Robots
TUESDAY. OCTOBER 5, 1971.
Remus is sick again. Peter warned him he ought to start getting to bed earlier, but his cautionary words fell upon deaf ears. At least the smaller boy had taken to using the wand-lighting charm to help him read in the dark. Peter asked him if he wanted to be as blind as James, and that seemed to do the trick. But that hadn’t been enough to protect his poor immune system from the Scottish cold. So, on October fourth, when Remus started hacking up a lung again, Peter, James, and Sirius marched him straight down to the Hospital Wing. Peter took a tiny bit of delight in ignoring Remus’ protests the same way he had ignored Peter’s warnings. He’d never confess to this aloud, of course. Especially not since Remus still looks frail even this morning.
The boys are all squashed together in Remus’ hospital bed, silently pouring over the comic Remus’ mother sent him. The Jetsons are cool. Not in the same way Quidditch is cool. Or how Wizard's Chess is cool. But more how the tellyvision James' father keeps locked up in the study is cool. Muggles come up with pretty interesting things. Like flying cars. How do they fly without magic? It's very impressive... or it would be. If it were real.
“I don’t understand,” Sirius says.
Peter jumps a bit. It still spooks him a little when Sirius speaks too suddenly.
James, who has no sense of self-preservation, doesn’t have this problem. “What do you mean?”
“Why are they all getting angry with George?” Sirius points to the comic as though there might be some confusion as to who George is. On the page, Elroy Jetson is chomping into his father’s leg. “He’s right. Rosie’s rubbish.”
Remus, hadn’t moved much at all for the better part of the morning, but seems to suddenly wake up at that. He jerks into an upright position and closes the comic over his lap. He crinkles his nose in distaste. “Rosie is not rubbish.”
“She’s a terrible servant.” Sirius insists.
Rosie is a terrible servant. She’s what Peter’s come to understand as a house elf for muggles. Remus calls it a Robot. They’re beings made of pure silver that exist to make life easier for wealthy muggles. Rosie’s not very good at her job, though. It’s funny, but it does make one wonder why the Jetsons keep her around.
“That’s the entire point of the story!” Remus’ face is still scrunched. “She’s not just a servant. She’s like family.”
“How can she be family if she’s not even a person? She’s just a ribbit.” Sirius rolls his eyes.
The tips of Remus’ ears turn red. He takes a breath, no doubt about to correct Sirius, when James interrupts.
He lifts the comic up off Remus’ lap and flips through it, quickly landing on the page they’d left off at. “D’you think we ought to dress up as Robots on Hallowe’en this year, Petey?”
In all honesty, Peter doesn’t really fancy the idea. He’d been rather hoping to be mummies this year. Sirius doesn’t give Peter the chance to reply.
“Dress up?” He repeats. “What do you mean dress up?”
“Y’know,” James shrugs. Sirius seemingly does not know. James gestures vaguely. “Put on costumes and such.”
“Costumes? On Hallowe’en?”
His confusion sets off a tiny thrill of satisfaction in Peter’s belly. Seems Black doesn’t know everything. No matter what it says on his report card.
“Sure. It’s what the muggles do.” James smiles. “Right, Remus?”
Sirius’ face twitches, then falls into a carefully composed picture of indifference. Peter’s not certain anyone else noticed. He’s not entirely certain it happened at all. Remus nods. “Never seen anyone dressed as something from a comic, though. It’s usually just masks.”
“Have you ever thought about it?” James asks.
Remus stiffens. He presses his lips into a thin, flat line. “I don’t dress up.” He says, taking the comic back from James.
“Why not?”
“I just don’t.” He shrugs.
“Well, you should,” James says, using his I’ve-decided-what-we’re-going-to-do voice. “ It’ll be fun! You can match with me and Peter.”
“What?” Peter squeaks, choking on his own saliva.
James thumps him on the back a few times.
It’s not that Peter dislikes Remus. Far from it. Remus is Peter’s second favorite roommate by a mile. He’s nice, and he’s quite funny, and he’s smart. He’s helped Peter with his Defense homework on at least two separate occasions. Professor Alderton had even complimented Peter on his essay about werewolf bites. Remus had helped loads with the research for that. But dressing up on Hallowe’en is an activity for James-and-Peter. Not James-and-Peter-and-Remus. Three’s a crowd and all that…
Peter feels dodgy for even thinking it. Here Remus is, laid up in the Hospital wing, and Peter’s being selfish about something as simple as a Hallowe’en costume? That’s terribly rude, isn’t it? Peter feels his cheeks pinken under the sudden weight of shame.
“I don’t know,” Remus says warily. He folds up the comic and places it at his bedside.
James gently shakes him by the shoulders. He really shouldn’t be doing that. They’d be in big trouble if Madam Pomfrey happened by. “Come on, Lupin. You have to do it. Back me up here, Pete.”
“Oh,” Peter flounders. “Well, y’see, I would. But I’m not sure Sirius wants to dress up. It’d be rude to leave just him out like that, wouldn’t it?”
“You said muggles do this?” Sirius asks, practically disregarding Peter entirely. Peter is nearly grateful. Nearly.
“Not all of them,” James explains. “But plenty do.”
“So why would we do it? If it’s meant to be a muggle thing?” Sirius’ mouth is puckered like he’s tasted something foul. His words are carefully measured, but it’s not enough to hide the creeping edge of disdain interlaced with his confusion.
Peter is sure James noticed this time. The air around them suddenly feels terribly heavy. For a split second, he wonders if James might be about to hit Sirius the same way he’d hit Bertram Aubrey last month. But when he speaks, his tone is still bright and easy. Mostly.
“Because it’s fun, Sirius.” He says through a too-large smile. His voice is ever so slightly clipped in a way only someone who’s been listening to James since the boy first learned how to talk might recognize. In a way only Peter might recognize. Peter wrings his hands. “Don’t you trust us?”
Sirius’ eyes drag slowly across their faces. It’s almost as if Peter can feel them scraping over his skin. He tries not to twitch.
Finally, Sirius nods. “I do.”
“Great.” James clasps his hands together far too loudly. “Then it’s settled. We’ll all match this year.”
Nobody protests. Especially not Peter.
It’s really not a big deal. He shouldn’t have been so jumpy about it. James is right. It’ll be fun to introduce their roommates to the tradition. And next year, Remus and Sirius will be able to figure out their own costumes, so James-and-Peter can match again.
“Alright. Fine. But I don’t want to be Robots.” Remus says, his nose wrinkling once more.