Heroic Efforts
WEDNESDAY. SEPTEMBER 1, 1971.
James ushers Peter towards the nearest cabin.
The door slides open to reveal a redheaded girl wiping furiously at her face.
Everybody freezes.
Peter stares owlishly at the girl, then casts a frantic glance at James. James, for his part, is locked in a sort of spooked staring contest with the redhead. It’s clear she had been crying… crying rather hard, by the looks of it. Her nose is all red, and her pasty skin is all botchy. Her eyes, which still have not blinked, are bloodshot.
“Erm… Hello.” James offers.
“Hello.” She sniffs politely.
“I’m sorry,” James says, finally finding his voice. “Sorry. We didn’t realize there was anyone in here. We just-”
“I need to sit!” Peter throws himself onto the bench that isn’t occupied by the ginger and covers his face. Poor Pete. He makes a terrible horking noise. James pats his shoulder.
The girl stares both of them down for a moment more. Then her bottom lip quivers. She hunches herself over, making herself as small as possible, and presses her face to the window.
Peter gives James a wide-eyed helpless look. James feels much the same. It isn’t as though James has never interacted with girls before. He’s interacted with plenty of girls on his little league quidditch team, but those girls hadn’t cried in front of him. He feels absolutely unequipped to handle the situation. In all honesty, he’s on the verge of taking his friend and awkwardly relocating when the door slides open again.
“Lily! There you are, I’ve been looking for you.” A spindly boy, already clad in his robes, enters the cabin. His face falls when he takes in the girl’s appearance. “Were you crying?”
Lily does not respond. She doesn’t even turn to look at him. The boy gently grabs her hand.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” she says in a constricted voice, swatting him away.
“Why not?”
“Tuney hates me because we saw that letter from Dumbledore.”
“So what?”
She throws him a look of deep dislike. “So she’s my sister!”
“She’s only a –” He catches himself quickly; Lily, too busy trying to wipe her eyes without being noticed, does not hear him.
But James does.
“A what?” he asks. The question comes out with more bite than he intended. He nearly winces, nearly apologizes. He can almost hear his mother's voice in his head calling for him to mind his manners. But then the whole compartment turns to give James Fleamont Potter a strange look. And he has no choice but to double down.
James Potter has many admirable traits. He is kind— kinder than most eleven-year-old boys at the very least. He is intelligent— the easy sort of intelligence that Peter had always secretly assumed came from his good breeding. He is brave.
But James Potter is also a stubborn little bastard.
James knows right from wrong. At least when it comes to the important things, he does. He knows right from wrong and up from down, and if you dare to raise a brow at James Potter, the defenses go right up. Double down. Fists clenched. Teeth bared.
His face feels warm. He ignores it. “What were you going to say? She’s only a what?”
“It’s rude to listen in on private conversations.” The boy sneers.
James feels himself sneer right back. “It’s rude to be nasty about muggles,” He spits. “You don’t need to be nasty just because you look it.” He tastes acid. He tastes lightning on his tongue.
He hears Peter sigh. Mummy and Papa and Bernie all acted as though James was some sort of little angel. But Peter, who spends more time with the boy than anyone else, knows firsthand that James is a terror.
He’s a right terror, and Peter’s never been equipped to stop him. Never really wanted to be. They’re James-and-Peter. If James picks a fight, then Pete’s right there with him… even if he’d rather rest.
Peter opens his mouth, undoubtedly about to hurl an insult of his own, but Lily interrupts him. She jabs her finger at James, eyes blazing. “That’s not what he was going to say. He was not about to say that, you knob!”
Her voice leaves no room for argument, and it only inflames the heat building in James’ chest. It’s rising up his neck; tendrils of fire reaching for his face.
For the first time in all the years Peter Pettigrew has known him, James Potter bites his tongue.
Lily takes a deep breath. “You don’t even know Severus,” She puts her finger down. James feels relief and he has no idea why. It’s a finger, not a bloody wand. “Apologize,” She says primly.
“Excuse me?” James’ incredulous laugh comes out sounding like some sort of bark.
“You were mean. You should apologize.” Plain as day. Easy math. Black and white.
“But I was-”
Her finger is back in his face. Her eyes are narrowed. James feels something in his chest pop and deflate. Clearly, his heroic efforts were wasted on this woman.
James does not apologize to Severus, the greasy boy watching the altercation with amusement in his stupid little beetle eyes. Instead, he stands abruptly and takes his luggage from the storage area. But, based on his smug little smirk, this is more than enough for Severus. Luggage in hand, James stomps out of the compartment, leaving Peter to scurry after him.
In a beautiful show of solidarity—not because he really believes Severus had been about to disparage muggles, but because James did and it had upset him– Peter turns to the couple one last time before leaving.
“See ya, Snivellus!” He grins, positively swelling with pride over that stupid nickname, then slams the door shut.
***
It takes Peter all of two seconds to begin to look sick again, which sucks all the fight right out of James.
“Sorry, Pete.” James slings Peter’s arm over his own shoulder, helping support a bit of his weight.
“’S alright. ‘M alright.” Peter groans. He looks whatever the opposite of alright is.
“He smelled funny anyway. You probably would’ve gotten sick regardless.” James says. The aisle is an endless tunnel of doors. He can hear students talking behind nearly all of them. It’s almost enough to give James vertigo himself. Poor Peter.
Peter gives a pathetic laugh at James’ joke, then quickly realizes that was a mistake. He scrunches his eyes shut and covers his mouth with his fist. The horking sound is back.
Oh please don’t be sick on my trainers. James thinks. Merlin, Pete, if you’re sick on my new trainers, I’ll have to toss you off the train.
James quickly raps his knuckles on a nearby door, an empty gesture; he’s opening the door before anyone inside can react. He pops his head inside. “Can we sit? My friend’s trainsick, and everywhere else seems full.”
The cabin is empty save for a very small boy holding a very large book. He cranes his neck to see Peter behind James. Based on the way the heavy breathing behind him stops, James assumes Peter is doing his best impression of someone-who-is-not-about-to-be-sick-right-this-second. The boy in the cabin nods, gesturing at the seats opposite him.
Peter rushes in and sits down, tossing his head back against the cushions. He swallows a few gasping breaths before he speaks in a shaky voice, “Not trainsick.”
His pouting face reminds James of skinned knees after degnoming the garden, and sniffles, and ‘Be brave, Peter, this is going to sting for a second.’
It makes James laugh.
“Sure,” He turns to the boy with the book, “I was sure I’d be saying goodbye to my new trainers!”
The cabin’s original inhabitant says nothing. His eyes flit between James and Peter.
“Don’t worry about him.” James waves off the concerned gaze. “He’ll be fine in a few minutes,” James extends a hand to the boy opposite him. “I’m James, James Potter,”
“Remus,” the boy says. He has a weak handshake and an accent. Two things James had not grown accustomed to running into during his years of homeschooling. James is hooked already.
James smiles, and his glasses slide down his nose. He jabs a thumb to his right. “This is Peter.”
Peter gives a pitiful wave. Remus nods politely, then returns to his book.
A quiet lad. James muses. That simply won’t do.
“What’re you reading?” He asks.
Remus scrunches up his face a bit as if this interaction is causing him physical pain. Then he angles the book so James can see the front cover of Hogwarts: A History.
James perks up, smacking Peter’s arm excitedly. “My father says Hogwarts has loads of secret rooms and underground passageways and whatnot. We’re going to find them. Pete and I that is.”
This, in turn, cheers Peter up. After ages of being made to play Pirate-Adventurers with James, he’d finally get the chance to do some real exploring.
“Yeah!” He says, rubbing the spot James just smacked. “We’ll be there for seven years, that’s loads of time. By the end of it, we’ll be able to say we’ve seen everything there is to see in the whole castle!”
Remus is still quiet. His face is still largely hidden behind the book. James almost thinks he’s not going to respond at all.
“Well, how do you expect to know for sure when you’ve seen all of them? Hogwarts is unmappable.” He doesn’t put his book down or make direct eye contact, but it’s enough to make James split into a grin.
All teeth. A smile too big for his sweet little face. That’s what Mummy always said, which only ever made him smile harder.
“I suspect we’ll just know.” James shrugs.
“Maybe we could-” Peter suddenly squeaks, words dying on his tongue. The compartment door had slid open behind James. He turns to see what’s affected his friend so severely. He half expects to see Severus and Lily again, but he’s treated to a much more interesting sight.
Outside of their compartment stands The Heir to The House of Black.
And he’s staring at them as if they’ve all grown three heads.