Your Mum Is A Fire Hazard
None of them are too perturbed by the fact that Lily Evans seems to like bones, but every time she sees them, which is extremely often, her ears turn a bright, ashamed red and she stares resolutely at the ground, as if willing herself to fade into it. So they coast by her in the halls, and in the common room, and in the Great Hall, and they ignore her.
It’s no bother to them, however, and it lingers very little on their minds, because they have decidedly better things to do.
It’s barely been a week since the start of school, but James and Sirius seem to have no concept of pacing their mischief.
Said mischief includes passing numerous notes, accidentally (read: on purpose) releasing an angry beehive, accidentally (for real this time) breaking the rods that hold up the curtains around their beds, and getting into at least three more food fights, most of which are started by launching eggs at older students in an attempt to get them jumping onto the “food bowling” bandwagon. (This method is found to work best during lunchtime, when everyone is antsy and wound up from having to obey authority for two hours straight.)
And this is neglecting to mention all the times Remus and Peter discreetly toss around some of the dung potion, now new and improved with the explosive addition of kidney beans, whenever they feel short on entertainment.
Regulus constantly expresses his disapproval by muttering unintelligible things under his breath every time they pull him along on their schemes. He rolls his eyes when they drag him to hide around corners and huffs with the tiredness of an old man at their gleeful giggles, but he also smiles one of the hardest when their backs are turned. He would never let them see, obviously, because he knows that Sirius has and will go to extreme lengths to pull a smile from him, and he’d rather not see his brother expelled in his first year, thank you very much. But they're going to do it anyway, he reasons one day as he watches them practice a spell that temporarily transforms body hair into various types of pasta, so he might as well enjoy it.
They are miraculously able to avoid gaining any detentions, or, in two particular cases, any additional ones, though James does lose ten house points for writing “Can’t we just make soup? I’m still hungry” on a note that Slughorn intercepts before it reaches its destination.
The Monday of the second week of school starts with the usual school-wide alarm spell and blinding sunshine, bringing along with it a few new classes and Professor McGonagall’s detention.
James and Sirius separate themselves from the others after dinner to get their directions from the paper tacked up in Gryffindor’s common room, just as McGonagall instructed. But it’s a big castle, and the staircases move, and the directions are vague at best, and for all their glee and pride in turning a matchstick into a needle on the first try, the two boys lose a bit of their academic sharpness when left to fend for themselves.
They get lost at least twice (depending on how you look at it) and James almost becomes victim to an overly enthusiastic suit of armor with an unnecessarily large broadsword in its scabbard, but they eventually reach their destination despite nearly falling victim to an animated suit of metal and its overlarge, overeager medieval weaponry. Albeit, they are out of breath, sweating slightly, and eleven and a half minutes late, but they make it.
James is almost sure their tardiness will get them another detention, and Sirius mentally steels himself for a stinging hex, but McGonagall, whose aura is surprisingly kind, waives her displeasure in the understanding that small children can get lost in unreasonably large magical castles.
She gives them a small lecture on the importance of grooming their speech habits into those of a pair of respectable young wizards, nothing they haven’t heard before, and informs them that they will be helping to reorganize some paperwork in the library.
It’s a painfully tedious task. Which, in hindsight, is likely the point, but that fact doesn’t make their very first detention any less dull.
Most of their time in the library is spent trying not to whisper too loudly as they pretend to sort through stacks of old papers and files so Madam Pince, the librarian, will leave them alone.
Madam Pince is a short, severe-looking woman who tolerates only the barest of mumblings when it comes to the upkeep of the atmosphere in her library. She has very sharp ears, and, though the library is huge, an uncanny knack for appearing around corners just when whispers begin to verge on the edge of normal speech.
An hour passes in record time, and Madam Pince appears again, this time to check their progress on the papers she had given them to sort. She surveys their work for a brief moment, then disappears with no more than an approving nod in their direction.
James and Sirius are left sitting alone for only a minute when McGonagall reappears and commands them to stand up and follow her for the second time that night.
They do, though they’re slightly confused, because she doesn’t lead them back to their dormitories, or even back to her office. Instead, she leads them to her classroom, which is eerily silent in the after-dinner, pre-curfew atmosphere, and lit with only a few candles.
She tells them to sit down in the two seats in the center of the classroom. They take their seats and look expectantly up at her, preparing to receive another stack of papers for them to sort or maybe a few cauldrons to scrub. Instead of papers or cauldrons, however, she produces two books from nowhere and places one on each of their desks.
The titles The Wizard of Oz and The Magician’s Nephew glint in gold lettering from otherwise blank fabric covers. James and Sirius blink at each other, then at Professor McGonagall, then at the books in front of them.
“Er, Professor,” says James hesitantly, picking up The Wizard of Oz with a politely baffled look on his face. “Do you want us to read these?”
“Sharp eye, Potter,” she says. “I’d like you both to read as far as you’re able within the next half-hour, please.”
“Er, why?”
“Because I said so. Now, if you don’t mind,” she nods curtly at the books and sits down at her desk, taking a stack of papers from one of the drawers and beginning to mark them one by one.
James shrugs and opens the book, wisely choosing not to argue with his head of house. Professor McGonagall has an unnerving habit of seeming to know when he is planning something mischievous, and if he’s being quite honest, she scares him a little. Sirius, of the same mind as James, starts reading the first page of his book as well.
About two minutes in, Sirius makes a little noise of excitement and leans over to whisper to James, “Jamie, these are Muggle books,” but only gets as far as, “Jamie, th-” before his chair, his desk, and himself are swept to the other side of the room.
“No nonsense, please, Mr. Black,” says McGonagall loftily.
Sirius blinks his now slightly disheveled hair out of his startled eyes and says, “Yes, Professor.”
James lets out a little snort and is rewarded by his own desk jerking itself to the wall opposite Sirius.
“No nonsense,” Professor McGonagall says more firmly.
“Er, yes, Professor.” James smiles easily and turns his attention back to his book. Silence takes over once more, and James’ and Sirius’ desks slowly inch closer together, but then Sirus lets out a startled noise, and they’re once again whisked towards opposite walls.
“Oh bother,” says James, looking dizzy, and sticks his tongue out at Sirius, who waves a passive hand in dismissal and flips another page in The Magician’s Nephew .
Their desks once again begin drawing closer together as James, too, focuses on his book, but then Dorothy and Toto get swept up in a colossal cyclone, the White Witch Jadis wakes up, and neither can hold in their squeak of surprise, and they’re both back against the wall. This pattern continues over the next half-hour, and, at the end of the entire ordeal, both boys are too dizzy to immediately stand up when Professor McGonagall announces they can leave.
They fall into bed that night feeling considerably more worn out than usual, and are regarded strangely by Peter and Remus, who have never seen their friends so quiet in the short time they’ve known them. Right before he’s about to fall asleep, James asks a question into the quietness of their shared bedroom.
“Hey Remus? Pete?”
“Mngph, Y’ Mate?” Peter mumbles sleepily.
“You guys read Muggle stuff, right?”
“All the time,” says Remus, yawning loudly.
“Did you know that they write about magic?” James marvels aloud.
“Yeah, well, of course they do,” Remus chuckles. “Why wouldn’t they? It feels wonderful to believe in magic.”
“What do you mean ‘believe in’?” Sirius asks curiously from behind his curtains.
“Well, they don’t know it’s real, see?” Peter explains, sounding slightly more awake than before. “So, people use the concept to help them deal with... with living, I suppose. I thought you’d have known that.”
“No- Well, I mean, I do.” Sirius fumbles. “I know about The Statute of Secrecy and all, but still, I can’t imagine not knowing.”
“And they think about it so differently, too,” James ponders. “It’s almost like new magic.”
“Yes, well, you can’t expect them to guess everything right,” Remus says. “And what’s the Statute of Secrecy?”
“The International Statute of Secrecy is a law, passed in 1692, to protect Wizard-kind from Muggles,” recites Sirius promptly. “It’s been amended a bunch of times, but the gist of it is that you can’t go around shooting your gob off about magic.”
“Amended? For what?” Peter asks curiously.
“Marriage, Muggleborns, underage magic. Stuff like that.”
“Oh, I see.”
The room lapses into comfortable silence again, and the boys are about to drift off to sleep when a sudden thought occurs to James.
“Wait, Remus?” he asks, sounding excited.
“Yeah?”
“Have you not seen the library yet?”
There’s a shuffle of blankets and a pulling of curtains, and Remus’ interested voice says, “There’s a library?”
Sirius draws back his curtains too and says, “Do Muggles not have libraries?”
“Of course we have libraries,” Remus says, slightly baffled. “We’ve got loads of libraries.”
“Want to see a wizard library?” James says giddily, slipping out of bed and pulling something out of the bottom drawer of his nightstand.
“Er, now?”
“When else?”
“Tomorrow maybe?” Peter calls from his bed. His is the only one with the curtains still drawn.
James shares a look with Sirius, who has scrambled out of bed as well, and says, “I think I prefer now.”
Remus mulls it over for a moment, then he too pulls himself out of bed. “Is there anything particularly special about a wizard library?” he asks skeptically, “or is this just a way to get a thrill by being out past curfew? And what is that for?” Remus points at a large, draping lump of fabric that James is holding. It glimmers with a strange fluidity in the near-pitch darkness of their bedroom, and the fur it’s made up of seems to shiver faintly, the tips sort of fading in and out of focus.
James flourishes the fabric, and it smooths itself out, identifying itself as a large cloak. Sirius makes an excited noise. “Jamie, please tell me that’s what I think it is.”
James beams eagerly. As a way of response, he wraps the cloak around his shoulders and flips the hood on, fully engulfing himself beneath it.
Peter, having drawn his curtains back to get a look at whatever the others were so enthused by, screams in shock.
“He’s- he’s gone!” he splutters.
Remus’ eyes are wide with wonder. “Whoa,” he breathes incredulously. He reaches out to touch the empty air where James stood a mere moment prior. He feels the soft fluff of the cloak tickle his fingers and presses his hand against it, watching in amazement how the flesh of his palm gets pushed back by seemingly nothing at all.
“So,” James asserts, thoroughly spooking Remus by grabbing his hand out of nowhere, “library.”
“Library,” Sirius agrees, still eyeing the cloak slightly reverently.
“Library,” Peter breathes. He’s much more alert now, no longer sour and rubbing sleep from his eyes at being kept from falling asleep, and feeling very excited. He decides that he’s willing to give up an hour or two of rest to be able to try out James’ cloak, because invisibility? That’s a top ten superpower in Peter’s book.
Remus smiles and says firmly, “Library.”
Dung-potion and food fight shenanigans aside, Remus isn’t usually one to break such a clear-cut rule as a curfew, but for the promise of a huge, magical library, right now he thinks he’d do just about anything.
“Library!” James cheers.
The caretaker, Filch, catches them almost at once. It’s no one’s fault really. It’s dreadfully cramped under the cloak, after all, and it’s an almost undebatable fact that four unsupervised, uncoordinated boys make an awful racket, especially when they’re all trying their very hardest to stay quiet.
The mission isn’t completely sabotaged, however, because when Sirius trips over his own ankle, crashes into a suit of armor, and yelps a loud swear word in French, it’s only him who falls out of the safety of the cloak’s concealment. The other three immediately stand still, wheezing so hard their heads hurt, not being able to do anything other than try to not make noise. It isn’t an easy task at all with how their moods have been dangerously giggly since their first attempt to climb stairs together. (Eight legs and four drawn wands, which are just pointy sticks for all non-magical intents and purposes, do not mix well.)
Argus Filch comes strolling briskly around a corner barely a minute later. He’s dressed in day clothes, holding a large lantern in one hand, and looking murderous.
“You!” He points to Sirius with an accusatory finger. “You’re not allowed in the corridors this time of night!”
Sirius, still reeling with laughter from his mishap with the unfortunate knight, who is still sprawled on the ground groaning something about dents, hurriedly suppresses his laughter and stands to attention in his pajamas. “I’m awfully sorry about that,” he says politely, carefully keeping himself from smiling. “I didn’t mean to get locked out. You see-”
“Don’t lie to me, boy,” Filch sneers. “If you were one of those Muggle kids, maybe I’d believe you, but you and your whole family are too smart to not be up to something being out here after hours.” He stalks closer, barely avoiding brushing into the edge of the cloak, and looms over Sirius. “What is it, then?” he says brusquely. “What are you trying to do?”
“I’m eleven, Sir. I’m not trying any- mph- sorry.” Sirius puts a hand over his mouth in an attempt to drown a snort under the guise of a cough. James, Peter, and Remus, now behind Filch and still invisible, have stuck their hands out through the hood of the cloak and are making abstract shadow figures on the walls from the light of his lantern.
Filch gives Sirius a withering look of disgust. Sirius, who has long since desensitized himself to adults giving him withering looks of disgust, tries to plead his case anyway.
“What I meant,” he tries cautiously, “is that I was looking for my book and didn’t realize the time.”
Filch is having none of his nonsense. He sweeps his eyes over Sirius, who is distinctly lacking a book as well as sending himself into another coughing fit (James’ and Remus’ hand shadows are violently kissing on the wall), and surveys him with an expression of deep distrust. “Where is it then?” he demands.
Sirius makes a show of hacking up a bit of stubborn phlegm (Peter has just flashed Filch his middle finger), then rasps out a feeble, “I couldn’t find it.”
“Couldn’t find it,” scoffs Filch. “I don’t believe a word of it. Not a word! I’ll be taking you to my office and writing you up, I will. For being out of bounds and for lying to a member of staff.”
As he turns on his heels and commands Sirius onward, the boys quickly hide their hands beneath the cloak once more so as not to be caught.
Sirius takes one tentative step forward, nearly resigning himself to his fate, and then something in the distance explodes with a loud bang. Filch turns again, his eyes narrowed and deadly, and all but runs past him with a shout of, “Stay where you are!”
Sirius, obviously not intending to stay where he is, has barely started in the direction of the place the other boys were last visible when he’s hauled back beneath the cloak and shunted in the opposite direction, as if by bodyguards.
They move much more efficiently, not daring to take leisure time after their close call with the school’s bloodthirsty caretaker. They make it to the library only five minutes later, huffing and puffing underneath the cloak.
Remus has the sense to lead them away from the entrance (a large, ornately carved doorway that lacks an actual door, keeping the corridor in plain view of the front desk and vice versa) and toward the very back of the library, where the tall shelves and thick books can keep them hidden from Filch if he decides to poke around at some point during the night. When they’re safely out of sight, James pulls the cloak off and bundles it up in his arms.
“So?” He turns to Remus and Peter hopefully. “How do you like it?”
“Oh, Jamie, it’s wonderful,” Remus whispers, eyes wide in awe.
The library truly is amazing. It has towering bookshelves of richly perfumed and polished wood, each full end to end with books of every size, color, and topic anyone can imagine. The ceilings are high and arched with more beams of the same shiny, sweet-smelling wood, and the windows at the end of the room give way to a beautiful view of the lake and of the little village of Hogsmeade that stuns even in the dead of night. There are beanbags and armchairs, soft carpets and low tables, and the entire room smells pleasantly not only of wood, but of old parchment and vanilla.
Soft, golden orbs of warm light float in the gap between the shelves and the ceiling, illuminating the vast room dimly. Sirius points up at them as Remus pulls out a book and starts flipping through the pages.
“They were brighter earlier,” Sirius says quietly to Peter, not wanting to break the tranquility of the library with too much noise. “They stay on at night, but they’re spelled to be too dark to read by if it’s after hours.”
“I wish you’d have said that earlier,” Remus sulks, squinting in vain at the book he’s holding. “I can’t see anything.”
“Oh, here, take out your wand,” James says, drawing his own from his sleeve. Remus follows his instructions blankly.
“Alright. What now?”
“My mum taught me this. Look. Lumos.”
The tip of James’ wand lights up a bright, sunny yellow. Sirius lights his too, though it glows pale blue instead.
Remus says, “Lumos”, and his wand ignites a warm gold, softening his face as he holds the light to the book in his hand with a satisfied grin.
Peter too says, “Lumos,” and a gentle, silver light shines suddenly from his wand. He regards it with curious fascination, touching it gingerly and testing the strength of the beam against the shelves.
“Lumos.” A soft voice speaks, and a pure, white light shines from behind them, effectively startling them to hell and back.
Sirius lets out a bloodcurdling scream and jumps a foot in the air before getting tackled to the floor by James, whose defense mechanism of hugging whatever’s closest to him nearly gives Sirius a concussion.
“What in the Kentucky Fried Fuck!” Peter shrieks, recoiling in fear.
Remus is the only one who manages to remain level-headed.
“Who are you?” he asks calmly.
The owner of the voice lifts their wand up higher to reveal the figure of another student who, despite the late hour, is still dressed in her uniform. It’s a pretty Ravenclaw girl with dark hair and big eyes, the one they thought must be Lily’s sister. She blinks at them, tilting her head quizzically, as if studying a group of lab rats.
“Willow Evans,” she says eventually. “Pleasure to meet you. I hear you know my sister?”
James stands up, holding his invisibility cloak to his chest, and holds out a hand in cordial greeting. “We do know your sister,” he confirms. “I’m James. This is Peter, Remus, and Sirius.” He gestures to each of them in turn. “Please never do that again.”
Willow shakes his hand. “I’ll keep in mind that Gryffindors startle easily.” Then she turns to Peter and questions, “Kentucky Fried Fuck?” sounding slightly impressed.
“Er,” Peter buffers, “I panicked?”
Willow smiles brightly. “I see.”
“Mind if I use that one, Pete?” Remus grins.
Peter pokes him in the arm good-naturedly. “I get royalties.”
“Mm, naturally.”
Sirius, who is still sprawled on the floor and looking jumpy as a cricket, props himself up on his elbows and narrows his eyes at the newcomer. “What are you doing out here?” he asks warily.
“What are you doing out here?” Willow promptly counters.
“Library,” James explains, waving to the rows of books.
“Yeah, library,” echoes Peter.
Willow gives them an unimpressed look. “Riveting,” she deadpans. “Yes, I think that just about answers all my questions.”
“Wonderful,” Sirius grouses, pulling himself off the floor and dusting off the seat of his pants grumpily. “Could you leave now?”
“No, I don’t think so,” says Willow lightly. “I’m rather desperate. I managed to distract Filch with a few minor explosions, but I can’t say I’ve shaken him off yet. And then there's the problem of you screaming loud enough to wake the devil, which probably means he’s almost here.” She surveys her surroundings critically. “I thought that I might hide in here for a bit.” She pulls an enormous, leather-bound grimoire off a nearby shelf and sets it on the ground. “It’s his cat, you see. Mrs. Norris.” Willow stacks two more thick volumes atop the grimoire. “She can smell trouble. She hasn’t left me alone since I got here.”
“So you’re saying you’re trouble?” Remus muses aloud.
“That’s certainly the grown-up term for it,” Willow agrees, smiling cheekily.
“Uh, not to be rude or anything,” James starts hesitantly.
“By all means, be rude,” Willow urges cheerfully. “Rudeness means honesty.”
“Alright then,” James shrugs and points to the floor beside her, “what in the Kentucky Fried Fuck are you doing?”
Willow has piled about ten large books on top of each other in an ever-growing tower of grimoires and encyclopedias. Even as she answers James’ question, she’s locating the largest books within her reach and adding them to the pile.
“I’m creating a defense system for when Filch gets here,” she explains. “We’ll need to hide of course, but we’ll also need a distraction to get ourselves out. We’ve backed ourselves into a bit of a corner.”
And indeed, she’s right. The rows at the very back of the library run all the way to the wall, creating little nooks at the very end that, although they do make excellent hiding places, only have one entrance and exit. If Filch decides to investigate the source of all the noise being made in the library, none of them will be able to get past him without a head start. And considering the five of them have spent the last couple of minutes discovering the expression Kentucky Fried Fuck in voices loud enough to disturb, if not wake the dead, they’re already low on time.
“Wait,” James halts Willow from starting a second stack of books. “I have an idea.”
James unfurls his invisibility cloak and stretches it out to check its length. The fabric of the cloak is very thin, despite being soft and fluffy, and when stretched to its limit, it’s at least eight feet long. With Sirius, Peter, and Willow’s help, James orchestrates the construction of an invisible tent, created by tucking two of the cloak’s corners under some books on a low shelf and anchoring the remaining corners to the floor with two of the heavy-duty literary specimens Willow had made plans to use as offensive weapons.
Remus sits on the floor against the wall at the end of the row, reading by the light of his wand as the others put up the tent over him. When it’s complete, all five of them crowd together underneath their makeshift fort and lean in around Remus to inspect what he’s reading, holding their lit wands together to create more light.
“Fascinating,” remarks Willow as Remus flips a page to a picture of a plant that looks like a large, misshapen lump with a spray of leaves shooting out of its top. It slightly resembles a carrot, but dirtier and vaguely humanoid.
“I’m not sure what it is,” he puzzles, “I have a little guidebook for magical plants, but it’s basic things, like knotgrass and moonseed. Half of this is in Latin anyway. I can barely understand anything written here at all.”
“It’s a mandrake,” Sirius puts in, pointing at the looping script above the picture. “Mandragora Ventis, see?”
He points to the bulging lump beneath the inking of leaves and traces a few lines with his finger. “This is a more abstract illustration, but this part looks like a head. And this is the mouth and the eyes. And here...” He trails his finger downward. “These are the arms and the upper body.”
His hand travels farther down, bumping into where Remus’ hand is keeping the book steady. “And these...” Sirius’ voice fades out for a moment as his index finger softly skirts the surface of the nail on one of the fingers Remus is using to hold the page down. He blinks, suddenly distracted by a strange phenomenon in his lungs that causes him to be short of breath for a moment, then he pushes the intruding fingers to the side lightly and touches the bottom of the drawing. “These are the legs. Or the roots, if you’re being pedantic.”
Remus’ fingers twitch slightly, and Sirius notices a scar on the back of his middle finger. It’s quite a pretty scar, Sirius thinks, and he has half a mind to run his finger over it like he did with the roots of the mandrake, but then he blinks, and Remus, whose breathing had almost unnoticeably hitched, casually turns the page.
“I haven’t got the faintest idea of what pedantic means,” James says obliviously, “but I’ve seen a mandrake once. It nearly killed me, but that was mostly my fault. It got chopped up for a potion after that.”
“Oh yeah,” Sirius recalls faintly, “Your dad works with potions, right? Sleekeazy’s?”
“That’s the one,” James confirms. “Your dad does something for the Ministry, doesn’t he?”
Sirius nods blankly.
James smiles. “That’s neat. Remus, what does your dad do?”
Remus shrugs. “Not sure. Something that makes him travel a lot. Pete, what about you?”
“My dad’s dead,” Peter grins easily. “Snuffed it when I was seven.”
None of them are quite sure how to react to that, so, after a moment of stunned silence, Remus turns and says feebly, “Willow?” in an attempt to restart the conversation.
“My father is a janitor,” Willow says.
“Ja-ni-tor?” Sirius inquires.
“He gets paid to clean things.”
“Oh.”
“You said your name was Evans, right?” Peter remembers suddenly. “You asked about your sister.”
“I did say that, yes,” Willow nods. “I was going to ask if she’s feeling alright. She tells me that everything is fine, but she always says that. Do you know if she’s sleeping alright? If she’s doing well in classes?”
“Uh, we’re not exactly friends,” admits James sheepishly. “I’m pretty sure she hates me, actually. But she’s really good in class!” he immediately placates, “She turned her matchstick to a needle on the first try!”
“Oh, that’s lovely.” Willow beams as if she's won the lottery. Then her face dims a bit. “Is she still hanging around that Severus boy? I hoped she’d make some new friends”
“Far as we know,” says Sirius, his face curling up in a grimace. “I don’t understand it. Reggie told me he’s mean. And weird. And not weird in a good way. Not even in a neutral way. Just the creepy kind of weird.”
“Oh, he’s always been like that,” Willow huffs. “I don’t blame him for being a bit weird and angry; his father isn’t the nicest, you see, but he’s always been a bit... a bit wrong.”
“You grew up with him then,” Sirius realizes.
Willow nods, “Yes, he’s a neighbor of ours. Our other sister, Petunia, she doesn’t like him either.”
“He’s quite the popular fellow, isn’t he,” Remus quips dryly.
Willow chuckles softly. “Tuny doesn’t like me much either. Magic scares her a bit.”
“Ah,” Remus nods in understanding. “I see.”
“She’s scared?" Sirius blurts out, sounding surprised. “I always thought Muggles didn’t like magic because... well, I don’t know, but I didn’t think they were scared.” He looks up at Willow suddenly. “She is a Muggle, isn’t she? Your sister?”
“Oh, yes,” she confirms. “All my family are Muggles aside from me and Lily.”
“Then, can you explain Kentucky Fried Fuck?” James requests. “It sounds wonderful, but I’m not actually sure what it means.”
“Oh god,” Peter groans, “Why can’t I just have normal reactions to things?”
Willow giggles merrily. “Sure. It means- Shh!” Her eyes suddenly go wide, and she puts her finger over her mouth.
“It means shh?” James puzzles, turning to Peter. “Pete, that makes no sense-”
“Shh!” Willow interrupts, motioning for him to stay quiet. She mouths, “Filch,” and they all startle and huddle closer together, momentarily forgetting that they’re invisible.
Something thumps loudly in the distance, jarring the still air and properly scaring them. James accidentally elbows Peter in the stomach as he clings to Remus in panic, and Peter yelps loudly, flinching away from the offending limb and thumping his head on the wall behind him.
His wand shoots off a shower of sparks in his hand, and the cover of the book still in Remus’ lap smolders into flame.
Remus whisper-shouts a swear word and beats at the cover with his sleeve. He nearly catches James in the nose and himself in the eye, but the fire is smothered in record time.
“James!” Peter hisses, “How do I put this light out? It’s a goddamned fire hazard!”
The light from his wand is flickering wildly, occasionally shooting out another spark or two. Peter has to hold it carefully away from the cloak and the wall to prevent anything else from catching fire, which proves difficult in his panicked state.
“Nox!” James commands firmly, and the sunny yellow glow disappears from the tip of his wand. The others echo the spell as loudly as they deem safe, and one by one, each light blinks out, leaving the children in near-total darkness.
They stay crammed together behind the veil of the cloak, listening for any footsteps or breathing and watching for any shadows through the translucence of the fabric, but the library is now dead quiet. After what feels like forever, Sirius dares to whisper, “I don’t hear anything.”
Willow slowly peeks around the edge of their fort. “There’s no one here,” she reports, sounding baffled. “I could’ve sworn- oh!”
She ducks behind the cloak again as a small figure crawls from an empty space in the bottom shelf. It stands up, dusting itself off, and turns toward the wall.
The shadow doesn’t seem very tall. In fact, it’s a bit on the short side. It looks more like a child than a man.
It is a child.
A wand lights up a soft silver, and a small, hesitant voice says, “Sirius? Are you there?”
It’s Regulus.
Sirius jumps up, nearly dislodging one of the anchored corners of the cloak. He rushes forward and pulls his brother into their hiding place.
“Reggie!” James crows happily, abandoning all volume control. “Lovely to see you mate, lovely. Just one question, what are you doing here?”
“Sirius told me to meet you all here,” Regulus scowls. “Of course, he could’ve mentioned that Filch was out for blood, but no, that would be too much work, wouldn’t it?” Regulus pokes Sirius sharply in the shoulder and shoots him a venomous glare. His wand sparks and flares.
“See? Fire hazard,” says Peter.
“That doesn’t usually happen,” Regulus grumps. “That toad-brained idiot of a caretaker has my temper all messed up. Getting rid of him is really difficult. He nearly caught me! I had to bribe a suit of armor! A suit of armor, Sirius!” He pokes his brother again. Sirius just laughs and puts an arm around Regulus’ shoulders.
Willow giggles delightedly. “Oh, I like you.”
Regulus blinks, only just realizing another person is present. Then he blinks again, processing that this person has given him a compliment. “Thank you?” he says, slightly unsure.
“Wait, how did he tell you where to find us?” Remus asks bewilderedly.
Willow leans forward interestedly. “Are you telepaths?” she asks in a hushed voice.
Sirius shrugs lazily. “Sure, why not.”
“Condescending and secretive answer, but I’ll take it,” she concedes, sensing that he isn’t going to tell her.
“I almost didn’t find you,” says Regulus. “This invisible tent thing is really good at its job. What’s it made of?”
“Oh, it’s not actually a tent,” James says, reaching up and pulling it down. “It’s an invisibility cloak.”
He bundles it up and holds it out to Regulus, who takes it carefully.
“An invisibility cloak?” he asks in a delighted voice. “James, do you know how rare these are? My father has been trying to find one for ages. Where on earth did you get one of these?”
Regulus smooths it out, holding it up to catch the faint light of the golden bulbs floating high above them. He watches how his hands disappear where the fabric drapes over them with a fascinated spark in his eyes.
James watches him curiously, his mouth curling up in a soft smile.
“My dad gave it to me, but I don’t know where he got it,” he tells Regulus. “He said it used to be his. I’m glad you like it.”
“It’s wonderful,” Regulus gushes, momentarily forgetting that he must always appear calm and collected before his peers. “The spells on this thing must be powerful. Cloaks like these usually only last a decade or two.”
“Wow,” James says sweetly, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile before. You're very pretty.”
Regulus’ face contorts in a strange expression of shock and flattery, and his ears turn a deep shade of red that’s visible even in the dim light of the library. He shoves the cloak back to its owner, not daring to look James in the eye.
“Here, have it back. It’s yours,” he stutters out.
Sirius snickers beside him, receiving yet another poke in the arm.
Remus lights his wand again to check the cover of his book for fire damage. Peter backs away from him, now wary of the spell, and accidentally bumps his head again, this time on the shelf instead of the wall.
A few books have been pulled loose by James’ sudden dismantling of their tent, so when Peter’s head connects soundly with a lower shelf, a small book bound in rich, green velvet flies down from above and knocks him firmly on the head.
“Ow,” Peter whines, rubbing the back of his head as the others chortle. He picks up the book and frowns accusingly at it.
“You good, mate?” James laughs, standing up to make sure no other books are on the edge of plummeting into anyone else’s skull.
“Yeah, it’s just a bump,” Peter assures him. “Though I’m starting to think it might be me who’s the hazard.”
“I mean-” Sirius starts, grinning evilly.
“Oh, shove it,” Peter says, sticking out his tongue and smiling good-naturedly, “Your mum is a hazard.”
Sirius gets up and claps Peter on the back. “That she is, mate,” he agrees. “That she is. Now-” he retrieves one of the heavy volumes previously employed with the task of keeping their invisibility fort intact, “Who wants to learn to play Repel?”