I'm Keeping This One
In 2009, a study reveals that most friendships last about seven years. Thankfully for the Marauders, their story begins before 2009, and none of them ever read that study.
Platform 9¾ is desolate when the Black twins appear at the station.
It’s pin drop silent, bare of people, and the Hogwarts Express is idling quietly on the tracks, doors shut and engines off. At five in the morning on September 1st, Sirius and Regulus are the first to arrive.
Sirius has the immediate urge to abandon his trunk and explore the empty platform, but Regulus is clutching his hand tightly and refusing to move away from their luggage. Kreacher, their old house elf, arranges their belongings in a neat pile, bows low to the ground, and disappears with a crack.
Sirius slumps onto his trunk and pulls his brother with him, deciding that exploring can wait until Regulus gets a hold on their surroundings. They both sport matching dark circles under their eyes and empty, growling stomachs, having left the house with little sleep and no breakfast.
Sirius glares at the train, as if the bright red cars are offending him, and frustratedly remembers his mother’s response when he and Regulus had asked about being escorted to the train station.
“Kreacher will take you,” she had said coldly. “I can’t be bothered in the morning.”
Kreacher will take you.
They had thought that maybe, by some first day of school sorcery, they would receive at least the consideration that they shouldn’t be left at a train station for hours on end.
But neither brother is much surprised that they ended up alone. Their parents aren’t one for public appearances, nor do they care enough about their children to deal with sweaty crowds and smelly locomotives.
Sirius has learned to shrug off their emotionless nonchalance most of the time, because anything is better than their anger, but that doesn’t stop him from brewing sullenly to himself as he and Regulus sit alone on the platform feeling helplessly cold, hungry, and tired.
After a moment, he pushes it to the back of his mind, like he always does, and leans into his brother’s shoulder muttering something about taking a quick nap to pass the time. Regulus nods and says that he’ll try to do the same.
Together, they curl up on the trunk and rest their heads on the one behind them, falling quickly into slumber.
They’re still dozing when the next children arrive, and they remain asleep as the space around them gets packed tighter with people. At 8:45, a passing worker shakes them awake and says that it’s getting late and they ought to get on the train before it gets too crowded.
“It’s a bloody storm out here past 9:00,” he says. “Best find a seat now, lads.”
They rub the bleariness from their eyes and thank the worker quietly. Acutely aware that they’re being watched by the eyes of almost every child on the platform, they dust themselves off and start lugging their trunks toward the train.
Their faces dust an embarrassed pink at the attention, but they press on, unfailingly stoic, as they’ve been trained to be.
When they’ve both made it to an empty compartment and shoved their trunks away, Regulus is first to collapse against the window and fall back asleep.
Sirius slumps down across from him, saying fuck all to his posture, and stares listlessly out the window, trying to block out the noise from outside.
He listens somberly to the clatter of friends jubilantly reuniting, owls hooting from their cages, and parents shouting reminders at their children.
Somewhere between feeling annoyed at the volume of it all and secretly wishing he could be part of it, he dozes off too.
Out on the platform, more and more people are filling the space as the clock above the entrance ticks closer to the departure time of eleven o’clock.
At 9:33, a family of six files through the entrance.
They’re led by a tall, slender woman who has wispy, blonde hair, a prosthetic arm, and five sons who look nothing like her. Four out of five of them are built like refrigerators; broad and tall, with dark hair and eyes.
The only one who bares any sort of semblance of relation is a short, pudgy boy with blonde curls and bright blue eyes. It seems as well that the blonde boy is the star of the show today. His brothers are ruffling his hair and pulling him into big bear hugs, which is a bit uncomfortable for him, because he’s at least a foot shorter in comparison to most of them.
His mother comes to the rescue after he’s been hugged at least twice by each of them, waving them off to drag his trunk onto the train. She fusses with his hair, trying to smooth it back into place, and wipes a bit of dirt from his nose. He makes a small sound of protest, but his mother just laughs and kisses him on the cheek.
She sobers up almost immediately, however, and takes his face gently in her hands, looking almost sad.
“You really want to go to this school, Peter?” she asks softly.
Peter nods vigorously. “I really, really do, Mam.”
She mulls over his answer for a moment, then pulls him into a bear hug of her own. “You’ll do good,” she says quietly. “I know you will. Let’s get you on that train now. Alright?”
Peter nods again, and together they walk toward the compartment where his siblings are waiting to see him off.
He’s pulled into an affectionate headlock by his oldest brother, who says teasingly, “Be a good boy Petey, don’t join any gangs.”
Peter grumbles incoherently and struggles against the arms holding him. “G’ off me, David.”
“Yeah, yeah.” David releases Peter with a soft thunk to the back of his head and grins cheekily down at him. “We’ll see you around, huh, tiny?”
Peter blushes. “Don’t call me tiny.”
“Alright, tiny.”
“Mam!” Peter whines at his mother, who’s smiling faintly, and receives another pat on the head.
“Get on the train, little Pettigrew,” she says chidingly. “Have fun at school.”
“Yeah, go learn hocus pocus,” another one of his brothers snarks gleefully. “Maybe when you get back, you’ll know how to wash your own socks.”
“I hate you guys,” Peter mutters, his cheeks flaming red.
“We love you too, Pete,” David calls loudly. Peter covers his ears, pretending not to hear, and steps onto the train. He turns around to wave to his family one last time.
“Bye,” he whispers, almost inaudibly.
A beat of silence passes before he’s brought once again into a colossal, multiple person hug, which is positioned a bit awkwardly, because they’re all leaning over the gap between the train and the platform.
His mother kisses him once more on the cheek for good measure. And then the Pettigrew family, minus Peter, walks back through the entrance and disappears.
Peter stares after them for a moment, then turns and progresses farther into the train, looking for a place to sit.
By 10:30, the station is a flurry of movement. Trunks and owls are everywhere, barely leaving room for the frantic latecomers who are arriving with only 30 minutes to spare.
Among these is a tall, gangly boy with a horizontal scar on the bridge of his nose and a book tucked under his arm. This boy isn’t dragging a trunk or hauling an owl, however. He’s standing perfectly still against a wall, being scolded by his mother.
“You need to get a move on Remus,” the woman says exasperatedly. “The train is leaving soon, and I’ll be damned if I let you back in the house.”
“Thanks, Mum,” Remus mutters sourly. “Really feeling encouraged right now.”
“That’s not the point, for God’s sake, just get on the train! Go talk to someone, go sit alone and cry for all I care! Just go!”
Remus wipes away a few tears with the back of his hand and his mother sighs dramatically. “You’ll be fine, boy. Lord knows you’ve wanted this for years, you never shut up about it. You’re making a big deal out of nothing. I’ve talked to that Dumbledore person, and he says he’ll help. He says it’s safe.”
“You only say it’s nothing when I complain about it. And if we can make it safe, couldn’t you just let me stay? Maybe M- I mean, maybe Hope could help us.” Remus protests. “We could just do whatever Professor Dumbledore says at home instead.”
“I’m not a fucking witch,” the woman grits out. “And Lord knows your father barely lets Hope ‘round for tea, let alone one of your fits. We’d both get hurt. Now get on the train, or so help me, I will drag you by your ears.”
Remus glowers and gives her his angriest stare, stalking past her without saying goodbye.
He’s so distracted by his anger that he only narrowly misses bumping into a scruffy Indian boy with bright amber eyes, a crooked pair of circular gold glasses, and a mop of pitch-black hair.
The boy is talking animatedly to a woman who looks to be his mother, and he illustrates whatever story he’s telling with excited hand gestures and exclamations, as if he’s painting it on the air between them.
Remus observes the soft look that she’s giving him, one that shows obvious endearment and unparalleled fondness, and has to soak up another stray tear in the sleeve of his sweatshirt.
He chokes down a sob and steps onto the train, clutching his book to his chest. The Principles of Healthy Communication, the cover reads. A Guide to Maintain a Family. He looks down at the book and scoffs at the title bitterly, then traipses off sullenly to find a compartment.
Remus doesn’t know it, but the Indian boy has noticed him too.
James Henry Potter is chattering excitedly about a new article on his favorite quidditch team (which somehow spirals into the integrity of eagle versus swan feather quills) when he notices the tall boy speed-walking past him. He forgets what he’s talking about and stares for a moment, then shakes his head as if coming out of a trance. James looks up at his mother, who’s eyeing him fondly.
“Mama, did you see him?” he asks, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Did you see that boy just now?”
“I must have missed him, dear,” replies Euphemia Potter. “What did he look like?”
“He was tall, and blonde, and there was a scar on his nose. He looked really cool, can I go and find him, Mama?”
Euphemia chuckles and ruffles James’ hair. “Go ahead, my little spinning top. But first let me get a goodbye hug.”
James grins and bounds forward, wrapping his arms around her middle tightly. Euphemia holds him for a moment, then releases him and leans down to kiss his forehead. “I’ve already sent your luggage ahead. It’ll be by your bed tonight, don’t forget to unpack. Be good, alright?”
“Alright!” says James, cheerily. “Tell Baba I’ll miss him. Bye Mama!” He yells the last statement across the platform, already halfway to the train. Euphemia just laughs and waves.
Once he’s over the gap and on the train, it doesn’t take long for James to catch up to Remus.
He runs up behind him, startling the poor boy a little, and sticks out his hand eagerly. “I’m James,” he says. “James Henry Potter. What’s your name?”
“Uh…” he gets a blank look for a moment, and then, “It’s Remus Lupin.”
James smiles and extends his hand out a little farther. Remus shakes it softly.
“Nice to meet you.” James says. “You’re really tall, you know. Like, you might be as tall as my mum. She’s only 5’5, but I guess for someone that’s your age- wait, how old are you?”
Remus blinks, a little dazed. He didn’t expect this boy- no. James, not boy, he quietly remembers. He didn’t expect James to actually engage in conversation. Most people who usually approached him tended to ask rude questions about his scar, then run off with an empty promise to "see him ‘round" or something.
Remus isn’t completely sure that isn’t what’s happening yet, but he chooses to give James a cautious smile and say, “I’m ten.”
“Me too! So, you’re a first year then! What month is your birthday in?”
“It’s in March. I was born on the tenth.”
James gets even more excited at this information.
“No way, that’s great! My birthday is March 27th!”
He reaches forward and gives Remus a tight squeeze of a hug. “We’ve got to sit together now, you’re my birthday buddy. C’mon, let’s find a seat.”
Remus stands still for a moment, unsure of what’s happening. He isn’t very good with people his age, but judging on the way James takes his hand and pulls him through the train corridor with no outright worry that he might not want to follow, he suspects that he might’ve just been adopted.
He decides not to question it as James peeks into a compartment and nearly gets hit with a flash of light, which Remus can only assume is a spell. James turns back to grin at him, completely nonplussed. The collar of his shirt is smoking a little, his glasses are skewed sideways, and his eyebrows look singed. Remus has to stifle a laugh.
“That was a close one,” James says casually. “Anyway, come on. There’s gotta be an empty one somewhere.”
He jerks at Remus’ hand again and continues to pull him along. “So,” he says eagerly, “where are you from?”
“Ehm, Wales. What about you?” asks Remus.
“I’m from Godric’s Hollow,” says James proudly, narrowly dodging a few people who are lounging on the floor of the train. “Home of Godric Gryffindor.”
“Sorry, who?” asks Remus.
James turns around to stare at him, looking absolutely befuddled. “How do you not know who- oh!” His expression clears suddenly. “You must be a Muggleborn!”
“A what?” Remus furrows his brow. “Is that some sort of slur for stupid people?”
James throws his head back in a hearty laugh. “No, it’s a name for wizards who are born to non-magic families. That’s you, right?”
“It still sounds like a slur,” Remus mumbles. “But no, that’s not me. My dad was a wizard.”
“Oh, I’m sorry mate.” James frowns.
“Huh?” asks Remus, thoroughly confused. He’d have thought having at least one wizard parent was a good thing.
“You said “was”.” James explains. “I thought your dad had snuffed it.”
“Wh- no he’s not dead! I just don’t see him much.” Remus sputters.
“Oh,” James shrugs. “Alright then.”
He turns and starts again down the corridor, still holding Remus’ hand, and chatters on. “It’s not really bad to be a Muggleborn you know. Besides, even if it was, you’d be fine. You’re handsome. And tall. So people will probably leave you alone. They like to believe that all the lookers are Purebloods. Load of tripe, if you ask me. My dad’s got a cousin who looks like one of those ugly dogs rich people have, and he’s as pure as they come. I guess, technically, we are rich people, but I don’t actually know. My house is pretty big, I guess. There’s tons of space to play. I like slipping around in my socks when the floors have just been cleaned. But yeah, you’ll be fine. You’re pretty. And tall, like I said. Besides, you know what they say about tall men.”
He turns back and winks cheekily at Remus, who blushes up to his ears as he processes the compliment.
“Are you always this blunt?” he asks, slightly incredulously.
James shrugs and peeks into another compartment. “No point in being anything else,” he says. “We can sit in here, come on.”
He pulls Remus inside and plops down on one of the two red cushioned benches that line the walls.
There are two other boys sitting inside, both pale and dark haired, with almost identical features and matching robes.
It’s the Black twins, sitting across from each other and slumped in their seats, fast asleep with their heads drooping against the window. One of their noses is making a quiet whistling noise.
It might have been less strange if they were acquainted with either James or Remus, but James doesn’t spare them a glance of recognition, and Remus, who knew almost no one from the elusive magical world before today, hasn’t the slightest clue who they are.
James notices them, but he doesn’t think it strange to join their slumber party. They are hogging a whole cabin to themselves after all, so he settles farther into the bench and makes himself comfortable.
Remus, however, just stands awkwardly in the middle of the compartment.
“Um, James?” he says tentatively.
“Yeah, mate?”
“I think they’re asleep.”
James knows this, but he leans toward the boy closest to him and flicks a piece of hair from his eye to make sure. The boy doesn’t react.
“Like the dead,” he says cheerily. “It’s ok, mate. Sit down.”
Remus shuffles his feet nervously. “Should we find other seats?” he whispers. “I don’t want to wake them up.”
“Nah.” James waves a flippant hand. “They’ll wake up anyway when the train starts moving.”
About two seconds later, almost as if it heard him, the train’s engine makes a loud rumbling noise. Two loud whistles fill the air, followed by an announcement.
“Students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, please take your seats as the train leaves the station. This is an all day, non-stop route to Hogsmeade Station. Violence, indecency, and crassness toward your fellows will not be tolerated. Do not attempt to leave the train. The food trolley will be making rounds to all compartments shortly. Thank you, and welcome aboard the Hogwarts Express.”
Remus sits down quickly on the bench across from James and hugs his book to his chest.
The train rumbles again and lurches forward, jostling everyone in the compartment. Remus, the ever poised and graceful, loses his balance and is thrown against the boy sleeping next to him.
The roar of the train’s engines and the sudden shock of Remus’ weight is enough to jolt Regulus Black awake. He sits up with a start and wipes a line of drool from the corner of his mouth. Remus smiles awkwardly at him.
“Sorry about that.” He mumbles.
“Uh… ‘s alright.” the boy slurs. “Who’re you?”
James puts out his hand from the other bench. “I’m James Potter, he’s Remus. What’s your name?”
“Uhm.” The boy looks a little panicked for a moment, then he kicks across the compartment at his brother, catching him hard in the shin.
Sirius leaps a foot in the air and lets out a classy yelp.
“What the hell!” he sputters, staring daggers at his brother.
“Sorry, Sirius.” Regulus mumbles.
Then he gestures to Remus, who’s still collapsed in his lap. “Meet- uh, sorry. What’s your name, again?”
Remus sits up, his face flaming red, and slides at least a foot down the bench before he answers. “Remus Lupin.”
“I’m James Potter.” James repeats. His hand is still outstretched. Regulus takes it and gives it a stiff shake.
“Regulus Arcturus Black,” he says.
James whistles and lets out a giggle.
“Some name you’ve got there, Black.” He turns to face Sirius. “What about you? What’s your name?”
“Sirius Orion Black. Don’t wear it out,” Sirius grumbles, clearly ruffled at being woken up so suddenly.
“Grumpy, grumpy,” James tuts. “Good morning to you too, Sunshine. Your nose whistles when you sleep, by the way.”
Sirius snorts and breaks into a crooked smile.
“Friendly, aren’t you?” he quips, straightening up and smoothing out his nap-crumpled robes.
“Really friendly,” Remus mutters. “It took him all of five minutes to reference my penis.”
James feigns an offended look and folds his arms petulantly. “I call it like I see it, Lupin. How’s it my fault you’re pretty?”
“How’s it my fault you’re honest?” Remus snarks playfully.
Regulus gives them a strange look, then raises a brow at his twin. “Should we be afraid?” he whispers.
Sirius shrugs, “Kreacher’s said worse.”
“True, but he never says anything about… penises.” Regulus says the last word with a strange look on his face. Sirius giggles in response. “It’s not a bad word, Reg.”
Regulus blushes, “Well yeah, but-”
“So, lads.” James interrupts their exchange loudly. “If we’re gonna be best mates, I’m gonna need to know more about you.”
He folds his feet up into a pretzel and turns to sit sideways on the bench so he can face all three of them at once. “Who wants to go first?”
Before anyone can say anything, the train gives a lurch, and the compartment door slides open with a loud thump and Peter Pettigrew falls inside with a panicked squeal.
Sirius and Regulus both recoil in their seats, properly startled, James almost falls off the bench with his legs still in a pretzel, and Remus panics and drops his book. It lands with a muffled oof, right on Peter’s stomach.
No one talks for a moment, and then Peter, who is currently a stranger to everyone but himself, stands up quickly and makes a pathetic noise of embarrassment. The book drops to his feet with a loud thunk, and everyone jolts again. Peter looks like he could cry.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he stutters, wringing his hands. “I was just trying to find a seat. Everywhere is full and the train’s already moving and- oh, here!”
He bends and picks up the book and shoves it toward Remus, muttering apologies the whole time.
Remus smiles kindly and accepts the book, putting it down next to him. “It’s fine, you just surprised us. You can sit here if you’d like to.”
“Really?” asks Peter. “That’d be- I mean, I would! Um, sorry about scaring you.” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to; it’s just the door was stuck.”
“No worries!” James chimes in. “Now that you’re here, you’ve got to join us. D’you have a trunk you need to put away? I could help you. What’s your name by the way?”
“Peter Pettigrew,” Peter mumbles. “Um, my trunk’s in the hall. It’s kind of heavy.”
“No worries, Remus’ll help us move it. Won’t you, Remus?” James gives Remus very deliberate puppy eyes that have him and Regulus, who gets a secondhand eyeful, stifling giggles.
“Sure,” says Remus, standing up. “I’ll help. C’mon.”
It takes ten minutes of hauling to finally get the trunk secured in the luggage rack above them. They’re all sweating and lightheaded by the end of it. Peter wasn’t kidding when he said it was heavy.
Remus falls back on the bench with a tired huff and gestures for Peter to sit next to him. Peter does so, looking around tenderly and cautiously, quite unsure what to think of the group he’s stumbled in on. Remus smiles tentatively at him, and as Peter smiles shyly back, he makes the quiet assumption that, like him, Peter is an introvert.
James, who is very much not an introvert, flops down unceremoniously in his previous seat, resumes his weird, sideways pretzel position, and grins wildly.
“All right lads,” he says, in an unnecessarily creepy voice, “spill me your secrets and I shall bring forth rewards.”
“How ominously welcoming,” Sirius says playfully. “Really makes me want to pour my heart out.”
James spreads his arms wide. “Fill my cup, mate. Amaze me.”
Peter lets out a little giggle. “You’re an exuberant sort.”
“What’s that word mean?” James asks.
“It means you’re excited,” says Regulus, his face quirking up into a smirk. “You do seem to bounce around a lot, don’t you?”
“Happiness is a virtue,” James says, and sticks his tongue out at Regulus, who laughs lightly.
“But silliness is a fault.”
James pouts and folds his arms petulantly. “You’re awfully stiff, aren’t you. Who snuffed out your candle?”
Regulus frowns. “I am not stiff.”
“Mate, you’re sitting so upright, it’s as if there’s a knife in your back.”
Sirius shivers in his seat. “Can we please not mention posture so early in the morning. It makes me think of that one time with the crocodiles.”
Remus blinks in disbelief. Then he blinks again. “I’m sorry, did you just say crocodiles?”
Regulus nods and his eyes widen. “Oh Salazar, and the chickens.”
“Salazar? The chickens?” It’s Peter asking this time.
Sirius shivers again and flaps his hands, as if trying to shake them dry. “There was so much liver paste.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever look at prehistoric mating rituals the same way again.” Regulus says darkly.
“Wha- h-,” Remus splutters incoherently for a moment. “Why would you even be thinking about prehistoric mating rituals in the first place?” he asks weakly.
Sirius shrugs. “Triassic Tuesdays,” he says, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “It was either that or childbirth. Although now that I think about it, I’m not sure which one is worse.”
“Definitely childbirth.” Says Regulus solemnly. “Though I think The Corruption of Eagles and Monarchs trumps them both.”
“Like the government?” Peter questions, desperately trying to grasp what’s going on. “Assassinations and stuff?”
“No, of course not.” Regulus gives him a strange look. “The butterfly, of course.”
“Ah,” Peter nods. “Of course.”
“Of course,” Remus echoes, looking at the twins with a mixture of horror and confusion.
“You guys are bonkers.” James grins. “I’m keeping you.”
Sirius narrows his eyes, looking angry, and leans close to James’ face slowly. Then he sticks his tongue out and licks his cheek in one long stripe. James jolts in surprise, then claps a hand to the patch of saliva left behind. It makes a loud, wet, audible slapping noise, and the compartment explodes into laughter.
Regulus and Remus fold into each other, wheezing uncontrollably, and James tips backward on the seat, his hand still on his cheek. Peter stumbles off the bench, despite being fully seated, and falls on the floor for the second time that day. Sirius laughs so hard that his head collides against the window with a loud bonk, which sets everyone off all over again.
When they’ve considerably calmed down, Peter moves to steady himself and decides to use the door as a crutch. A horrible decision really, because the moment he goes to lean his weight on the door, it slides open, and he falls onto the opposite bench with a crash.
Everything is silent as Peter regains himself and settles on the bench he fell onto, looking dazed. No one says anything, but Sirius has a hand slapped over his mouth and is making muffled huffing noises, desperately trying not to laugh.
Then, an old lady outside of the compartment, the one who had opened the door so suddenly, says quietly, “uh… anything from the trolley, dears?”
And Sirius, followed consecutively by James, Remus, Peter, and his brother, collapse back into uncontrolled hilarity.