felt surreally possible.
***
Night fell and Amita hadn’t seen any student besides Carrow. She nibbled at the bagel she’d wrapped in napkins at breakfast, before stuffing the package in her bag and prying open the thin envelope she’d received.
She hesitated, frowning at the thickness of the message. She knew Cardania didn’t write on parchment—she hated it—, but it was still too thin and Amita was dreading a two-sentence letter again.
Dear ward,
This Carrow fellow is clearly a bit mad, but not as cunning or subtle as his brother—and that’s clearly good news. Stay clear of him and I don’t believe he’ll be much of a problem.
As for your visions, I can only say this : they won’t go away. Ever.
Instead of building your life around them, why not incorporate them in?
Finishing that painting of yours might be a way to let them go. Let it pour out of you and into the canvas. That blasted professor shouldn’t be the reason keeping you away from the Art Class anyway.
Cardania