The Girlsᵀᴹ
The air on Platform 9¾ is thick with the built-up heat of a throng of hundreds of bodies packed together and moving in every direction.
The Black brothers, having once again arrived early with Kreacher when the station had still been dead silent and empty, are already on the train.
They’d scrambled at the opportunity to have their pick of any compartment, opting for the sixth compartment in the eighth carriage, the space at the very end of the train. It’s a great deal more spacious than the average seating arrangement and is a sort of coveted commodity among Hogwarts students, which of course only makes people all the more gleeful when they manage to snag it for the long ride to school.
They’ve been sitting in their seats for hours now, and Regulus is snoozing gently, his head leant back against his seat and his eyelids fluttering every now and then. Sirius, though bone tired as well, can’t bring himself to nap. He’s peering out the window at the crowd, searching for any sign of their friends among the masses. At times he thinks he catches a passing wisp of Peter’s blond curls or Remus’ tall figure and scarred nose, but it’s James he sees first: messy hair, skewed glasses, bright eyes, and tanned skin whirling into the station in his usual sandstorm of a manner.
Sirius bangs the window open and calls out his name loudly, jolting Regulus awake (as well as an unsuspecting owl snoozing peacefully in its cage). James whoops loudly and turns around to point him out to the two figures flanking his sides. One is a tall, broad man and the other a short, pudgy woman. They're both wearing the brightly colored, traditional robes of India’s wizard community and kind, happy smiles for their son’s giddiness at finally seeing his friends again. They converse for a moment as a family, a little triangle of domestic peace on the rushed platform, then James is hugged tight and sent onto the train holding a large bag and nothing else. He disappears from view for a moment as he steps onto the train then reappears at the compartment door, out of breath and beaming.
“Jamie!” Sirius squeals and barrels into him, nearly knocking him over. James squeals even louder and spins them around, the heavy bag in his arms falling and rising precariously. It bumps quite firmly into Sirius’ back when the spin settles, but neither of them takes any notice.
When James deems Sirius thoroughly hugged, he turns to the next Black brother, a very bleary-eyed and caught unawares Regulus, and holds out his hands. Regulus, still groggy with sleep and not able to form coherent sentences, points to the bag James is holding, then to a seat, and makes a little “uh” noise at the back of his throat. James promptly takes the hint, setting the bag down before launching himself at Regulus, who whines in protest but doesn’t resist patting James on the back and mumbling a faint, “H’llo.”
Remus and Peter arrive not twenty minutes later, huffing and puffing with the effort of carrying their trunks.
“Bloody wizards,” Peter groans exhaustedly after nearly being squeezed to death by Sirius and James tag-teaming him in a vice-like embrace (consensually, of course). “They can make a whole hidden platform, but they can’t put wheels on their luggage? Rubbish.”
“Muggle luggage has wheels?” Sirius inquires interestedly from where he and James are wrapped around Remus in yet another hug of reunion. “Why didn’t you bring one of those then?”
“We don’t have anything big enough. Besides, these trunks were gifts from Hogwarts. Mam says I should put mine to good use.”
Remus is released after a few more seconds of a hug that’s more of a desperate squeeze than anything else, and they all help shove his and Peter’s trunks away and sit down. They subconsciously opt to sit close together near the still-open window facing the bustling station, even though the compartment they’re in is roughly twice as large as usual. James and Sirius, being generally clingy and feeling slightly touch-starved after two months spent without each other, end up draped lazily over each other in strange, gravity-defying poses.
Their conversation flows naturally from Muggle luggage to Muggle inventions, highlighting that Sirius, Regulus, and James know just as much about the Muggle world as Peter and Remus knew about wizards in their first year at Hogwarts. When the path of conversation eventually turns to Muggle school, Peter is prompted to pull a large backpack out of his trunk and open it up to show off a full arsenal of colorful school supplies.
Regulus is intrigued by the mini stapler and patterned notepads, but he especially enjoys toying around with a large pack of gel pens for the sheer number of different colors it contains. James and Sirius are properly awed by safety pins and thumbtacks and are utterly delighted when they find that retractable pens make a most wonderfully satisfying clicking noise.
Peter has also packed a few first aid items that are in short supply at Hogwarts, like plasters, antiseptic, and a little container of petroleum jelly, but the thing that really blows their minds is the little Etch-A-Sketch he’d shoved in at the last minute because he was sure he’d get bored at some point over the next ten months.
“How does it do that?” James breathes fascinatedly, spinning one of the little dials and watching as a wobbly, gray, horizontal line draws itself across the length of the board.
“Magic,” Peter deadpans.
“What, really?” Regulus asks.
Peter snorts derisively. “No.” Then he ponders it for a moment. “I’ve got no idea how it works actually. I just know that the right dial goes up and down, the left dial goes side to side, and to erase it you have to give it a good shake.”
Sirius picks up the Etch-A-Sketch, shakes it violently, nearly hitting James in the nose, and gasps as he sees that it emerges from the vigorous thrashing as clear of any marking as it was when Peter produced it from the depths of his backpack.
“Merlin,” he whispers, hurriedly twiddling the dials just so he can shake the thing clean again.
The wonders of the Etch-A-Sketch keep them entertained for a good forty-five minutes until Willow and Lily appear, already dressed in their uniforms, with their heavy trunks in tow. Willow looks as pleasantly placid as always, greeting them genially and taking a seat near the door after shoving her belongings away, but Lily’s demeanor is shaky and frayed at the edges, as if she’s just seen something disturbing, like a man wearing nothing but a coat of made of live fish or a decaying bit of roadkill. It’s a bit strange that she’s joining them because the assumption was that she would sit with Snape or some other friends, as is her usual habit, but none of them protest because they all quite like Lily, even if she is still attached to Snape.
The Evans twins aren’t the only ones to arrive and make themselves comfortable as the clock ticks past 10:30 and approaches eleven o’clock. Mary MacDonald and Marlene Mckinnon poke their heads in and ask if they could possibly share the cabin. Both of them are friends to Lily (Mary slightly more so, being a fellow Gryffindor and one of her roommates) and want to spend the train ride in her company. The boys agree and welcome them easily, having been on cordial terms with most of Lily’s friends since first year. Lily’s uneasiness dims to a barely-there jitter in her hands as she, Mary, and Marlene strike up a casual conversation as they help each other haul even more weight onto the luggage racks above the seats.
One of Willow’s Ravenclaw friends, Pandora Lestrange, arrives soon after with her cousin, Evan Rosier, and situates herself comfortably on the floor, paying no mind to the exasperated look Evan shoots her as he greets Regulus politely. Evan clearly recognizes Sirius too, but he doesn’t say hello. He merely acknowledges him with a curt nod, having been forbidden by his parents to initiate contact with the blood traitor in training that is Sirius Black.
Sirius knows this, and therefore greets him first, remembering all too well how Evan had spilled the news to him in a stressed rush at Bella’s engagement party in France.
As the first-born daughter of the new generation of the direct descendants of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Bellatrix’s engagement to Rudolphus Lestrange is of great importance to the old wizarding families of London, even if she’s the daughter of a spare, not heir, and even if she won’t be a Black for much longer.
Every family that is still of pure blood, unsullied by Muggles, Squibs, Giants, and Goblins alike, had received an invitation to the party, and Evan, being born of a heritage as pure as the Black’s, had attended with his parents and siblings.
Many children from Pureblood families are kept isolated in their childhood so they can focus on their studies and often only socialize at high-class parties and gatherings, neither of which allow for much horseplay. Children are meant to be subtle reminders that a family has succeeded in carrying on their legacy, not tripping up the adults with noise and playfights as they make polite conversation about politically nuanced topics and sip on champagne while pretending to enjoy themselves.
So, after being paraded around for a while and making sure to be seen by everyone, most of the youth will slip off to an empty room to chat amongst themselves and snack on finger-food as they wait for the party to be over.
There are enough parties to become familiar with each other and to suss out who will make for a good ally in the future, but not quite enough to become friends. Friends are made in Slytherin House, deep beneath the lake in the dungeons of Hogwarts.
Sirius would now be a friend of Evan, except when he put on the Sorting Hat, it had put him in Gryffindor, a house named after a founder who was a notorious supporter of integration and cooperation between Muggles and Wizards, not to mention the very reason Salazar Slytherin had been deposed as a voice of authority at Hogwarts and all but disappeared off the face of the earth.
Pandora, who is Rudolphus Lestrange’s little sister, isn't in Slytherin either, but Ravenclaw. But no one is prematurely shunning her because Rowena Ravenclaw’s stance on blood purity has never been confirmed. Even if it is surely a little disappointing that Pandora isn’t a Slytherin, she isn’t an heir, nor will she keep her family name, so the scale of the scandal is relatively minimal compared to the uproar that Sirius’ Sorting has incurred upon his family.
Sirius isn’t technically a blood traitor, not yet, but, as of his Sorting, his status is firmly cemented in the category of monumental disgrace.
Evan very obviously doesn’t care about trivial things like blood purity and reputation, but his parents aren’t the sort of people who allow their children to mingle with those who don’t present an outward alignment with their way of thinking, and, as is the usual fashion of society elites, their method of prevention isn’t the kindest, having made their children swear an Unbreakable Vow to not start any conversation with Sirius Black.
Regulus had been enraged for his brother when he heard, but Sirius had just laughed bitterly and told Evan not to worry about starting conversations.
“I’ve apparently been an insufferable loudmouth since I was a baby,” he said. “Wouldn’t stop crying. It’s about time I put all that noise to good use.”
So now, determined to make a friend of Evan Rosier, or at the very least an ally, Sirius holds out the Etch-A-Sketch to him and says, “Evan, mate, look at this.”
Evan, who is clicking one of Peter’s mechanical pens curiously, looks up at Sirius as the door opens again and Andromeda Black, sister of Bellatrix and first cousin to Sirius and Regulus, walks in.
She’s accompanied by three more students, who, like her cousins, are all second years.
The first is a pale, Slytherin boy named Barty Crouch, who grins a hello at Regulus, salutes the others, and climbs up to roost on the back of the cushioned benches, just above Evan’s head. He reaches down and snatches the pen out of Evan’s hands, twirling and clicking it, thoroughly fascinated. Evan elbows him in the shin and pulls the pen back, jabbing the tip into Barty’s ankle and making him yelp in pain.
Dorcas Meadowes, an African girl with a head of sleek braids and dark, expressive eyes, huffs out an exasperated, “Idiots,” and settles cross-legged on the floor next to Pandora, nodding a quick hello to everyone and effortlessly engaging herself in the current conversation.
The third girl joins more quietly, meekly introducing herself as Emmeline Vance. She’s already dressed in her school robes, which are the black and yellow colors of Hufflepuff, and she gives off a warm, kind air, with blonde hair and blue eyes that make for the picture of European innocence.
Marlene, who already knows her as a roommate, bids Emmeline to sit next to her, rapidly pointing out and naming the others because she knows the trivial social formality of asking for people’s names and engaging in small talk makes Emmeline nervous.
“Cousins!” Andromeda spreads her arms grandly and beams. “I come bearing news and seeking asylum.”
“Barty wanted to find Regulus, Emmeline got bullied out of her cabin, and we have a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher,” Dorcas simplifies.
“It sounds boring when you say it like that,” gripes Andromeda. Dorcas sticks her tongue out in response, blowing a raspberry when Andromeda flashes an elegant middle finger her way.
"Very mature," Regulus commends dryly. Both Andromeda and Dorcas promptly flip him the bird,
“What happened to our last Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?” asks Remus, tactfully ignoring any flipping of birds.
Andromeda shrugs, “Not sure. Some sort of terminal illness I think.”
“Aha. Lovely.”
Andromeda grins and spreads herself out comfortably on a wide stretch of empty cushion, leaning against a window and putting her feet up, thoroughly nonplussed in the face of terminal illnesses.
“Oh, right!” She suddenly reaches into her pocket and pulls out an empty vial. “Reggie, I believe this is yours.”
Regulus looks away from a neon green gel pen he’s examining and makes an affronted noise when he sees what his cousin is holding up. “That’s my- You poisoned Rudolphus!”
“Indeed I did,” says Andromeda smugly, tossing the vial to Regulus, who catches it neatly and shoves it into a pocket of his robes.
“Merlin, that was you?” says Pandora, sounding impressed. “I thought maybe I’d done it. Rudolphus was being ever so annoying, you know. I stole a bit of Dad’s whiskey to cool off. It always makes him knock out after having a fit, so I thought maybe I’d get a good nap in. I went a bit out of it after that, so when I heard Rudolphus had coughed up ten pounds worth of snot, I thought maybe...”
“I slipped it in his drink when he was charming up Mum,” recalls Andromeda fondly. “The great lug never suspected a thing.”
“I wish I was there for the first sneeze,” Sirius laments. “I could hear him squawking like a wounded parrot from the next room.”
“It was glorious,” Regulus says, sighing contentedly. “France was almost worth it.”
“Maybe for you,” Sirius glares. “I can’t believe I missed the chance to see Rudolphus hacking up his guts onto Aunt Druella.”
Evan shudders at the memory. “You’re lucky you didn’t. Whatever was in that potion induced snot got in her mouth. She crowed like a dying rooster and panicked and accidentally shot fire at-”
“Me!” Andromeda exclaims, flailing her hands. “My own mother nearly roasted me to cinders!”
The entire cabin erupts with laughter.
The atmosphere in the compartment, which had been cautiously stilted and divided up until that moment, softens dramatically as Andromeda, who insists they call her Andy, begins a dramatic reenactment of her daring mission to poison her future brother-in-law and the explosive results in detail.
The Hogwarts Express puffs out of the station at eleven o’clock sharp, right on schedule. Conveniently, the moment the train whistles its signal of departure is the exact moment Andromeda opens her mouth in a large “O” to demonstrate one of the more outlandish noises made by her sister’s fiancé, which only heightens the hilarity because it makes James laugh so hard that he topples off his seat, pulling an entangled Sirius down with him.
Resigning themselves to their fate, James and Sirius decide to stay on the floor. Pandora and Dorcas shift over a few inches to make more room for them, still chortling.
The journey to Hogwarts is a roughly nine-hour cross-country affair, but the time passes pleasantly enough. It’s made all the more enjoyable when the trolley arrives. Everyone pools their coins to buy a little bit of everything, and they all spend the better half of the ride sipping perpetually chilled beverages and trading the character cards that come in each Chocolate Frog wrapper and chewing on vile flavors of Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans.
When James has the misfortune to bite into a bean the flavor of turned beef, he suddenly remembers the bag his mother had bid him to take on the train. Euphemia, having seen her son’s letters, had decided to send them a little treat of homemade biryani, rice, and some naan, all freshly and expertly made. Knowing her son and the intricacies of his short-term memory well, she’d put a strong Stasis charm on the food, so when James excitedly removes the containers from the bag and pulls off the lids, the food is hot and fresh and utterly delicious.
Though only five out of the fifteen people present were in mind when Euphemia chose to provide a meal, there’s more than enough for all of them to get a decent helping. James spreads it all out eagerly, helpfully demonstrating how to properly eat with one’s hands, which is a foreign concept to everyone but Dorcas, who happily tells everyone about her grandmother’s excellent African dishes that almost never require anything but her fingers and mouth to enjoy.
“Fucking hell,” Andromeda groans appreciatively after her first bite. “James, is your mum single?”
“Definitely not,” he answers firmly.
Andromeda winks at him and takes another colossal bite. A thin trail of sauce runs down her palm. “Merlin, that’s a pity.”
“I like eating like this,” Peter says. “If we used our hands at home, I’d never have to wash another fork.”
“It is sort of liberating, isn’t it?” Pandora remarks dreamily. “I always get scolded for not using utensils, but in houses like yours,” she nods at James, “it’s just normal. It’s certainly funny to think about.”
“We mostly use chopsticks in my house,” Marlene puts in. “I like them better than forks, but I don’t know how to get them at Hogwarts. I think maybe I’ll ask my mum for my own reusable pair for Christmas.”
“There’s a little store in London I passed once when I was out shopping with my aunt,” Emmeline recalls. “There were all kinds of fancy things in the window, but I remember I saw a pair of white chopsticks with little carved flowers on the end, all pink and yellow and pretty. Those would make a nice gift, I think.”
“Oh, those sound lovely,” Marlene says. “Maybe I’ll ask for flowers on mine.”
“I think I prefer utensils,” Regulus says ponderingly. “I don’t hate using my hands, but I don’t really like the feeling of... I don't know, of things on them, I suppose. Like being sticky or grimy.”
“Well, it’s not for everyone,” James shrugs. “Some people use gloves. My dad says he used gloves a lot when he was younger, but I don’t know if it was for preference or convenience.”
“Mm, I’d probably want to use gloves in future, but this food is worth a little discomfort, honestly.”
“I agree. Biryani me, Jamie,” Sirius demands, holding out his hands for more food.
By the time the Hogwarts Express reaches Hogsmeade, most of the candy is gone, and Euphemia’s dishes have been all but licked clean.
Andromeda takes the lead off the train, guiding them like baby ducks out onto the platform where Hagrid is gathering a batch of first years.
“This way,” she calls, raising her voice to be heard above the crowd and pointing ahead in the direction of a fleet of a hundred or so carriages that are harnessed to thin air.
“Oh- whoa,” Sirius squeaks and tugs on his brother’s arm, looking far more disturbed at horseless carriages than any of the other wizard-raised people present.
“Sirius, what- oh, Merlin.”
Remus notices the two of them looking increasingly more put off as they get closer to the carriages and nudges Peter.
“Hey, Pete.”
Peter blinks and turns to him. “Yeah?”
“Sirius and Reg are acting funny.”
“Well, they can’t help it if- oh.” Peter takes in the twins’ strangely frozen expressions of mild fear and immediately changes track from whatever he was going to say. “Yeah, okay, that’s weird.”
Andromeda waves goodbye, quickly hugging her very anxious looking cousins, and goes to join her friends in their horseless carriage, leaving the others to divvy themselves up on their own.
Pandora pulls Lily and Willow off saying, “C’mon, girl’s carriage,” and the other four girls follow as well, still munching on Chocolate Frogs and negotiating the trade of the included cards.
A Slytherin fifth year wearing a shiny prefect badge pinned to the front of his robes approaches, offering the second year Slytherins to ride with him up to the castle.
Barty and Evan shrug amicably and agree, but Regulus just shakes his head with a rushed, “No, thank you.”
The prefect surveys him with an unsubtle glare of contempt, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Sirius, who levels the boy with a stony expression, all previous discomfort gone from his face.
The Slytherins, save Regulus, depart, leaving the five remaining boys to pile into a carriage and follow the rest of the students up a road, through a grand gate, and into a great courtyard.
Before they head inside to take their seats in the Great Hall, James pulls Sirius and Regulus aside to ask if they’re alright. Neither of them has said anything since they boarded the carriages, which isn’t completely out of character for Regulus, but is very strange for the ever-talkative Sirius, and their silence has James a tad concerned. Both also look a bit green in the face, which could be considered a slight improvement from the barely concealed expressions of terror they wore previously if they didn’t look on the verge of vomiting over Hogwarts’ front steps.
“Reggie, Sirius? Are you two alright?” James asks worriedly. Peter and Remus are lingering quietly behind him.
“Uhm.” Sirius gulps, glancing at the carriages now moving back through the gates and fading into the darkness. His eyes dart nervously from one to the next, lingering where a horse or two would usually be harnessed.
“Thestrels,” Regulus mutters. One of his hands is locked tightly with his brother’s and the other is pulling nervously at his robes. Both his palms are cold and clammy.
“Er, what are Thestrels?” asks Peter tentatively, half raising his hand out of habit.
Sirius opens his mouth to answer, but Remus beats him to the punch. “They’re creatures classified as dark beasts and are said to be bad omens. Very few pictures of them exist because they’re mostly invisible and because people that have seen them are usually get too scared to get a good look.”
“Mostly invisible?” says Peter, looking utterly confused. “How can something be mostly invisible?”
“They look like horses,” says Regulus quietly. “Really big horses with their ribs poking out and big wings like a bat. And they’re mostly invisible because the only people who can see them are people who have... People-…" He cuts himself off short, unable to finish the sentence.
Sirius looks down at the ground. “People who have seen death.”
“That’s why they’re considered bad omens,” Remus tells Peter and James, whose mouths have fallen open in shock.
“You- So you saw one?” James asks anxiously. “Then-… Then you saw someone-”
“They pull the carriages,” Sirius says hoarsely. “And yeah.”
“Can I... um. Can I ask who?”
“We never found out her name,” says Regulus distantly. Something in his eyes fades into a dull film of regret. “She was a Muggle. Mum doesn’t like Muggles.”
“I’m n-not even af-fraid of the Thestrals,” Sirius hiccups, starting to cry. “I just can’t stop r-remembering seeing my mother become a m-murderer!”
The courtyard is empty now. All the other students have gone inside to wait for the Sorting and the feast to begin. The night is calm, the stars are bright, and a few lazy clouds drift over a round moon.
Breaking this tranquil silence and peaceful atmosphere is Sirius, clutching Regulus’ clammy hand in his own, completely oblivious to his surroundings, and sobbing loud and painfully heart wrenching tears into his sleeve on Hogwarts’ front steps.
James makes a wounded noise and rushes forward, wrapping him in a tight hug, which Sirius folds into at once, still sobbing. Peter, who is more prone to take a softer approach, takes one look at Regulus, whose hand is shaking in Sirius grasp, and moves forward slowly to pull him into a gentle embrace. Regulus shivers and clenches his fists tighter but makes no moves to push Peter away, just standing and willing his tears not to fall. Remus, a boy usually so generous with his comfort, lingers uncomfortably in the background, his eyes turned up at the moon, his body unwilling to move.
They settle clumsily on the steps, taking a moment to hug in silence until they hear the faint sounds of tens of new students tottering their way around the outer walls of the castle with Hagrid’s heavy footfalls as a steady, accompanying drumbeat. Sirius’ tears haven’t quite dried up, but his hysteria has dimmed to the occasional hiccup and sniffle. Regulus, though still gripping Sirius’ hand, looks marginally less haunted. His eyes remain slightly dull, but they aren’t as detached and distant. They’re no longer lost in an unhappy memory.
Remus, eyes no longer turned distractedly to the sky, says, “We should go inside,” in the softest voice he can muster. He doesn’t look too well himself, and the first years’ footsteps are sounding even closer, so the boys gather themselves out of the heap they’d fallen into, wipe any lingering tears from their eyes, and walk through the front door just as Hagrid and his charges appear in the courtyard.
Professor McGonagall passes by them as Hagrid raps on the front door and admonishes them for being tardy, sending them off to the Great Hall and warning them to behave with the sentiment that she does not want their first night at school to result in detention for a second time.
James, wanting ever so badly to cheer up his friends, decides to play a little game during the Sorting. After the Sorting Hat finishes its objectively awful version of a song and the first child is called up to be sorted, James nudges Remus and says loudly, “Oi, I reckon that one will be a Ravenclaw.”
“Slytherin!” yells the hat. James groans.
“Next one’s got to be a Hufflepuff. Hufflepuff!” he calls across the hall. A few students titter quietly.
Next to him, Sirius lets out a little giggle. Lily, sitting a little way down the table with Mary, rolls her eyes and laughs exasperatedly.
“Ravenclaw!” the hat shouts, blowing an unsuccessful raspberry in the general direction of the Gryffindor table. (However petulant the hat is, its lips are still made of fabric.)
“Damn,” James swears. “Pete, where do you think the next one will go?”
Peter, not quite cottoning on to what James is doing, mumbles, “Erm, I dunno. Maybe Hufflepuff?”
“I’m more keen to think Slytherin,” Remus says, flashing a smile at James.
“Hufflepuff!” says the hat, and James whoops, “Peter, you’re a genius!” as the Hufflepuff table cheers to welcome their new member.
Sirius, looking quite excited now, points at the person McGonagall calls next. “That’s gonna be a Gryffindor.”
Indeed, the hat yells a resounding, “Gryffindor!” and the entire table erupts in delight.
“Slytherin!” shouts Peter as another first year tries on the hat.
“Slytherin!” the hat echoes, and the Great Hall bursts with cheers and laughter.
The game continues until all the first years have been Sorted and welcomed into their new houses. More people join in (namely Andromeda), usually calling out their own house name as loudly as possible, as if trying to sway the hat’s judgement. By the time all the new students are sat at their new house tables, Sirius is smiling a little brighter and the Thestrals seem to have been put out of his mind for the time being. In his mind, however, James' particular accomplishment of the night is Regulus, who has recovered enough because of his little game to be smiling faintly with Evan and Barty as Andromeda demonstrates a spell to Dorcas that embroiders crude words on their table's emerald tablecloth.
No one who has ridden with James and his mother’s cooking on the train eats an awful lot at the feast, but the food is delicious as always, and they all go off to their beds with full bellies and a sort of warm, fuzzy attitude toward even the most annoying of disappearing staircases.
Remus doesn’t join his Gryffindor dormmates in their room that night. He’s called away after the feast by Professor McGonagall and doesn’t appear until after lunch the next day, looking tired and out of sorts.
“Where have you been?” Sirius asks him in a hushed whisper during class.
“Doesn’t matter,” he mutters back, changing the subject immediately. “I’ve found something that’ll help us with the map. I’ll show you all over the weekend.”
Sirius eyes him with worried suspicion but has to let it go because Professor Flitwick calls on him to demonstrate the charm Reparo, which he does effortlessly.
Remus' constant avoidance to answer questions doesn’t rid them of their curiosity, but their urge to find out what's going on does abate slightly as time goes on. Mostly because the average preteens have the attention span of a hyperactive puppy, but also because they all have enough sense to not press Remus for answers. In fact, it's almost completely forgotten about after a while because over the first two months of school, the second years are given significantly more work than first year, and it takes a bit to get used to, especially with July and August having cut in as a calm, lazy holiday and putting all the students off their academic guard.
The map is slowly but surely coming along, even without the proper time allotted to work on it. The spell they start with, found by Remus, is a very useful one, even if it moves at the pace of a wounded snail. It uses a few drops of ink and the incantation of “Conversus Structuram” on the castle’s marble walls and another drop of ink onto the desired piece of parchment while saying “Effingo Notitia”, and as the ink steadily travels into the nooks and crannies of Hogwarts, the lines will copy the shapes onto the parchment.
The spell takes out the problem of having to explore every part of the castle, but it doesn’t tackle how to keep track of all the people inside it. This issue, however, is made to wait until they work out exactly what the map is going to look like when completed.
“It’s like designing a website,” says Remus one chilly Sunday in October. It’s the day of Quidditch tryouts and he and Peter are sitting in the stands with the girls as James and Sirius fly overhead in hopes of getting chosen to play for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Evan and Barty are there too, practicing turning pincushions into porcupines as a bit of extra practice for Transfiguration as they wait for the Slytherin team tryouts to begin.
“What’s a website?” asks Dorcas, looking up from where she’s braiding Mary’s hair.
“Er.” Peter and Remus glance at each other, unsure of how to explain the concept of the internet to someone who has very likely never even used a telephone before.
“It’s a way to store information and a way to communicate with people who are far away. Sort of like a library, but on a computer instead of on paper,” Lily cuts in distractedly. She and Willow are immersed in a heated round of Exploding Snap with Pandora and Marlene, and they’re losing quite spectacularly.
“What the bloody hell’s a computer?” asks Dorcas, looking even more confused.
“It’s like a brain,” Peter explains. “It’s made out of wires and metal and a bunch of other things. You put instructions into it in code, and it does what you tell it to.”
“So,” says Barty, “if I told it explode, would it just...” He mimes an explosion with his hands.
“No, not like that,” says Remus, attempting to help Peter rephrase. “It can’t do physical things, it’s all digital. It can answer questions and save things like pictures and send instant messages to another computer.”
“I don’t know what digital means,” says Evan, “but the rest of that sounds great. Where can I get a computer?”
“They’re quite expensive, but any electronics shop could probably help you find one.”
“What, do wizards not have a way to send instant messages?” inquires Willow absently as a small pile of cards in front of her explodes.
“There’s a spell for that I think,” Emmeline puts in. “But how did Muggles figure out how to do it?”
“I dunno,” Peter shrugs. “They probably had a lot of free time on their hands.”
“Look, they’re back!” Marlene interrupts, pointing at James and Sirius who are approaching from the lower benches with huge smiles on their faces.
“We’re on the team!” Sirius cheers, lifting his arms in victory. “We’re Chasers!”
“Oh, congratulations!” Willow exclaims, beaming merrily. She then leans across a pile of cards and whispers very loudly to Pandora, “What in the bloody fuck-nugget is a Chaser?”
About half an hour later, after an in-depth explanation of all things Quidditch to a very confused looking Willow, Regulus joins them as the new Seeker for Slytherin, and, grinning smugly the whole time, proceeds to destroy Lily, Pandora, Willow, and Marlene at Exploding Snap with nonchalant ease.
That night, when the owls are awake and the castle is asleep, James, sitting in a circle on the floor with Remus, Peter, and Sirius, pulls out the map and checks its progress.
"Not quite done yet," he says disappointedly, "But it won't be necessary for now."
All of them look at him expectantly as he refolds the map and shoves it away.
“So,” Peter goads excitedly, “have you got anything special planned?”
“Oh, Peter, you have no idea,” James smirks, his eyes alight with a familiar spark of mischief they’ve all come to recognize as James Potter’s trademarked “I’ve-thought-of-another-way-to-get-us-detention” look.
“Well?” demands Sirius impatiently. His whole body is humming with anticipation.
“Is everyone here familiar with Slytherin House?” James asks loftily, checking his nails.
“Of course.”
“Obviously.”
“Intimately.”
“Wonderful. Now, is everyone aware of a few select members’ behavior?”
“Yes.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Snivellous.”
“Exactly. Since it’s going to be Halloween in a bit, I’m proposing a themed idea that will properly repay him for last year’s... Trophy Room Incident.” James glances guiltily at Sirius.
“What, we’re not going to throw him into glass wall or something, are we?” Peter asks, suddenly sounding scared.
“What? No! Of course not,” James reassures him. “I’m classier than that.”
“So what’s the plan then?”
“The plan,” James says dramatically, reaching into his robes and drawing out a pitcher of orange liquid, “is this!” He thrusts it out toward them.
“Is that a potion?” asks Sirius. “What does it do?”
“It’s better than a potion.” James brings the pitcher to his lips and takes a deep swig of the liquid and smacks his lips together, smiling like the devil. “It’s pumpkin juice.”
On the day before Halloween, during lunchtime, Sirius slips Regulus a note that says, “Stay dry, little brother," and runs away before Regulus can kick him for calling him his little brother (“For Merlin’s sake, we’re twins!”) or ask what the note means (“It’s not even raining! What the bloody hell is this for?”).
That night, concealed beneath the invisibility cloak with the plan thoroughly rehearsed in their heads, James, Sirius, and Peter carefully make their way deep down into the dungeons, far past their route to Potions into unfamiliar territory. Remus has elected not to join them this time, telling them he hasn’t been feeling too well and is going to spend the night in the hospital wing. Disappointed as they may be that he isn't with them, this prank is too good to pass up pulling off.
They walk carefully along the corridors, noting how they're exactly like the one’s upstairs, albeit a bit darker and great deal damper, until they come to a blank stretch of stone wall flanked by two torches with stone snakes curled around their bases.
“Oritur,” whispers Sirius, and the wall melts into a stone archway.
They step forward carefully into the Slytherin common room, taking in the dark wood of the furnishings and the deep green of the velvet upholstery. It doesn’t look as relaxed of an environment as the Gryffindor common room, but it’s warm and cozy in its own unique way. In fact, Sirius thinks, it looks almost like one of his favorite sitting rooms back home.
The three of them set to work right away, moving in practiced tandem through the common room to a door that leads to a corridor of bedrooms. It takes no more than an hour for them to finish their task and scramble their way back into the Slytherin common room, holding in giggles and trying not to trip over each other in the near-complete darkness.
They try to find the archway back into the hall, but the wall where it was is empty.
“What now?” Peter hisses.
"Try the password," says James.
“Oritur,” Sirius attempts.
Nothing happens.
“Are we stuck?” James whispers.
“No,” says Sirius staunchly, thinking hard.
His face lights up after a moment.
“Cadunt,” he says to the wall.
It fades back into the archway.
“Let’s get the hell out of here.”
The next morning is a maelstrom of commotion.
Half the Slytherins show up for breakfast soaked to the bone with pumpkin juice, and the other half have dark, orange storm clouds hovering above them and raining down a constant pour of stickiness on their heads. The downpour bleeds through their hair and onto their clothes, unforgiving and endless. Very few of them are amused.
Over the course of the day, the clouds mutate and multiply, spreading from student to student until no one is left unaffected.
Most students know a spell or two to help keep themselves and their things dry, but the pumpkin juice has a habit of wearing a spell down over the course of time. Many people try to ignore the rain and periodically reapply drying and shielding charms, but some people, Sirius and James included, just lean back and open their mouths, not even bothering to stay dry.
During a very wet, very chaotic lunch period, where most students are crowded around the teachers’ table to try and get their clouds removed, Regulus comes over and kicks Sirius soundly in the shins.
“You’re very lucky I love you,” he spits, not sparing any sympathy for Sirius' startled yelp of pain.
“Love you too, Reggie,” Sirius grins, rubbing at his leg. “Having a nice day?”
Regulus smiles sweetly, speaking his next sentence in French. “I’m going to decapitate you and feed your head to the giant squid.”
“I look forward to it,” replies Sirius, matching his French gleefully.
“What was the point of this anyway?” Regulus huffs, switching back to English. A loose cloud floats dangerously close to him and he neatly blasts it to the other side of the room where it disappears against the wall in a puff.
Sirius shrugs. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Whatever,” Regulus dismisses his own question with a wave of his hand. “It doesn’t matter. Just warn me properly next time, will you?” He looks reproachfully at James, Remus, and Peter each in turn. “You know I don’t like being sticky.”
“Yeah, of course. Sorry, Reg,” says James, looking abashed.
“We’ll warn you next time,” Peter agrees sheepishly.
“Good,” he says, laying the matter to rest. He then glances around at the table, his brow furrowed. “Where’s Remus?”
“Hospital wing,” James tells him. “We’re going to skip the feast later and eat with him instead. Want to come?”
“He’s not sick, is he?” Regulus asks, his eyes narrowed.
“He said he wasn’t feeling good, but that’s all.”
“Aha, I see. Well, I’ll see you all later then. Ta.”
Regulus walks briskly away with his wand held out in front of him, ready to drive away any pumpkin juice clouds that dare approach.
The funny thing about these ever-raining clouds is not that they eat through spells meant to shield against them, nor that they seem to never disappear no matter how many are destroyed and occasionally pop up now and again in an empty hallway or over an unsuspecting student’s head. It isn’t even their bright, unnatural color. What’s strangest about these clouds is that they stick to certain students with no known rhyme or reason.
A seventh year Ravenclaw who is known to kick Mrs. Norris must resort to drastic measures to get rid of his cloud, and a certain Slytherin fifth year has two relentless orange puffs of vapor following his every move for twelve hours straight.
Rabastan Lestrange is spluttering pumpkin juice through all of his classes, and a Hufflepuff prefect with a penchant for tattling on rulebreakers has to spend over an hour washing the sticky residue out of her hair.
A girl named Bertha Jorkins and another named Rita Skeeter, both notorious gossips, accumulate at least seventeen clouds between the two of them, and Severus Snape doesn’t manage to get rid of his absolute mountain of orange fluff for two whole days.
No one ever gets punished for creating the pesky, pumpkin clouds, but a very gleefully satisfied Sirius has quite the laugh indeed when he sees a sticky, juice-soaked Snape sitting sullenly in a corner the morning after Halloween as Slughorn fruitlessly attempts to get rid of the mass above his head.