CHAPTER XV

James had expected Skeeter to print her excuse of an article quickly, so he barely spared the Daily Prophet that landed on their table in the morning a passing glance. As long as the newspaper didn’t fall into his food again, he didn’t particularly care for it.

Across him, Remus eyed his newly-delivered paper suspiciously, as if it might blow up any moment. Sirius looked a bit like he wished it did, then clearly lost interest and turned back to his plate. He had ditched the sling again – in fact, James was quite sure he had burned it yesterday – his heavily bandaged hand resting on the table, partly hidden by the long sleeve of his robe. 

Seeing him hold his fork in his right hand was a bit jarring, but if James didn’t know any better, he'd almost think Sirius was ambidextrous with the easy way he seemed to navigate not only the breakfast, but the whole morning as well.

But he knew better. There was a sign of frustration in the twitch of Sirius' brow whenever he missed the food on his plate or reached for something with his left hand before the realisation set in.

Seeing it felt little like getting kicked in the gut. James wanted to help, but he knew it would only make Sirius more frustrated. The helplessness pressed onto him whenever he thought about it too much.

“It’s not going to bite you, mate,” James teased when Remus still hadn't moved, then chuckled when Peter shot him a doubtful glance. Granted, there were many parchments that could actually bite, but most of them were polite enough not to.

Despite Peter’s not so subtle attempts to distance himself as far from the Prophet as possible, Remus seemed to gather his courage and rolled the newspaper open. The title page that stared back at them was painfully unimaginative. 

Remus blinked a couple of times in clear confusion while James’ eyes trailed over the upside down letters spelling words like ‘economy’ and ‘glass prices rising’. 

The paper rustled as Remus leaned even further over the table, hastily flipping through the pages.

Peter jumped up to his knees to see better, accidentally elbowing Remus to the ribs in the process. It didn’t look like he even noticed, already crowding towards the paper. To his side, Remus’ puzzled frown continued to deepen.

“There’s nothing!” Peter exclaimed bemusedly after a moment of rapid reading. He looked almost as offended as surprised. “Only a paragraph about the Tournament… with only two badly hidden insinuations!”

“It’s weird,” Remus agreed hastily, still frowning. “First she made a whole thing out of the previous task, giving it a whole double spread and half, then she threatened you-”

James shrugged. “-It was kind of weak actually-” 

“-and now nothing ?”

“There’re still those two insults,” Peter reminded him helpfully, pointing towards the lines in question. James was pretty sure that was the only time in history someone had said something like that in a hopeful tone. 

Remus swatted the remark away, almost jostling his goblet with the wide motion. “Yeah, yeah, but only two, that’s basically nothing.”

“Well yeah…” Peter seemed to wilt a little, then quickly straightened up. “But one of them is so obvious that it has to count for double!”

James propped his elbow on the table, huffing out an amused breath. “This isn’t an auction, Pete.”

“Well maybe it should be,” Peter grumbled nonsensically, making James’ smile widen as he leaned further into the palm of his hand.

Sirius gave a derisive scoff. “Isn’t it obvious? She’s just biding her time.”

“Biding her time?” Peter repeated incredulously. 

“Oh come on, Tail, don’t you know that writing lies takes serious effort?”

“Sirius’ right,” James grinned. “I bet she’s trying her best to get another round of those ‘faithful testimonies’ she used last time.”

“Good luck with that,” Remus remarked drily. “I’d be surprised if she manages to get any at all. I overheard Bertha Jorkins of all people complaining about her just last night.”

Peter nodded quickly, eager. “Right. Besides, if McGonagall sees her sneaking around again, it’s over.  She has no business being here with the task done.”  

The school owl that brought the paper cooed a little, as if making sure they all knew she was still here and waiting. Remus absently fed her a piece of his bread.

“Not like it matters anyways,” James said, rolling his eyes as he leaned back in his seat. “She relies on facts about as much as professor Inkwell during her divinations.” 

They laughed while Remus shuddered, grimacing. “Don’t remind me. To think we have Divination today… I would rather still be in the Infirmary.”

Sirius smirked. “What, afraid she’ll ask about your shaving problem again?” 

“Very much so,” Remus replied haughtily. “It hasn’t gotten much better.” 

James chuckled along with the others, part of him relieved. It was a good sign that Remus was still able to make jokes about his condition even after everything that had happened.

“You know, if she’ll bring out the crystal balls again, you might get your wish,” he said, smirking with amusement. “I’m pretty sure Norman was limping the whole day after she dropped it onto his foot.”

Sirius leaned back in his seat, eyes glinting with dark amusement while Peter grimaced, as if remembering the dull sound of a two pounds of crystal hitting its mark. “Maybe we should sit at the back.”

Remus chuckled. “We always sit in the back.”

“Even further then,” Peter replied, sulky.

“I’ll save you a spot on the rooftop,” James assured him seriously, which made Peter break into a grin. 

They spent the rest of breakfast coming up with different ways for Peter to sit outside the tower and still listen in to the class. The best and most plausible ways they came up with boiled down to Peter sitting on a broom that’s tied to the window or - as Sirius suggested - making friends with one of the rooftop gargoyles. 

Since Peter had no love for brooms or the needed balance, and he was far less charming than stone-cold statues required, (Peter argued it would be different if the gargoyles were alive, but he wasn’t very convincing), he regrettably had to concede and walk to the class with them. This amused the rest of the Marauders so much that even Remus seemed to forget about worrying about Skeeter and her stupid newspaper. 

By the time they climbed up the ladder into the round classroom on the uppermost floor of North Tower, they were still snickering, which earned them twin scolding glares from Evans and McKinnon.

Unfortunately, that had the opposite effect than was desired. Evans pointedly turned away as James choked on another fit of laughter. It wasn’t his fault that the image of Peter trying to balance on a large levitating carpet outside the tower refused to leave his mind. He might have suggested it, but Sirius was the one who quipped about Peter having a featherly goose hat; James couldn’t get the picture out of his head.

Regrettably, the start of the lesson was dull as ever. Professor Inkwell provided each of the small round tables with two ghostfire candles, each of them thick as an arm and made from wax mixed with dusted mergrass, hellebore and ghostly breath. None of the candles in the classroom were yet lit, except for a set of tall, thin candles on Inkwell’s table, dimly illuminating the hushed gloominess of the room. 

Outside the window, another spring shower had started, the sound of rain hitting the window panels echoing loudly to their ears. James liked rain and he loved to listen to it, but together with the dimmed atmosphere in the room and the dark sky outside, he found himself stifling a yawn. 

One of the Ravenclaws in the first row coughed a little as Professor Inkwell lit up another one of her favorite incenses. The strong smell of herbs and smoke soon settled over the room, the air hazy and heavy. No matter the temperature outside, the Divination classroom was always too hot.

“The signs show that today is a most auspicious day for warding off evil forces,” Professor Inkwell spoke loudly, lifting one of the candlesticks on her desk. James guessed she was aiming to make the gesture very loaded and grandiose, but the way the candle wobbled hardly seemed grand. “I knew that would be the case, of course, same as I knew that my cold would leave before noon of this day. The stars are never wrong, my dears.”

There was a moment of silence, and James realised that the weird twitch of her eye was probably meant to be a conspiratorial wink. It was hard to tell in the dark. Twitch or not, it didn’t seem particularly effective.

Still, Inkwell seemed to take the silence for an impressed one, pushing the edge of her scarf away from where it was dangling dangerously close to the flame. “Today, my dears, we’ll deal with ghostfires; powerful instruments able to detect mental curses and other malevolent influences on the great spiritual plane.”

Sirius scoffed quietly at the last words, lifting his brows at James, who couldn’t help but grin back, rolling his eyes. ‘Great spiritual plane.’ If McGonagall ever heard that she’d have an aneurysm. 

“You all remember how they work, yes?”

A weak chorus of agreements arose. 

It wasn’t the first time Inkwell tried to impress them with the mostly forgotten art of using ghostfires. James remembered being actually excited when she brought the topic up the first time, curious about the practical use of the fire in Defense against the Dark Arts, but the excitement didn’t last for long. From what Inkwell had shown them over the years, the candles were about as real and useful as crystal balls or Tessomancy and its tea cups. And what was even worse, Inkwell loved to use the time as she lit the candles for her performances . 

“Not again,” he heard Remus mumble from the table to their left, just as Inkwell smiled her too-bright smile and started chanting. 

Walking between their tables, she alternated between low, disturbing whispering and high-pitched screaming, her words English one moment, completely unintelligible the next.

Eleanor Aitken and her seatmate stiffened in their seats as Inkwell screamed next to them, then watched with still wide eyes as she leaned down to light the candle on their desk. 

The whisk caught up slowly, as if reluctantly, burning a calming red.

Inkwell nodded, satisfied. Her muttering decreased in volume once more as she moved  to another table. 

Scarlett Redding jerked from what looked like deep sleep as Inkwell came closer, but she barely held her eyes open for long enough for the fire to catch before she was closing her eyes again. 

James wasn’t sure if it wasn’t a crime for Ravenclaws to sleep during lessons, but then he guessed even they had their limits. Divination was hardly anyone’s favourite subject (except maybe Bertha Jorkins).

Professor Inkwell didn’t seem to care or notice. She hadn’t stopped muttering, occasionally suddenly increasing her voice as she twisted and turned between their tables, lighting one candle after another, with a dramatic rise of her hand. 

James stifled another yawn. He would have almost preferred reading from the cups again. That way he could at least chat with Sirius; Inkwell’s constant chanting made any communication impossible. 

She had once said that she hoped each and everyone one of them would always take something from her lessons. Well, James was pretty sure the only thing he’d be taking from this lesson would  be a growing headache.

He sighed, leaning closer to Sirius, who was laying sprawled over the table, clearly very much over the whole theatrics, and carefully poked him.

Sirius turned his head, leaning it against the inside of his right arm, and gave him a sideways glare.

James grinned, pleased, and poked him again.

The rain outside the window seemed to grow heavier, hitting the glass panels around the room with renewed intensity.

“Shine! Shine brightly, esteemed flame!” Professor Inkwell ordered loudly.

As she gestured widely with her free hand, her patterned scarf smacked Courtney Blakely sitting at the table closest to her straight to the face.

His seatmate, another Ravenclaw, almost burst out laughing, barely suppressing the sound behind his palm.

“Shut up, Abney,” Courtney hissed at him, clearly doing his best to hold his own laughter in as well as Inkwell made another grand gesture to light up their candle.

At the table directly above them, James noticed Remus and Peter wearing matching grimaces. All candles in the third row were already lit; it was clear they were next.

The sound of her heels was loud as she rose the few stairs separating the third row from the one below. The sound was strangely foreboding.

The candle light in her hands seemed to flicker slightly. Remus stared at her, a little unsure, Peter’s eyes flitting to the flame and back.

Slowly, she lowered her hand, bringing the flame closer to the candle on the table. 

The air in the room seemed to grow heavier. Only now has James fully realised that she had stopped chanting.

The silence suddenly felt oppressive.

Bright light. The candle burst to life, vibrant green flame illuminating Remus’ and Peter’s pale faces. 

Everyone in the room seemed to gasp, and Sirius sat up straighter. 

James couldn’t help but stare; the flame burned brighter and quicker than any of the other ghostfires in the room. The fire had barely touched the whisk before the green roared to life, bright and foreboding, its flame reaching high.

“What in Morgana’s name–” Inkwell gasped, her voice strangled, higher than James had ever heard it and then someone yelped, bright red flames erupting from one of the tables.

“Damn it!” Courney yelled loudly, jumping up from his table, fire from a knocked-over candle quickly spreading across the old tablecloth. 

“The hell, mate?! Why did you do that?” Abney cried outrageously, bumping into another table in his haste to get away and almost doubling the damage.

“I didn’t do anything!” Courney protested, his next words swallowed by the ensuing chaos as everyone jumped to their feet, Professor Inkwell loudly commanding them to let her pass and put out the fire.

After it was done, she sighed, wounding her scarf closer to her body. “I have foreseen something like that could happen…” she said as always, then trailed off, a shadow passing over her face as she glanced towards the back of the class.

For once, she sounded much older than her years. “That is all for today, my dears. I feel I am still not as well as I thought I was… I must rest.” 

The sky outside rumbled.

The downpour stubbornly continued until Thursday dinner, giving them just enough time to run from the Greenhouses back to the castle before it picked up again. A group of second years didn’t seem to have the same luck, leaving a long wet trail as they miserably walked through the Common Room. 

The places closest to the fire were soon getting crowded, filled even more than during some of the coldest winter months.

Every so often, the high-pitched sneeze of the Fat Lady could be heard from the door, though the sound barely jostled anyone in the room. Even the new first years seemed to be more than well-used to her antics right now; sneezes were nothing in comparison to improvised recitation and loud belting competitions.

“Cursed weather, isn’t it?” Remus said, shaking his head as he settled into the armchair next to James. 

James turned his head from where he was staring at the window, smirking slightly. “Got bored of the reproduction customs of fire slugs?”

Remus chuckled,  then grimaced a little at the memory. “Definitely. I couldn’t write one more inch about it without wanting to scream. It’s interesting, but I don’t think anyone needs to know that much about slugs and their mating rituals.” 

His tie was still perfectly in place, but had his robe pulled up only on one side, the rest of it uselessly bunching behind his back. Remus didn’t seem to mind, hunching comfortably in his seat.

“You never know where it might come in handy,” James sing-songed, and Remus shuddered. 

“Merlin, no.”

James laughed. The expression was just too good.

He shifted slightly in his seat, trying to get more comfortable. The book in his lap jostled slightly at the movement and he settled for knocking off his shoes and lifting his legs up on the sofa, balancing the tome on his knees.

Remus glanced at it as it precariously tilted, but James had no worries about it falling. He wasn’t the best chaser in his year for nothing.

The chatter around them halted for a second as a deep rumble of thunder echoed from outside, the sound loud and clear. The lightning must have hit close. 

James found his eyes once again pulled towards the outside. To no surprise the rain didn’t seem to lessen, if anything it seemed to grow heavier.

“Let’s hope it’ll clean up by the morning,” Remus said, and when James turned back, he found his lips pursed with obvious worry. 

“As long as they don’t cancel the match, it’ll be fine,” James shrugged, giving him an assured smile. “Nothing we can’t handle. Besides, at least it’ll be refreshing.” 

Remus shook his head a little, letting out a disbelieving gust of breath through his nose. “Only you would say that.”

“And maybe Sirius,” James amended, grinning.

“And maybe Sirius,” Remus acknowledged, smiling slightly. “Because Merlin knows you’re both insane. Speaking of, where is he? I wasn’t aware you two were able to be this long apart.”

James kicked him, cheeks growing warm. “Shut up.”

Remus grinned in a way that revealed he was just as much of a troublemaker as the rest of them. “Just speaking the facts, Prongs.”

“Better stop before I hit you with some facts, then.” James said, hoisting the heavy book in his hands, wiggling it ever so slightly with a lifted eyebrow.

When Remus raised his hands in obvious surrender, he couldn't help but smirk as he lowered it back down.

“Alright, alright, but where is he? I couldn’t get hold of Peter either.”

“Because you were holed up in our room reading about fire slug mating habits, Moony,” James replied, rolling his eyes.

“Well, maybe,” Remus allowed, smiling sheepishly. He pulled at the sleeve of his jumper.

It was clear he was still curious. And probably bored from doing all the homework.

“Sirius’ at the Infirmary, Pomfrey caught him in the hallway right after Runes,” James said, aware that he sounded more dejected than he had meant to.

He wanted to go with, but with the team meeting for the last time before tomorrow’s match, there was no time. Being alone with the rest of the team made the situation fully sink in even more. 

Sirius sitting out this match was obviously the right choice, but being on the pitch without him never felt right. James had no illusions it would be any different tomorrow. 

“I keep meaning to ask him about the arm.” Remus said, shifting slightly in his seat, expression serious. “He took to it so well that I hardly noticed him having any trouble, but…” 

“Yeah,” James nodded a little, heart heavy. Even though he knew they were lucky to get away with as little injuries as they had, the whole fight still left a bit of a bad aftertaste in his mouth.

Whenever he glimpsed the sight of Sirius’ bandaged hand, he couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. He knew he wasn’t the only one. Although Remus had nothing to do with it, it was clear the whole werewolf ordeal was still weighting on him, even if Skeeter had barely mentioned the whole thing in the Prophet.

They stayed quiet for a moment, the surrounding chatter filling in the empty space. All the other chairs and sofas were full, and numerous students were sitting near the fireplace, working on their essays or just lounging on the carpet near the fire.

James had barely managed to snatch their usual place in the corner, still close enough to fill the warmth radiating from the burning logs, but a little out of the way to offer more privacy.

“I’m going to grab a book as well,” Remus decided, rising up from his seat. “ Not one about slugs,” he added with a pointed look when he noticed James opening his mouth. 

James only grinned innocently and shifted his attention back to his tome, turning another page.

As predicted, the rain didn’t stop the next day either. The storm, at least, seemed to be over, the sky only dark grey instead of the deep black from the day before. James called it a decisive improvement, but the look the team’s Keeper, Kimura, sent him as she was wringing water out of her hair made it clear not everyone agreed. 

The match hadn’t even started yet, but the team already looked as if they took a morning swim through the Great Lake. The only consolation for some of the members seemed to be that the opposing team wasn’t doing much better. 

Finally, the majority of the students seemed to be settled on the stands. Large sheets were shielding them from the worst of the rain, though with the wind constantly changing and shifting more water was blowing in than anyone would have liked. Most of the spectators were covered head to toe with heavy coats, scarfs and hats, the colours of their clothing the only key to their identity from the distance.

“Fly safely,” James instructed his team, “if you start to feel too cold, swap out with one of the substitute players. I don’t want anyone falling off  their brooms just because they’re idiots, okay?”

Sirius wasn’t there to tell him to ‘Speak for himself’, and James tried to not let the strange feeling get to him. The players in the circle around him chorused in agreement.

James pointed at Henry, the youngest one in their team. “That goes double for you, Snitch-catcher. If you get a frostbite, I’m having you run laps below us in the next match.”

Some of the players looked amused, while Henry straightened, eyes wide.  “Yes, Captain!”

“Okay, good,” he nodded at them. “Everyone to your places. Let’s win this thing.”

“Let’s win!” everyone hollered, and James couldn’t help but smile, pride filling his chest. This was his team. They trained hard for this.

As they lifted up into the air, the stands cheered, loud even over the sound of steady downpour.

“And today’s match between Gryffindor and Slytherin is about to start,” boomed the magically-enhanced voice of Newt Abney, this year’s Quidditch commentator.

“While the players will get to their positions, I must welcome our special guest that will help me with this match. Everyone, please welcome Sirius Black, someone that I believe needs no introduction.”

James’ head  snapped towards the top of the Ravenclaw stands, where he knew Abney was sitting. In the sudden deafening cheer, he noticed that Abney was indeed not sitting alone, his bundled form under a bright orange umbrella joined by another figure that James would know anywhere.

That bastard, James thought fondly, then stifled a laugh as Sirius immediately halted Abney’s hand with the microphone from getting into his face. The rain made it hard to see, but he just knew Sirius had to look incredibly unimpressed.  The thought made him grin wider.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me,” Sirius finally said, his voice prompting another set of excited screams. “No need to piss your pants everyone.” 

Abney chuckled. “You heard it, people, the one and only. As Mr. Black here is currently indisposed and unable to compete due to injury in the Tournament, he was gracious enough to agree to accompany me. I’m sure you’ll all enjoy it. And now back to the game that we all  came here for. Madam Hooch is already walking forward with the Quaffle…”

James’ eyes zeroed on the red ball, cold fingers flexing along the handle of his broom.

“And the ball is in the game!” Abney screamed excitedly, and James immediately angled his broom forward, shifting his weight to assure a rapid descent. 

Quinn’s red cloak swished past him as she snatched the ball from the air. One of the Slytherin Chasers immediately started off towards her, but she quickly threw the Quaffle over her shoulder back at James, just as they’ve practiced. 

The ball flew through the air and fell into his hands with a satisfying thud. James didn’t waste any time and quickly pressed forward, maneuvering between the opposing team’s defense.

The goalposts, previously obscured by heavy rain, came into sight.  James didn’t slow down. 

A bludger shot towards him from somewhere to the left and James turned upside down on his broom, evading it just in the nick of time. The stands cheered, then erupted even louder as he threw the Quaffle straight through the middle goalpost.

“That’s how it’s done!” Abney cheered loudly. “Potter scores the first points of the match!”

Sirius’ confident voice sounded around the pitch. “As expected.”

“He has great offense,” Abney agreed excitedly. “Now let’s look at the other team on the pitch. Slytherin’s now in the possession of the ball.”

“Not for long with the way they’re handling it,” Sirius remarked idly, and he was right. The Dragenton twins didn’t let anyone pass, stealing the Quaffle back in a quick maneuver that left Slytherin’s Chasers none the wiser.

“Well, that is an unfortunate development for the Slytherins and it looks like – yes – Lucas Alvarez is in the lead and heading for a goal. And…. it’s another ten points for Gryffindor!”

Another eruption of cheers from one side and lamenting from the other. James circled his broom in the air, returning back onto their side of the pitch as the Slytherin Keeper threw the Quaffle back into the game. 

This time, the Slytherins came in hard and fast, obviously eager to level the score. For a few minutes, no points were scored at all, everyone watching with bated breath.

Then, the green part of the pitch erupted into loud celebrations.

“Aaand Lucinda Talkalot scores a point,” Abney informed quickly. “Slytherin is moving up! The Gryffindors are starting this round.... The Quaffle is back in the game! Quinn Dragerton evades a Bludger and has the ball, but Talkalot is moving to intercept…And what is - yes, that is another Bludger heading straight towards her!”

Quinn didn’t manage to evade and dropped the ball, clutching at her hand. James had barely enough time to spare her a glance to make sure nothing was broken before he was speeding below, leaning to snatch the ball just before it would touch the ground.

The grass tickled the back of his hand before he pulled himself up on his broom again, quickly righting his broom. 

“Brilliant save by Potter!” Abney shouted over the loud cheers. “The Quaffle’s still in the game and the Slytherins are coming in hot!”

James passed the ball and Flinn took it, evading Slytherin’s defense before a Bludger forced him back. 

He flew over, passing the Quaffle back to James, who quickly threw it to Quinn next to him. James stayed behind as the two twins flew forward, slowly but surely pushing past Slytherin’s defenses. 

Using the spare second, James pushed his wet hair back off from where it had plastered to his forehead, trying to stop some of the water from falling into his eyes. 

The Quaffle flew through the goalpost, the twins victoriously pumping their fists into the air.

James grinned a little, and was about to turn his broom to fly in closer when he noticed a green smudge speeding across the field.

It wasn’t their Seeker; Regulus was still circling high in the air, and the Quaffle was still on the Slytherin side of the field. James stared for a second, puzzled, before shifting his broom into motion as he recognised the figure. Whatever Avery was speeding forwards, James didn’t like it. 

His instincts proved right a moment later. Avery tried to use everyone’s distraction with the last-scored goal to mess with their Seeker.

Henry yelped as Avery’s scowling face suddenly appeared in the rain in front of him, flying so close that he jostled the end of the broom violently to the side. Henry scrambled to stay upright and James cursed, picking up speed.

“Sorry,” Avery shouted, obviously not sorry at all, “barely noticed you.”

“Alright Kingsley?” James shouted over the rain as soon as he was close enough, turning his gaze away from glaring daggers into Avery’s back.

“Y-yeah,” Henry nodded, obviously trying to sound less shaken than he felt.  

“Hey, Inery, Greenery or whatever your name is,” Sirius’ voice carried over the field, sounding a unique blend of uninterested and derisive that only Sirius could pull off. “Stop being an asshole, if you don’t have what it takes to play normally expect to have your face smashed in next.”

Well put, Padfoot, James thought. If Avery ‘Greenery’ tried anything else, he’d get acquainted with James’ elbow. The unrestrained, savage grin that broke across his face at the thought felt good.

“Mr. Black!” Professor McGonagall’s scandalized voice filtered weakly into the microphone. 

“Just narrating the events, Professor, both present and future,” Sirius replied innocently, a cocky undertone to his words.

As expected, Avery didn’t show more intelligence than he had in the last few years. Even if he was quite obviously scared of Sirius, as Slytherin kept on losing, he kept on trying to be a nuisance. He even got called out by Madam Hooch more than once, who was famous for not intruding into the game unless absolutely necessary. 

James was never one to not fulfill promises, and he wasn’t about to start now. When Avery kicked Quinn’s broom in what was an obvious violation of the rules, he decided enough was enough. 

He flew in closer, and as Avery’s smug face was passing him - too closely, because he obviously wanted to gloat - he slammed his elbow straight into his face.

“A direct hit!” Cried Abney, a little too delighted for an impartial commentator, for which he no doubt earned another scolding look from Professor McGonagall. “Sorry, I mean, ehm…”

“What an unfortunate chain of events that no one wants to see again,” Sirius supplied emotionlessly. "Potter who? I don't even know him."

Abney spluttered into a laugh badly hidden as a cough. 

In the background, James could faintly hear Professor McGonagall’s reprimand again, but the sound was drowned by Avery howling in pain as he clutched at his bleeding nose.

“What the hell, Potter?”

“Sorry.” James smiled sharply. “Barely noticed you is all.”

Avery tried to lunge for him, but seemed to have forgotten he was on a broomstick and that James was far above him. 

His broom swayed dangerously, and Avery let out not so brave yelp as he scrambled to hold onto its handle again. Even in the cold rain, his face was clearly so red it ressembled the Gryffindor crest.

James scoffed, rolling his eyes as he turned away. A second after, a whistle from Madam Hooch pierced the air and the Slytherin side got the Quaffle, but it felt all sorts of worth it. 

As he navigated over the pitch, Lucinda Talkalot, the Slytherin Captain waved at him. James changed his trajectory to fly in closer, and soon realised Lucinda was shooting him thumbs-up, mouthing what looked like ‘Thank you’. It was clear she wasn’t pleased with Avery’s behavior either, but Slytherin had already used all their substitute players for this match. 

James smiled, shrugging. It wasn’t like smashing Avery’s face in was any hardship.

Wind blowing back his cloak, he angled his broom, flying by the Ravenclaw stands. Sirius’ red scarf - the one James’ mum made him - was shining like ruby in the sea of blue that surrounded him. Even in the relentless cold, the sight made James feel strangely warm.

He locked his eyes with Sirius through the curtain of rain, grinning widely as he lifted his hand in greeting. The Ravenclaws (and a few Durmstrang students, if he was to go by the fur coats) hollered in excitement. Sirius’ face split into a grin, cheeks slightly colored from the cold.

As James flew by, finally pulling his eyes away, he noticed a group of students decked in fur coats among the yellow of the next tower.

Bogdan’s heavy hat was dripping water like a faucet, the raindrops falling into his immovable face, set in stone as always. The bright orange slogan in his hands was in such contrast that James couldn’t help but chuckle in amusement. Yensen and Theo were jumping next to their seated friend, who was probably the only one sitting down right now. James guessed that was partly from excitement, partly because it was really cold and the seats were wet.

Not far from them, Frank Longbottom was swaying a giant flag with a lion crest in the air. He grinned widely when he spotted James, enthusiastically waving with his free hand. On the other side of the field, Remus and Peter were loudly chanting with the rest of the Gryffindors.

“Above the pitch, we can see the Seekers dutifully circling the field,” Abney continued his commentary. “For all the excitement below, it seems like neither Kingsley or Black have yet caught even a sight of the Golden Snitch.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw that the Gryffindor Keeper had already retrieved the Quaffle and was about to throw it back into the game. James swiftly turned his broom, heading back into the fray.

They had won the match, though the Slytherins gave back as good as they got in the last third of the game. The celebrations in the Common Room were as joyful as always, filled with loud laughter and cheers. The Fat Lady had even finally stopped sneezing in a way that was shaking the whole room.

Barely an hour of the celebration had passed though, and she was already challenging students into competitions in who could sign the highest note or outsing her in a song. Granted, she didn’t play fair, smashin glasses left and center and claiming it was done by her voice, but James still found it highly amusing and even challenged her at one point.

The singing competition that ensued was so terrible that even Peter was looking a bit doubtful, which of course made James laugh even harder. 

Singing never was one of his greatest skills and even he had to admit he sounded a bit like an overly jovial gargoyle, but that’s what made it so fun. The suffering faces of everyone involved were priceless. 

“So what did you think, Peter?” he teased as he made his way to his still-stunned friends.

Remus quickly excused himself, running for some more snacks, which left Peter alone and desperate.

“Good,” he said weakly, his smile barely holding up. “There were certainly some… inspiring bits.”

“Exactly.” James nodded happily, grabbing Peter around the shoulders as he steered him away from the portrait. “I’m so glad to hear you have good taste. Can you imagine some people do bad at this? Could never be me.” 

“Yeah.” Peter cleared his throat a little, obviously sweating. “Yeah, definitely.” 

James laughed harder. They made their way through the crowd all the way to Remus who was busy showing another pixie puff into his mouth. As soon as he saw them, he gave them each chocolate frog from the small heap of sweets in his hands. James had the feeling it was to stop any questions about his singing.

As the two disappeared to get some butterbeers, James maneuvered his way through the room, smiling as people congratulated him. It felt good that his team was once again getting some recognition. In one corner, he noticed a group of Henry’s classmates excitedly begging the Seeker for another retelling of the game. James waved at him, grinning as he passed by.

He found Sirius sitting on the arm of one of the seats by the fire, animatedly talking with one of the portraits. James realised that the usual picture of a lion and her cubs was joined by a familiarly-looking knight in full armor.

It took a few seconds for James to remember when he had seen him but as they neared, the knight straightened, saluting him with fist to his chest, sword pointed downward.

“Sir, it is a pleasure to see you again. I am Sir Galenhad, knight of the Green Sigil.”

“You helped me on the night of the attack,“ James replied with dawning recognition. He knew the knight looked familiar.

“That is I, sir. It was a pleasure helping you on your noble quest.“ 

“Thank you, I’m sure it would have taken much longer to find help without you.”

“Your help is appreciated, Galenhad,” Sirius agreed, his eyes warm as they glanced at James. 

“You flatter me, sirs, but it is truth that my steed is swift.” He looked across the painted surroundings with pride, and James followed his gaze, spotting his horse grazing a few yards away. The grass in this picture was obviously quite tasty.

Sirius gestured towards the portrait. “I was just asking sir Galenhad if he had noticed anything suspicious since then.”

The knight nodded, leaning on his sword. “Indeed. I believe it is as you feared, sir Black. One fair lady whose picture is hanging by the Green Houses swears she heard someone walking in on the same night those mandrakes were destroyed.” 

“Heard?”

“Well, yes, sir,” the knight’s expression fell slightly. “She is unfortunately blind. But I know her well and she hears better than most people see. If she says someone went in, I believe her.” 

James shared a look with Sirius. That would confirm their theory about someone making sure that Dirk doesn’t get the cure.

“She really is a kind soul, sirs. She would never tell me anything if she wasn’t sure it was the truth. The only reason we didn’t share this information is that wizards tend to not take us seriously.” 

“We believe you, Galenhad,” James said. “The whole ordeal was a little too well timed to be a coincidence.”

He glanced at Sirius with a question in his eyes and when Sirius nodded, he turned back to the knight. “Could you maybe take us to her? We’d like to ask her a few more questions, if that’s alright.”

Galenhad gave them a relieved nod, his armor letting out a metallic sound at the movement. “Yes, of course. Follow me.”

He jumped up on his horse, then rode towards the edge of the painting, disappearing behind the golden frame. James and Sirius followed as best as they could, leaving the lively sounds of celebration behind. 

The hallways were already dark, lit only by torches and stray candles. As they neared the stairs and the portraits became more frequent, the knight slowed down to walk  so they could follow more easily.

“Say Galenhad,” James started as they walked down the stairs towards the Greenhouses, unable to tame his curiosity, “are you in any way connected to Galahad of the Round table?”

“Ah no, sir, only a  coincidence of names. Though I admire him greatly. To be remembered as a knight is my greatest dream and wish. But of course the painter who created me had different ideas…”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, sir, that is a long story that is too dull to be interesting to anyone. But to put it simply, the man who painted me was a drunkard unable to handle his own ale. Highly ironic, if you ask me.”

The embarrassment in his voice was clear even over the sound of his armor plates shifting with each stride of his horse. “When completing my portrait, he made a mistake and used the wrong frame from me, one created in one of his drunken stupors. That would hardly be an issue of course, if he was not fond of engraving them.”

James grimaced a little, understanding where it was going.

“To my greatest embarrassment, instead of my name and my station, the frame bears the words… 'Jester and his piglets'… I am a true laughing stock for anyone who passes by, doomed to carry this name and its shame forever.”

“Sure, you could do that,” Sirius replied evenly, “or we could change the name for you.”

The knight’s horse faltered. “But…wouldn’t that be against the rulers of your liege lord?”

The idea of Dumbledore as a liege lord was a bit amusing, bringing a small smile to James’ lips as he shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to us. If you want, we’ll get it done.”

Sirius nodded. “Shouldn’t be that difficult. And we’re always for some standing up against liege lords.”

Galenhad beamed widely, pulling the reins. “My lords, that would be the greatest honour anyone could–”

“Sir Galenhad, is that you?” A thin female voice cut through the air and James had only now realised that they’d nearly reached their destination. The hallway to Greenhouses was just around the corner.

Galenhad quickly disappeared behind the edge of a frame, and Sirius and James hurried towards the Herbology classroom to catch up. 

When they arrived, it seemed like the two portraits had just stopped exchanging pleasantries. The lady that Galenhad mentioned was tall and regal, dressed in long flowy white dress. Her long golden hair was a stark contrast to the dark forest behind her, her eyes covered by a simple band of linen. 

The plaque next to the elegant, silver frame proclaimed simply ‘The Northern Star’, but after just hearing Galanhad’s story, James wasn’t too fond of assuming. 

“Who are the two newcomers, dear knight?” she asked before Galanhad could get a word in, and James felt more assured about trusting the knight’s word already.

Galanhad quickly introduced them, his words flowery but quick and direct as he explained why they were here.

“No wizard has ever cared for words of mere picture before…” The lady trailed off, clearly hesitant.

Galanhad took a small step forward. “This is different, my lady. They seek to help, I promise so.”

The lady sighed, then nodded, her long hair swaying slightly behind her back. “Very well. As sir Galanhad has offered his word for you, I shall now entrust you with mine.”

There was a breath of silence as she composed herself, the expression on her face shifting slightly. James didn't dare to do so much as to breathe, in case she changed her mind.

“Someone was here, and they knew the space well.” She tilted her head to the side, as if recollecting. “Their steps were quick and hurried, but assured. They were well aware of where they were stepping... It was highly unordinary, no one ever enters the gardens that late.”

“Not even Professor Sprout?” James asked and the lady’s brows pulled into a puzzled frown.

“Professor?” She repeated, her lips curling around the words in a way that exposed their novelty.

“The Head Herbalist,” Galanhad offered helpfully, and the lady’s frown eased. 

“Ah, of course. No, even she never enters that late. Besides, I’m familiar with her steps. No, this was someone else.”

She frowned slightly, hugging her arms. “After they entered… well I heard this strange sound from down the corridor, almost as if something was moving within the walls itself. I have never…” She shook her head, as if forcing herself up from a bad dream.

“Regardless, the person in the gardens left shortly after. I have no idea what they did inside, the doors are too sturdy, but I always know when they open. The sound is very distinct.”

“Thank you,” James said, sharing a thoughtful look with Sirius. Someone must have moved the plants. Someone familiar with the layout, likely a student or teacher instead of an intruder. The same one that caused Dirk to turn to stone? Or were there more of them?

Northern Star, if that was really her name, was the only portrait in this corridor. By the sound of it, it was lucky she wasn’t already sleeping when the ‘accident’ happened. Whoever dealt with the plants must have known she was blinded, likely not thinking her any threat to their plans, but it was still strange; Galenhad said none of the other portraits on the stairs had seen this person. Did they even take the stairs then? He glanced to the left, towards the gate leading outside, to the courtyard. There was a prefect patrol there, but if someone evaded them…

“...You don’t believe me, do you?”

“On the contrary,” James argued quickly, snapping his head back to the portrait. He wasn’t liking the sad resignation coloring her words. “I’ve never known Sprout to be so careless as to mess up her plants.” 

Sirius nodded. “I agree. It’s clear, someone tried to set her up.” He tilted his head slightly, thinking. “Did you share this information with anyone else? Besides other portraits?”

“No, I tried to once, but no one really pays us any attention.” 

There was a disgusted tilt to Sirius’ lips. “Of course.The hypocrisy of wizards seems to know no bounds.”

“That is so.” The lady’s pale lips pulled into a small, pleasantly surprised smile as she turned her head to Galanhad. “It seems you were right as always, my knight.” 

The knight bowed again, the armor screeching. James wondered whether he kept it like that so that the lady could hear his movements better, or if he was unable to change it. “I am thrilled to know that is the case, my lady North. And thank you, sires, for acting as honorably as any knight.”

They accepted the praise with gratuitous nods, though it hardly felt very knightly.

After they bid goodbye to lady North, James turned to Galanhad with a wide, conspirational smile. “So. Where is that frame of yours?”

On Saturday, the rain had finally halted, light blue peeking through the clouds. By Sunday morning, the hills were mostly dried, fresh flower buds slowly littering the green grass. The sun was shining brightly, as if to make up for its absence in the last few days, enticing nearly everyone in the castle to come outside.

Most of the stone benches in the courtyards were occupied, with people scrabbling their homeworks under the sunlight or loudly playing rounds of Exploding Snap. The school grounds were bright and inviting, numerous students lounging around on blankets or walking down one of the trails. Some of the Beauxbatons students were walking by the Great Lake, excitedly pointing whenever the Great Squid shifted just below the surface, stirring the water into small waves. 

James shifted into a more comfortable position, his legs dangling over the branch. He and Sirius had settled on their usual tree by the eastern edge of the school grounds, overlooking the forests and mountains around. 

They’ve found it all the way back in their second year, the tree’s low branches suitable even for the scrawny kids they once were. They started low, barely above knee height from the ground, its strong, twisting branches curling and twisting around before slowly going up, expanding into a full crown.

The Golden Snitch in his hand buzzed slightly and James released it, idly catching it a moment after. The Snitches’ wings fluttered against his fingers, the gold warm under his skin. 

Across them, further down the hill, a group of third years was loudly trading their Chocolate Frog cards, each voice more passionate than the next. James released the Snitch again. 

A voice across him chuckled as he caught it again, barely looking, and James lifted his head, meeting Sirius’ amused gaze.

“You know you’re a Chaser, not  a Seeker, right?” he teased, wind blowing his black hair into his face.

He was sitting on a low branch as well, one of his legs pulled lazily up,  the other dangling down, every so often grazing the grass below. The bandages on his arm were finally gone, and the improvement to his mood was glaringly visible, at least to James, the tension in his shoulders gone.

James smirked, absently catching the Golden Snitch again. “Could be both.”

Sirius lifted a brow. “What, planning on building a one-man team?”

A quiet hum as James pretended to think, then shook his head. “No, I value my life too much.”

“That’s a new development,” Sirius remarked drily, and James scooted closer to shove him, grinning when that drew a laugh out of him.

He refused to move away after that and instead slid closer until they sat right opposite of each other, their ankles entwined.

Sirius rolled his eyes but didn't shift away, the amused smile on his face turning into something softer.

“Guys! Guys!” Peter’s voice carried over to them, then again when neither of them moved.

Reluctantly, James turned his eyes away from the silvery mirth of Sirius’ eyes. Peter waved widely with what looked like a roll of newspaper as he climbed the last part of the hill to their tree.

“The Sunday Prophet,” he gasped out as he stopped in front of them. “Skeeter’s article is front page.”

“So?” Sirius lifted his brow. “Why should we care what she writes?”

Peter’s face was apologetic as he extended the hand with the newspaper towards him. “You might be interested in this one.”

James sighed, tilting his head back until it thudded against the bark. So much for hoping Skeeter would have a moral awakening.