Clash Of Cunts
The rest of the train ride is spent talking loudly and lightheartedly and swapping sweets from the trolley, which are generously provided by James. It’s when Peter screams at a Chocolate Frog that jumps out of its wrapper that James and the Black twins learn that he, and, to some extent, Remus, have been practically raised as Muggles.
They think it so novel that someone could have so little knowledge about the wizarding world that they take it upon themselves to enthusiastically explain anything and everything magical. By the end of the train ride, both Remus and Peter have received an entire dissertation on the rules of Quidditch, they can name at least five famous wizards, and they’ve learned exactly what the liver paste was for, which is something they immediately try to forget.
By the time James is detailing what a Portkey is, and why a cactus should never be used as one, the sky is pitch black and dotted with stars, and the Hogwarts Express is slowing down and pulling into Hogsmeade station. A bored voice echoes throughout the train, announcing their arrival, and interrupting James before he starts intensely elaborating on the Port-cactus, which is about as mildly horrifying as it sounds.
“Attention students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, we have arrived at Hogsmeade Station. Please make your way off the train in a quiet and orderly fashion. Leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken care of. Thank you for choosing the Hogwarts Express, and welcome to Hogsmeade Station.”
James stands up and stretches like a cat. “Finally,” he groans. “I didn’t think it’d take so long. I’m really hungry.”
“I have a feeling you’re always hungry,” says Regulus shrewdly as everyone stands up and files from the compartment.
“Touché, my good sir,” says James, progressing quickly toward the exit. He takes a flying backward leap from the train door and lands lightly on the platform with a flourish. “My stomach hungers constantly!” he proclaims in a Shakespearean voice, “but, oh! How it hungers for a meal that doesn’t contain beetle-flavored jellybeans!”
Sirius snickers and jumps after him, landing in a heap by his feet. “Poetic, Potter. You’re truly a talent.”
“And you’re truly an idiot,” says Regulus, carefully stepping off the train. Remus leaps down gracefully and offers a hand to Peter, who takes it gladly and only narrowly avoids tumbling into the gap.
“This is a safety hazard,” Peter mumbles grumpily. “What do we do now, anyway?”
“I think we go with him,” says Regulus, pointing to a huge man who’s standing at the other end of the station. He’s at least eight or nine feet tall, with a huge, bushy, brown beard covering the lower half of his face, and he’s wearing a wooden plaque hung on a cord around his neck that reads, “HAGRID”. He waves a large lantern around his head and calls across the platform loudly, “Firs’ years! Firs’ years this way!”
“Can’t get more obvious than that,” James shrugs. He practically bounces forward toward the beacon of the lantern, followed closely by the others. They reach a small crowd of their fellow first years gathered tenuously around the large man and are acknowledged by him with a smile.
“Everyone ‘ere?” he asks loudly. “We’ve got one, two, three…” he trails off quietly, his eyes flicking through the group. “Twenty-three!” he grins. “Great! If you’ll follow me, please, and no pushin’. And mind your feet, yeah? It’s a tricky bit of a walk.”
Hagrid leads them off the platform and down a narrow path that winds through a patch of shadowy woods. A few people grumble quietly about it being too muddy and one boy slips and face-plants into a puddle of chilled water. After a few more minutes, and a couple more mishaps, the trees fade away into the shore of a huge, dark lake that sparkles brightly under the light of the moon.
No one is focused on the lake however, because they’re all too busy staring at the castle nestled on the clifftop at the other end of it. It’s absolutely enormous, with towers and turrets stretched high in the sky, the lights of its many windows blinking demurely among the stars.
“Wow,” Remus whispers softly. His eyes are wide and teary as he takes in the first sight of a school he thought he’d never see.
“Wicked,” James says from beside him. He’s smiling brightly and confidently in contrast to Remus, absolutely positive that this is where he’s meant to be.
“That there’s Hogwarts,” says Hagrid cheerily, seemingly unfazed by the grandeur of the place. “Finest magical school there is, you can be sure o’ that.”
Peter is standing frozen, his mouth slack with amazement. “We’re staying in a castle?” he squeaks incredulously.
“Right ya are, kid,” Hagrid laughs. “Now, if you’ll all come down here,” he walks down to the edge of the lake and points down at a small fleet of wooden boats anchored in the mud. “No more’n four to a boat, alright?”
Most of the children surge forward and hastily clamber onto any empty seat, but James frowns and crosses his arms. “But there’s five of us,” he pouts. Regulus rolls his eyes and pokes James in the shoulder.
“It’s not for that long,” he says. “Besides, we can do less than four.”
Sirius walks over to the shore and climbs nimbly into one of the boats. “Yeah, c’mon James. You, me, and Reg in this one, and Peter and Remus in that one,” he says, pointing to the boat moored beside the one he’s sitting in.
James doesn’t stop pouting, but he climbs reluctantly onto the seat beside Sirius. Regulus snorts out a laugh as he settles opposite them. James sticks out his tongue petulantly.
Remus smiles quietly to himself as he and Peter occupy their own boat. “Wanna hold hands, James?” he offers, only half kidding. James’ eyes light up and he nods eagerly, reaching out a hand between the boats to grab Remus. A few children giggle from about two boats down. Remus tries to withdraw, blushing brightly, but James just makes a face at them and refuses to release his hand.
“You’ve got to commit to it, Lupin.” he says dramatically. “Those idiots can only dream of holding your hand.”
Remus flushes darker, turning to look anywhere else. Peter stifles a giggle into his palm.
“Everyone in?” calls Hagrid loudly, addressing the fleet from his own dinghy, “Alright then, off we go.”
The boats jolt out of the bed of mud on the shore of the lake and begin gliding steadily toward the base of the cliff that holds the castle. There are no engines, nor magical oars; the small fleet cuts through the water unassisted. About halfway out, the boats begin to drift farther apart as they press on, pulling at the grip James has on Remus’ hand until they’re forced to let go for the fear that one of them might fall into the lake.
James frowns down at the water between them and leans over the gap, reaching insistently for the side of the other boat. Sirius snorts quietly and jumps slightly in his seat, causing the boat to shake violently. James yelps and grabs hold of the edge of his seat and swats Sirius on the arm.
“Watch it!” he exclaims. “Do you want me to become fish food?”
“As amusing as that would be,” says Regulus dryly, “can we save the pranks for dry land, please? I’m on this boat too, you know.”
Sirius throws his head back and laughs brightly, “That’s half the fun of it, Reg.”
“Oi, James, stop that!” Peter calls from his seat in the other boat.
He reaches over to bat James’ hand away, who is trying again to reach for Remus over the ever-growing four-foot gap between them. He succeeds in deflecting him, but the boat tips precariously and, at the last moment, Peter loses his balance and topples into the dark water. Remus lets out a strangled yell and scrambles to the side of his dinghy, calling Peter’s name.
James’ face drops. “Whoopsie-daisy?”
The fleet halts abruptly, startling everyone, and Hagrid floats over, halfway out of his overcoat and looking amused.
Peter, who has been below the surface for a few seconds longer than preferable, breaks the surface of the lake, coughing and spluttering through a mouthful of water. He sees Remus, who’s staring, his face pale and panicked, and Hagrid, looking down at him with twinkling eyes, and deadpans his next sentence toward their chaperone.
“You have pedophiles in your lake.”
Hagrid barks out a surprised guffaw as he reaches down and hauls Peter into his boat. “That’s just the Giant Squid. He’s friendly.”
“Yeah, with children.”
Hagrid laughs again, completely unconcerned that one of his charges has apparently been groped by the local cephalopod. Or that there is a local cephalopod.
“Here.” He picks up his coat and drops it on top of Peter, who lets out a muffled yelp and almost topples back into the water under its weight. “Gave your friends a right fright, you did,” he says, glancing at Remus.
“He’s fine, don’t worry!” Hagrid shouts this loudly in Remus’ direction. His boat has begun moving again, back to the front of the fleet. Peter hears a muffled, “Sorry Pete!” through Hagrid’s thick overcoat. He assumes it’s James.
“‘S fine!” He yells back. “My fault!”
When the boat ride ends, and Peter is released from his giant, stifling, overcoat prison, James rushes to him and wraps him in a hug.
“I’m sorry, I really didn’t know that was gonna happen!” he exclaims.
“Um, James.” says Peter.
“Seriously, I didn’t think anyone would actually fall in! And now you’ve been touched by a squid!”
“James.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m all wet. And you’re hugging me. Which means you’re now all wet. I also can’t breathe.”
“Oh.” James releases him and looks down to discover that Peter is indeed soaking wet, and that his own shirt is now patchy with wet spots. “Sorry mate.”
Remus walks up behind them and taps James on the shoulder. “Hate to interrupt the lovers’ reunion, but we should maybe get moving.”
He points ahead of them, where Sirius and Regulus are standing on a set of stone stairs, looking amused.
“Done dawdling?” asks Regulus pointedly.
Peter blushes a deep red and stumbles toward them, squishing awkwardly in his soaked shoes. James follows him, grinning unabashedly.
“I can give you a hug too, Regulus Arcturus Black. All you’ve got to do is ask.”
Regulus turns and fumbles his way up the stairs before James can reach him, his face red. Remus grins and pokes James in the back as they climb after the others.
“Had to scare him away, huh?” he quips.
“What can I say.” James lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Not everyone can handle James Potter.”
Remus snorts and pokes him again, urging him to move faster as the others walk ahead.
They emerge onto a section of the huge lawn that surrounds the castle. Hagrid and the rest are a bit farther up front, and they have to jog a bit to catch up. They reunite with the group just as they go round the bend of a castle wall and approach a large pair of double doors. Hagrid knocks: three loud thumps that make the Black twins and a few others flinch. The door opens slowly.
“Hello, Professor McGonagall,” Hagrid says cheerfully. “I come bearing gifts.”
The woman in the doorway, Professor McGonagall, is a tall, impressive looking woman dressed in dark green robes, a wiry, rectangular pair of glasses, and an impeccably pointed witches’ hat. She says something unintelligible in response to Hagrid, then stands aside and opens the door wider to allow the children through.
They walk into a huge entrance hall, complete with flagged stone floors and high arches on the torch-lit walls. It’s empty for the majority, aside from a sweeping staircase flanked by two smaller ones that seem to lead to upper floors of the castle, and a few openings in some of the arches that snake off into corridors. The walls are full of paintings, mostly portraits, and all of them are whispering to each other and pointing down from their canvases at the sight of the new students.
McGonagall ignores the gossiping portraits and leads them to a door on the far right of the room, right at the edge of a corridor. She opens the door and gestures inside, almost impatiently. All twenty-three children file past her into the room, many looking jittery and nervous. She gives off an intimidating air of a teacher that’s not to be crossed. Which, of course, James and Sirius seem to take as a challenge.
They flash wide smiles as they shuffle past her, their eyes dancing with the promise to be the most endearing of nuisances in years to come. Her lips twitch upward slightly, in either a sign of anger or amusement, but she quickly smooths her expression and follows them briskly into the room. The door clicks shut behind her and she turns to address the crowd of new students, giving them no time to start whispering among themselves.
“Welcome to Hogwarts.” Professor McGonagall says primly. “In a few moments, you are to join the rest of the school at the start-of-term banquet. But first you will be sorted into your houses, of which there are four. They are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Your victories and losses alike will either earn or lose your house points. The house with the most points at the end of the year is awarded the house cup. I do hope all of your behavior is worthy of receiving that honor.”
Her eyes flash over James and Sirius sharply from behind her spectacles before she continues.
“Let it be known that no house is superior to another, and no student less important than his friend. Hogwarts will be your home for the majority of the next seven years, so I urge you to not intentionally sour the experience for any student, including yourself. We will be ready to begin shortly. Please wait quietly. I will return when it is time.”
She turns and sweeps out of the room, her long green robes swishing dramatically. As soon as the door closes behind her, the room bursts into unruly chatter. James turns to Peter and Remus and opens his mouth to add his two cents to the noise when a voice from the back of the room scoffs loudly and says, “don’t be stupid, Evans. Those Black prats don’t talk to people like you.”
James whips around so fast he almost gets dizzy.
“Who said that?” he demands loudly.
Sirius puts a hand on his arm and whispers an urgent, “Mate, it’s fine.” But James doesn’t back down. Regulus sighs.
“Who said that?” James asks again. The students part to reveal a tall boy that can be described adequately in one word. Greasy. His hair, his eyes, the curling smile he flashes as James stalks forward to confront him. Even the way he stands seems slick and oily, like he could melt into a puddle and disappear at any moment.
Sirius follows on James’ heels, still holding his arm, with a desperate look on his face. James stops two feet away from the boy and folds his arms expectantly.
“Well?”
The boy sneers. “Well what ?”
“Aren’t you going to apologize?”
“For what, telling the truth?”
“For being rude.”
“No.”
A pretty, red-haired girl standing next to the oily boy pokes him in the arm and says, “Severus!”
Severus rolls his eyes and groans sufferingly. “I’m not apologizing, Evans. All I did was tell the truth.”
“You don’t even know them,” James snaps angrily.
Sirius tugs weakly on his arm.
James staunchly ignores him.
“Neither do you,” Severus drawls. “You probably met, what, this morning? Don’t be so quick to defend a Black. They’re all the same.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be so quick to judge one, Mr. I’ve-never-had-a-wash-in-my-life.”
Severus blushes a shock of scarlet that patches awkwardly on his pale cheeks. The redhead is quick to jump to his defense.
“Leave him alone won’t you! He was just trying to help me.”
“Yeah, fabulous,” Sirius mutters. “Can we stop now, please?” He tugs James’ arm, halfway to hauling him back to the other end of the room.
“Yeah, we can stop. But Snivellus here has to promise to stop being a wanker.”
“Students!” a sharp voice cuts in abruptly. Professor McGonagall has returned and is bristling with a dangerous energy. She walks swiftly toward James and Sirius, her lips pressed together in a taut line.
“This must be a new record,” she says in a carefully measured voice. “For a student to merit a detention before being sorted.”
Sirius winces and James’ mouth drops open incredulously.
“But Professor!” He exclaims. “I was just-!”
“I do not care what you were doing. Your language is unacceptable.” McGonagall interrupts smoothly. “You will both report to your head of houses’ office after dinner on the Monday of the second week of school, whomever that may be. And I would advise you to watch your words in the future.”
“Wait, both of us?” Sirius asks, sounding panicked. “I didn’t call anyone a wanker!”
He closes his mouth with a snap and lets out a muffled half laugh, half sob. A few students giggle into their sleeves.
“Whoopsie-daisy?” He tries feebly.
Professor McGonagall raises an eyebrow and makes a quiet clicking noise with her tongue.
“Both of you.” She reiterates. “Head of house, second week of school, Monday. And now,” she turns and strolls toward the doorway. “Follow me please. It is time for the Sorting.”
Severus leers smugly at them as he walks past, and the redhead purposefully avoids their eyes. James scoffs and pulls at Sirius’ hand to lead him toward the comfort of Regulus, who is standing aside with Remus and Peter as everyone else files out of the room.
Regulus frowns at Sirius worriedly and mutters something incomprehensible under his breath. Before anyone can ask what he said, he turns to follow Professor McGonagall and the other students. The other four trail after him, simultaneously choosing to address matters later as they’re led down a corridor and through a huge pair of ornately carved wooden doors.
The hall they walk into is a colossal affair, made of marble and limestone, which are carved into intricate patterns and gothic arches curving high above them. It’s furnished with five long, rectangular tables, four of which are decorated in a singular color of either red, yellow, blue, or green, and occupied by a few hundred students, who are all staring at the first years interestedly.
The fifth, presumedly the staff table, is set horizontally on a large, slightly raised platform at the end of the room, covered in a tablecloth that has crude drawings of birds chirping among the folds.
It’s garishly out of place among the old and stately looking interior of the castle, but no one seems to pay it any mind, so the first years turn their eyes to the more glaringly magical aspects of the room.
The figures in the stained-glass windows shift and float around the panes. Hundreds of candles float in the air overhead, casting light on a ceiling bewitched to mirror the night sky, the original version of which is visible through the few clear windows settled between the ones of colorful, twinkling glass. The stone carvings wrought into the stones that make up the walls (reptiles, mammals, insects, and various magical creatures) twist around and around each other, blinking every now and then.
The first year students whisper and giggle excitedly among themselves at the novelty of the Great Hall as they’re led toward the raised platform that holds the teachers’ table.
Remus tries to lose himself in the crowd, suddenly conscious of the fact that he’s the only one not dressed in school robes. Even Peter, his fellow Muggle-raised wizard, is wearing a pair. He tugs at Peter’s hand and whispers urgently, “Was I supposed to get a uniform?”
Peter shrugs and whispers back, “It’s probably fine. They got mine for me. They’ll get you one too.”
“But wouldn’t they have given it to me already?” Remus asks, slightly panicked. They’re passing between the tables closest to the platform now, the ones of blue and green. He sees Sirius wave to a tall, brunette girl sat at the green table and vaguely registers him turning back to whisper at them, “That’s my cousin.”
“Maybe they’ve made a mistake,” Remus says, accidentally voicing his thoughts out loud. “Maybe I wasn’t supposed to come.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Peter scoffs. “They’re magic. They’d know if you weren’t supposed to be here.”
Professor McGonagall stops them as they reach the front of the room. The front of the platform is made up of three short steps, and just beyond them there’s a small, three-legged stool holding an old, dusty, well-worn wizard’s hat.
“You’re probably right,” Remus mutters, even though his hands grow sweatier by the second. “I’ll be... fine.”
Professor McGonagall calls the room to attention, and Remus immediately stops talking. All the first years crane their heads to look past one another at the hat on the stool, and the students and teachers go silent.
Everyone stares expectantly at the hat, as if expecting it to sprout legs and do a jig at any moment.
After a tense moment of pregnant silence, McGonagall reaches out and pokes the hat with an impatient finger. At first, nothing happens. Then, a rip in the hat opens wide, and it yawns loudly.
“What do you want?” it rasps, in an American accent for some odd reason.
The first years gasp in unison and giggle in amazement. The hat glares sleepily from its perch, plainly offended at being awoken. Professor McGonagall purses her lips in annoyance and speaks in a clipped tone.
“It’s time.”
“Huh, time for what?” The hat quirks a fold in its fabric that’s vaguely brow shaped.
“The Sorting.”
“Oh, that. Right, uh.”
A moment passes as the hat clears its throat and wiggles in place, shaking off dust. “I didn’t work on lyrics much,” it mutters, mostly to itself. “I’ve got something, hold on.”
It coughs out a small puff of dirt, draws itself up to rest at full height, then launches into an off-key warble of a song. Or rather, what sounds more like the dead, empty husk of a song.
“Welcome to school. It’s big and... uh, stuff.
You’re here to learn magic, I guess.
The ads say it’s safe, but that’s mostly a bluff.
Your parents signed waivers though, so we’re blameless.
There are four options for houses, red, yellow, blue, green.
They’re all equally useless and dry.
Gryffindor’s brave, bold, and great as a team.
But brains always seem to lack in sufficient supply
Slytherin house, the home of the inbred.
They’re great with a plunger and mop.
Ravenclaw is smart, they’ve got brains in their heads.
And Hufflepuffs... can find stuff you’ve lost? I don’t know.
I’ve run out of words, but basically, I tell you what house you belong in by invading your thoughts.
The End.”
The hat burps up another cloud of grit and slouches back down, almost folding in half. The entire hall alights with poorly concealed giggles, and Professor McGonagall’s eye twitches erratically behind her glasses. James lets out a weird whimpering noise at the back of the crowd, and Peter whispers manically in Remus’ ear, “I am not putting that thing on my head.”
A scroll appears in McGonagall’s hand, and she starts calling out names. She gives the hat a look that could kill, practically yelling no more nonsense with her eyes, as the first student, a boy named Ray Abrose, lets the hat fall over his head. It deliberates for a moment, then yells, “Hufflepuff!” and Ray drops it back on the stool and takes off running toward the yellow table.
Sirius fidgets nervously when Regulus’ name is called. He observes with trepidation as his brother walks up to the hat, who greets him with a weird, cotton grin, and slips it on over his dark hair. He almost tears through the cuff of his sleeve as he watches it mumble under its breath, and breathes a huge, relieved sigh when it calls out, “Slytherin!”
Then Professor McGonagall says, “Black, Sirius.” and his fingers are right back to playing with his silver cufflinks. He takes a shaky breath, then stalks forward determinedly.
He feels Regulus watching from his new seat at the Slytherin table and the eyes of their new friends following him to the stool. He feels as well, even though they’re not there, his parents’ cold glares boring holes into the back of his head. He picks up the hat with unsteady hands and barely gets it touching his head when it proclaims, “Gryffindor!”
Sirius freezes for a moment, deaf to the students who are clapping on his behalf and locks frantic eyes with his brother. The illusion of his mother shrieks in rage.
Regulus has mastered concealing shock in a variety of situations, but he can't help his face twisting up for a moment before it settles back into a stony mask. His eyes scream with silent panic, but he tilts his head a fraction toward the Gryffindor table and desperately wills Sirius forward.
Sirius gets the message.
He sets the hat back on the stool and strolls as nonchalantly as he can to the red-draped table of his new house. He flashes what he thinks comes out as a smile in the general direction of James, Remus, and Peter, and pretends to feel at home as he settles on one of the few empty benches at the Gryffindor table.
The five of them watch from their various positions in the room as more students get placed, including the redhead from before, who gets sorted into Gryffindor, and a girl who shares her last name, presumably her sister, into Ravenclaw.
When it’s Remus’ turn with the hat, he stumbles out of the shelter of concealment he reaped from the ever-shrinking group of first years and keeps his eyes trained on the ground as he approaches the stool.
It makes a weird, growling noise as he picks it up, and its folds of fabric curl up into a vague, knowing smirk. Remus frowns slightly, but he takes the plunge and plops the hat on, trying to prepare himself for it to yell, “Reject!”
Instead of, “Reject!”, it yells, “Gryffindor!”, and Remus all but dashes off to steal the seat next to Sirius, who is smiling at him from the other end of the room.
“I thought I might die,” Remus whispers, as a boy named David Malkin is sorted into Slytherin.
“Tell me about it,” mutters Sirius.
It’s noted quietly by Remus that he looks nervous and fidgety, especially so, in fact, for someone who’d been practically bursting with confidence back on the train.
Regulus is subdued too. He’s sitting next to the girl that Sirius had earlier identified as their cousin, staring resolutely down at the emerald tablecloth draped over the table of his new house. Remus silently wonders what’s wrong, but is distracted as the Hufflepuffs, who’ve just gained a new student, erupt into raucous cheers behind them.
Peter joins them about two minutes later, followed closely by James, who looks only slightly disappointed to have not been placed in Ravenclaw like he previously hoped.
They sit crowded together on one bench and watch as the last few people are separated into their houses. Hufflepuff gains two more, as well as Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, and the oily boy, Severus Snape is his full name, as they come to learn, joins the Slytherins.
A tall, old man, with a beard so long it could’ve been braided and still reached his kneecaps, stands as the Sorting concludes and raises his hands in greeting.
“Welcome to Hogwarts,” he says in a soft, yet commanding voice. “My name is Professor Dumbledore. I do hope all new students, as well as the old, find themselves content and comfortable in the year to come. And now, what we’ve all been waiting for. Dinner.”
He lowers his hands in a slow, deliberate motion, and decadent platters of food appear on the formerly empty tables, along with jugs of beverages and plates and utensils for each student.
Peter and Remus gasp in delight, having never been magically served dinner before, and even James looks impressed.
Sirius doesn’t look too surprised at the way the food appears, but he does seem to revel in the sheer amount of it. He glances sideways at James and Peter, who are already piling their plates with the dishes closest to them, then looks down at his own and grins. He shoots a quick look at Regulus, whose eyes are just as wide as his, and immediately digs in, smiling wildly.
They barely converse over the next ten minutes, too busy finally filling their stomachs with something that isn’t candy. Then, when Sirius is about two thirds of the way through his food, he pinches James and whispers something in his ear, gesturing to Regulus, who seems to be eating slowly and intently while conversing politely with their cousin.
James grins through a mouthful of roast beef and nudges Peter.
“Hey, Pete. Pass me the mashed potatoes, would you?”
Peter grunts the affirmative and sets the serving plate near James, who scoops up a large spoonful and flicks it across the table. It lands with a plop on the red tablecloth. James gives a happy little wiggle and reaches for more potatoes. Remus eyes him cautiously and tentatively asks, “What ’cha doing over there, mate?”
“I’m testing my aim.” James says.
He lobs another spoon of potato across the table. It hits an empty cup, pushing it to the floor with a clatter. Sirius slides under the table, comes up on the other side, and retrieves it, setting it directly across from James’ seat. He gathers a few more cups, as well as a few pitchers, and places them in a rough formation at the edge of the table.
“Are you planning on bowling with dinner?” asks Peter.
Sirius gives him a confused smile. “What’s bowling?”
“That, pretty much.” Says Peter, gesturing to the assortment of cups and jugs. “Trying to knock stuff over by throwing other stuff at it. I suppose it’s a Muggle thing.”
“Is it?” says Sirius interestedly. “Then I guess we’re bowling. Reggie and I do it all the time when we’re bored. It makes him laugh. We don’t usually use potatoes, though.”
James giggles and attempts to hit the cup again. He misses by an inch, and the offending lump of mashed potatoes splats onto Sirius’ pants. Sirius groans good naturedly and scrapes it off the fabric, throwing it back in James’ direction. It lands in his hair with an audible thump.
James narrows his eyes. “You do realize this means war.”
Sirius strikes a silly pose and makes a come-hither motion with his fingers. “Bring it on, Jamie.”
James wastes no time climbing onto the table and scooping up a handful of potatoes.
Peter’s eyes widen and he turns to Remus with an incredulous look in his eye. “Are they really doing this?” he whispers.
Remus says nothing, settling for looking quietly amused.
James takes his shot at Sirius, who dives out of the way and grabs a nearby gravy boat. Remus is smiling now, and over at the Slytherin table, Regulus is too, though his grin is much more subtle. Sirius manages to add gravy to James’ messy flop of curls, but not before getting hit in the cheek with a stray chicken leg.
They dance around each other, Sirius nimbly dodging attacks from the floor and James initiating them from his perch on the table.
They both attempt a grab at a bowl of roasted vegetables, but it disappears before either of them can reach it. The rest of the food goes too, dematerializing off the table.
It appears to be time for dessert.
James gets a bit unbalanced and narrowly avoids stepping in a custard pie that appears at his right foot. He loses focus for a moment as he eyes the pie, pupils dancing with mischief.
Sirius takes the opening and launches a handful of whipped cream at him. It lands squarely on his face, on his glasses, on his cheeks, and falls onto his shirt.
James blinks, caught a bit off guard, then wipes the gunk off his glasses, licks it from his fingers, and reaches down to pick up the pie with an evil smile on his face.
Peter, sensing disaster, hastily procures two large pieces of chocolate cake, grabs two forks and Remus’ arm, and pulls them under the table. Remus yelps in surprise and pushes him on reflex, which nearly causes Peter to drop his plate of cake.
“Sorry mate,” he mumbles sheepishly.
“It’s fine. Here,” Peter hands him a fork and sets the plate between them. “Had to get us out of the line of fire. Choose your piece.”
Remus laughs and spears himself a big piece of cake, relishing in the sweet taste as he and Peter watch from beneath the table as McGonagall arrives in an indignant sweep of green robes and begins scolding James, who has whipped cream, gravy, and potato smeared on his face, and Sirius, who is now wearing the custard pie like a hat.
“How screwed do you think they are?” asks Peter, licking his fork thoughtfully as Professor McGonagall half shouts something in response to a cheeky comment James makes.
“Properly.” Says Remus. “They’ve already got one detention.”
“Well then, how much worse could it get?”
“They could get another detention.”
“Good point.”
James slides under the table, still covered with gravy and whip, with a shameless grin on his face.
“Ooh, is that cake?” He reaches forward eagerly.
Peter moves the plate away from him and grumbles, “Get your own, you bloody marauder.”
“Marauder?” asks Sirius, who has just crawled in behind James. Custard is dripping from his hair and into his eyes, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“I like that,” he grins. “We’re marauders, Jamie.”
He too reaches for a piece of cake but gets slapped lightly away by Remus. “Why don’t you eat the pie on your head, first,” he says without malice.
Sirius shrugs. “Alright.”
He reaches up and pulls it off his head. The custard makes a weird, glopping sound and drips farther down, onto his cheek.
“I- I wasn’t serious!” Remus exclaims, slightly horrified as he watches Sirius lick the remaining custard off the pie crust.
“No, I was,” Sirius grins.
“Want a piece, James?” He breaks off a piece of thoroughly licked pie crust and offers it up in James’ direction, still relishing the last of the custard.
James takes it happily. “Thanks, mate.”
Peter shudders and makes a gagging noise. “Rancid,” he says, and takes another bite of cake.
Remus blinks, slightly horrified, then decides to return to his own dessert and ignore the fact that James is consuming someone else's spit.
“Why’d you do that anyway?” Peter questions them. “Food bowling.”
“I told you, it makes Reggie laugh,” says Sirius.
“Is he alright?” Remus asks softly. “He looked strange.”
“Yeah, he’s... Well, he’ll be fine,” Sirius says quietly. He chews on a piece of pie crust and contemplates for a moment. “He’s just worried.”
“About what?” Peter asks.
A sad, strained look comes over Sirius’ face, and he starts fiddling with his cufflinks again. “My parents... they're not very fond of Gryffindors. Or Muggleborns. Or Muggles. Or anyone who isn’t a Pureblood Slytherin, really. They’ll be furious at my Sorting because I’m the oldest. I’m supposed to sire heirs, be head of the family, be perfect, or whatever. Reg is just worried for me. I’ll be alright, though. Not much they can do if they’re not here. I just wanted to make him happy so he can sleep tonight. It’s worth a detention or two. I’m fine.”
Sirius smiles as happily as he can, but it’s clear that his heart isn’t in it. James puts a comforting arm on his shoulder and makes a sympathetic noise. Peter and Remus share a sad look.
“Do you... Do you want a hug, mate?” Peter asks cautiously. Sirius false smile wavers for a moment.
“A hug?”
His voice tugs at something in their hearts.
Sirius sounds confused. Almost as if he’s never heard of the concept of comfort from close physical contact before.
Remus leans forward and pulls Sirius into his arms, completely ignoring the custard that sticks to his sweater where Sirius’ hair touches it. Peter shoves his plate aside and piles on too, though he makes a bit of an effort not to dirty his clothes. James makes a quiet sniffling noise and practically throws himself onto the three of them.
It’s almost comical, the sight of them.
Four boys huddled on the floor under a table, two of them covered in food. But none of them gives any thought to what they look like. They hold each other close and think about their meeting, the impossibility of it all, and that any of them had managed to make friends.
James feels inexplicably happy and sad simultaneously. He keeps the idea of fated friendship close to his heart and marvels at the people he’s made up his mind to surround himself with, but tears up at the thought that their lives aren’t happy ones.
Remus hears three heartbeats thumping in sync with his and, for once, has hope that a friend might stay long enough for it to hurt when they undoubtedly leave him.
Peter holds on tight in his mind to the image of the boys who had looked so panicked when he’d fallen into the lake and thanks his lucky stars that anyone could be so concerned for him after barely a day spent together.
Sirius thinks about Regulus, how he’d pretend to hate a hug like this one and decides that he’s going to give them to his brother and his new friends as often as he can.
Regulus thinks about Sirius too, though he doesn’t know what’s happened beyond him getting slammed in the head with a pie and disappearing beneath the table. He thinks about how bloody stupid his twin is and how much trouble he’s going to be in, but also how happy he so far seems in a house they’ve been taught to hate.
The hug lasts a single second and a thousand years. When the four of them pull apart from each other, something seems to have cemented between them. An unspoken understanding, as cliché as it sounds.
Sirius wipes his nose, pretending to be getting rid of a streak of custard, and says softly, “I think I like hugs.”
Remus laughs and says, “Me too.”
“Me three,” Peter agrees. “But warn me first or I might hit you by accident. Brothers, you know.”
“You can hug me anytime, Sirius,” James announces grandly. “And I'm always up for marauding with potatoes and pies.”
Sirius lets out a watery laugh and flashes a smile. A real one this time. He gets three equally genuine grins in return.
“That’s what we’re calling it, then? Marauding?” Remus asks with amusement.
“Yeah!” James cheers. “It’s an excellent name. We’ll be-” he pauses for dramatic effect, “The Marauders!”
“Masters of chaos!” Sirius whoops.
Peter shrugs. “I’m alright with chaos.”
James lets out a hoot of joy, then turns his wide, pleading eyes on Remus.
“I suppose,” Remus relents after a moment, groaning in false annoyance when Sirius and James start cheering. Peter smiles broadly at him and returns to what’s left of his cake. Remus picks up his fork and continues eating as well, and James and Sirius resume defiling the custard pie crust.
The slightly muted chatter from above the wooden table dims to silence as Remus shovels his last forkful of cake into his mouth. He and Peter share a quick “ Is it over? It's over” look, and they extricate themselves from beneath the table, pulling James, Sirius, and half an almost clean pie crust with them.
Professor Dumbledore has stood up again and is giving a speech, and the dessert is gone from the table. They resume their places on the bench and try to pay attention.
“What a lovely feast,” says Dumbledore. “A fine introduction to the year to come.”
He glances toward the Gryffindors, and his eyes chastely linger on the sight of Sirius’ and James’ disheveled state, twinkling brightly.
“I would like to summarize a few rules before you are dismissed to your beds, by the request of Argus Filch, our caretaker.” He continues, gesturing behind him to a scruffy man with sunken eyes and a perpetually bitter expression on his face.
“A notice for our new students that Flammable and Fanged Frisbees are banned, along with a few other select items, the full list of which can be found in Mr. Filch’s office. It should be noted that no student is allowed to perform magic in the corridors, and curfews are strictly enforced. The Dark Forest is out of bounds completely, unless you are accompanied by a teacher. It is extremely unsafe for an inexperienced witch or wizard. Do not put yourself in unnecessary danger. And, I must mention, dueling your schoolmates is unacceptable behavior and can result in expulsion.”
He pauses for a moment to let his words sink in, then smiles comfortingly and goes on.
“You will feel the comfort of a bed in a short moment, but first I believe some music is in order.” He raises his wand and a soft, golden stream of light issues from the tip, spelling out the words, “HOGGY WARTY HOGWARTS”, in midair.
“The school song,” he says in his calm voice. “Everyone, think of a melody and follow along to your liking.”
The golden light begins morphing into the lyrics of the song, and the entire school, aside from the first years, joins in rapturously, each in their own tune.
“Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,
Teach us something please,
Whether we be old and bald
Or young with scabby knees,
Our heads could do with filling
With some interesting stuff,
For now, they’re bare and full of air,
Dead flies and bits of fluff,
So, teach us things worth knowing,
Bring back what we’ve forgot,
Just do your best, we’ll do the rest,
And learn until our brains all rot.”
Not one student finishes at the same time, but all of them seem to equally enjoy it. When the last stragglers complete their final high notes, Professor Dumbledore wipes a tear from his eye and claps, one of the loudest.
“Ah, music. Truly the greatest magic,” he says, a hand pressed to his heart. “And now, to bed, if you please. Goodnight.”
There’s a hubbub of movement as all four tables simultaneously flock to the front doors. The first year Gryffindors are accosted by a tall boy who is evidently a prefect. He’s wearing a badge with an emblazoned gold ‘P’ on it and accompanied by a girl who looks very unhappy to be there, also wearing a badge.
“Gryffindor first years, follow along please,” the boy asserts, carving a path through the crowd of students heading toward the grand stairway in the Entrance Hall.
He and the girl lead them up through the castle, warning them to be mindful of the moving stairs and to stick together.
They reach a long hallway and are brought to the very end of it where a floor length painting of a large woman in a ruffly pink gown and lace parasol blinks demurely at the from the setting of an outdoor tea party.
“Password?” she asks, startling a few of the first years. It’s evident that some of them haven’t gotten used to talking paintings yet.
“Initium Finis.”
The canvas of her painting swings inward to show a large, cozy-looking circular room lit with wall-held oil lamps and decorated in red and gold draping of various shades. Its furniture is a mishmash of cushy armchairs, small couches, and low tables, and there’s a warm fire lit in the fireplace on the right side of the room and a large bulletin board on the wall to the left.
“This is the common room,” says the girl unenthusiastically, gesturing widely to encompass the room. “And that’s the way to the dorms.” She points to a place where the draping that covers the walls pulls aside to reveal a staircase.
“The official bedtime for first years is nine o’clock, but the common room is always accessible if you need it,” says the other prefect as he ushers them through the curtains and up the stairs. “There’s a paper on the bulletin board that can answer any questions you might have about the dorm rules, so check that out tomorrow.”
They climb the stairs past three landings and stop on the fourth. It tapers into a midsized hallway with two wooden doors set into opposite walls at the exact halfway point. The girl walks toward the one on the right and opens it.
“Girls in here,” she says. “All your stuff is by your beds, and you’ve each got your own drawers and nightstand. You’ll know it’s yours because it’s got your name on it.”
The girls enter their bedroom, and the prefect reluctantly follows them in to help settle them into bed.
The other prefect opens the door to the left, motioning for the boys to enter as well. Their dorm room is a large, half-circle and has soft lighting and draping that exudes the same cozy, comfortable energy as the common room.
Four beds with dark red curtains are spaced out along the curved wall, each with a tall set of drawers on one side and a nightstand on the other. In the middle of the wall directly opposite the entrance, between two of the nightstands, is a door with a metal plaque with the word ‘BATHROOM’ etched into it.
The prefect eyes Sirius’ head of half-dried custard and James’ gravy stains and the stains they had left on Remus and Peter’s clothes and says dryly, “I’d recommend washing up before bed.”
He then turns and leaves, shutting the door behind him, and James Potter, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, and Sirius Black are left alone in their new bedroom.