concord and feud
"Settle down, children," Slughorn said jovially, "Oh, and do make note of your seating arrangements while you're at it— That's how it's going to be for the rest of the term."
Everyone suddenly went quiet. James didn't really understand why until he looked up and saw the board, and it still took him a minute to realise.
Every Gryffindor had been paired with a Slytherin.
You had to be barking mad to do that in a class where coordination mattered just as much as putting in the right ingredients did. You had to either be barking mad, or a genius, a fact which James didn't know.
There were a lot of accusatory stares aimed at Slughorn, who ignored them to the best of his ability.
All James could do was gape, a slightly sickening feeling in his gut.
Why?
He was almost too scared to look for his name, but he reminded himself sharply that he was a Gryffindor, so he swallowed hard and did.
James Potter & Peter Pettigrew
Great. Just Perfect.
At least I apologised earlier, James thought, there shouldn't be too much bad blood there.
At least Peter didn't seem like a blood purist.
He quietly took a seat in the second row and waited. He tried to distract himself by reading the sitting arrangements for other people he knew. It seemed Sirius and Regulus were to sit together (and weren't the two of them going to be happy about that), and Marlene was to be seated by… Severus Snape. Lily Evans was going to be sitting with Alain Avery, and Alice with Amycus Carrow.
Concern for them seemed to distract him for a while, and Slughorn started speaking.
And though minutes passed, no Peter Pettigrew came to sit by his side.
Slughorn and James frowned. It was already five minutes into the class, so where was Peter? The Slytherins looked slightly disturbed as well, indicating that Peter had most likely not missed the two classes before this.
"Do any of you have an idea of where young Mr. Pettigrew is?" Slughorn asked them.
Regulus Black raised his hand, and when he spoke, some worry made it through his voice, "Peter left sometime during the last class, presumably to the loo, Professor. He hasn't returned since. I believe he looked a little unwell."
"Ah, then perhaps the young lad is in the hospital wing. Pity," Slughorn said.
Before he had any chance to think it through, James' decision was made.
"Sir?" He said to Slughorn, "Respectfully, we do not know if he made it to the hospital wing. May I please check on him?"
There was some general shock around the classroom, with Regulus fighting between the urge to smile slightly at James and the urge to wince at several of the Slytherins' disdainful sneers and what that might mean for Peter when he came back.
Just what sort of company have you been keeping? They'd ask him.
James, clueless to this but actually wincing at himself internally for similar reasons, just decided to go with it when Slughorn gave a considering nod.
They had Double Potions, anyway. He was sure he could catch up.
Ten minutes later, he'd looked in the hospital wing where a stern looking witch another boy called Madam Pomfrey had told him no, she hadn't seen any Peter Pettigrew) and had traced the path from there to the Transfiguration classroom with still no luck.
Thisis what I get for being impulsive, he thought with a frown, wondering if he could get Marlene or Sirius get him a copy of the notes. Then again, he couldn't bring himself to regret his choice after knowing that Pettigrew hadn't made it to the hospital wing. He couldn't very well go back to class with just that scrap of information either.
Regulus said he'd gone to the loo, thought James, could it be…?
He reached the nearest one to the Transfiguration Classroom (which was considerably far) and pulled open the door.
There was no one by the sinks.
James checked the stalls, noting that only the first one was locked.
This is going to be embarrassing if it's not Peter, he warned himself with a grimace.
"Peter?" James called, "Are you in there?"
No response.
He was beginning to get seriously worried.
"Peter? Hey! Are you in there?" James repeated, rapping on the door with his knuckles.
He thought he heard an indistinct groan of pain.
His heart raced.
Okay…relax first. You're no use to anyone if you're panicking.
He took a deep breath, then said as clearly as he could, "Peter? Can you unlock the door?"
James thought he heard a faint "no,".
"I'll go and get a teacher to help, alright?" James said, "Hang in there."
There was some panicked shuffling sound in there. James thought he heard a "don't go," but it was too faint and panicked for him to be sure.
But the best thing James could do, he knew, was bring aid at that point in time.
"Okay, I'm not going anywhere," He promised the clearly rattled boy, "Let me think of a way to get you out."
Then he took a few quiet steps out of the restroom and ran.
The nearest classroom to the loo, it turned out, was another Transfiguration classroom, probably for supervised experimentation by older years. James barely registered all of that as he ran into the class, eliciting eyebrow raises.
He didn't know what was going on with Peter, but it certainly couldn't be good.
"Professor McGonagall," He said to her, trying his best not to blurt it out in front of the whole class in case Peter would prefer he didn't give wind to rumors starting up about him, "It's urgent!"
Brow furrowed in concern, she moved closer and James felt the hum of the privacy wards rise around them. It felt like when people would come to talk to his parents at home, and he'd be barricaded from the conversation, only this time he was part of it. The magic felt almost protective.
After explaining the basic problem, McGonagall sent a beautiful cat Patronus (James had seen his Dad cast one once) to "Poppy Pomfrey,"— the mediwitch he'd spoken to earlier —repeating the situation in a short and brisk manner, and they both started moving swiftly to the restroom. He explained everything else as quickly as he could.
McGonagall nodded when he mentioned that Peter had left her class. She'd been surprised he hadn't returned, but thought him up to mischief. She had planned to question him in the next class.
McGonagall performed a swift "Alohomora," (James promised himself to look into the charm) at the stall door but opened it gently.
She was right to.
James inhaled sharply. Peter was crumpled on the floor behind the door, clutching his head and whimpering softly.
"Mr. Pett—Peter?" McGonagall said gently as she touched his forehead. He didn't seem to be burning up, so she asked him if it was aching anywhere else besides his head, which he looked like he was clutching onto for dear life.
"E-everywhere," Peter gritted out, sounding like he was going mad, "Everywhere's aching,"
James stared at him with something sinking in his gut. How could he have thought poor things about Peter, just for him being a Slytherin, again? They hurt, too. They hurt, and they bled, and they cried the same as him too.
They could smile too, as he should've known whenever Peter looked at Alice, his first friend.
James promised himself to look further into those complicated feelings of his for Slytherins once this was done. He had been doing that a lot lately, he realised.
McGonagall, with surprising strength, lifted the poor boy up and walked out of the stall to give him breathing room.
She made himself sit on a conjured armchair, and waited while slowly coaxing him to talk. There was no point in trying to take him to the hospital wing since the mediwitch was apparently coming here, and because really, the boy couldn’t move without yelping. He hadn't liked it when McGonagall had touched him either.
"I-I can't-couldn't even cast a simple spell," Peter stuttered blankly through the pain once.
McGonagall looked at him sharply, "If you are talking about my class, Mr. Pettigrew, I'll have you know that only two students managed the transformation by the end of the class. It does not reflect badly on you, only asks for more practice."
"No… you don't understand… I—should be able—" Peter clutched his head harder.
"If it makes you feel any better," James said with a commiserating smile, "Our first class was Transfiguration, and Sirius ended up setting his matchstick, and in turn his desk, on fire."
He didn't laugh, but then again, he was in pain. But James thought he had managed to coax out a faint smile, if only for a moment.
James was sure Sirius wouldn't mind that anecdote shared in this situation. James wouldn't have, certainly.
The grey-haired mediwitch in nurse robes James had questioned came rushing in, and McGonagall and James breathed a sigh of relief.
The mediwitch cast a few spells for which Peter sat obediently enough, and then frowned and cast a series of several more complicated ones. She let out a short gasp.
Just as she was about to say something, Peter tugged at her arm weakly and said something.
He had to repeat it several times before anyone could make sense of it.
"Healer... patient-confidentiality," He croaked.
Pompfrey's eyes shuttered for a moment, collecting herself, before she gave a nod to Peter.
"Are you sure?"
"I… can't change my mind l-later?" Peter said, and James thought he saw the ghost of a smile on the boy's face.
Pomfrey sniffed, "Of course you can."
McGonagall was watching the interaction with some frustration, James knew, because he too really wanted to know what was going on, but they both kept quiet.
"But you, young lad," Pomfrey said to Peter clearly, "Are going to do exactly as I say, alright?"
Peter gave a nod and then winced in pain.
Pomfrey pulled out a vial from her satchel— probably magically expanded —and handed it over to the boy.
"It's a mixture of dreamless sleep and the numbing draught," She told him, "I'll get you in the hospital wing just fine, so don't worry and have it."
Peter's head tipped forward gratefully, though James noticed how it was more of a jerk. It truly must be hurting a lot.
Peter drank it in one shot, and drifted to sleep on the armchair.
James stared at him.
He stared at him as though it could make this sick feeling in his gut go away. It didn't.
He was disgusted with himself.
Had he really almost not gone to check on him because he was a Slytherin?
The answer came to him, and it was not one that he liked anymore, not at all:
Yes.
***
Four words. That had been the most Sirius and Regulus had exchanged for the entire first period of Double Potions, and that had been a "Could you pass that?" from Regulus.
Siriusly.
At this point Regulus was being more brave than him.
Sirius was too preoccupied with concern over the morning, though, to feel shame for it.
He remembered expecting a howler from home to scream at him in his mother's feral voice for his sorting. He expected his father's cool dulcet tones to add that he was disowned.
Instead he'd gotten a short, plain letter.
And it had scared him more than a howler could ever have.
His mother? Showing any bit of self-control? Surely the letter was cursed. Or perhaps it was too sirius a death threat and she couldn't scream it in the Great Hall without being put on trial?
What had been there was both nothing like he had imagined and more frightening than he had anticipated.
Two. Simple. Sentences.
Good job, son. You've made this so much easier.
—Your mum.
He hadn't been able to think at all since then. And Sirius was pretty sure he'd set something on fire in one of the classes.
Welp. He guessed it could be a funny story to share about his first day.
But the words wouldn't get out of his head!
What had he made easier? At first he thought it was about disowning him, but there was no such notice on or with the paper.
What, were they going to kill him off and feel less guilt over it? His theories came out more berserk than the last.
"—are you even listening to me? Seriously—Sirius? Sirius!"
It took a moment to register Regulus' slightly concerned face. Sirius quickly put on a smile, then doused it with some confusion. They weren't supposed to be talking, right? Where exactly did they stand?
He looked at his brother for a minute, really looked at him.
There was the mild concern in his grey eyes that perfectly mirrored his; the burrowing confusion. There was the frustration at their current mess of a relationship.
But, plastered atop it all: there was a strange, cool calm.
There was a mask.
And Sirius didn’t know how to read it.
It used to happen, sometimes back at home. Regulus had always been better at it than Sirius— mostly because Sirius had never bothered to learn it. Regulus would look at their parents with a mask of perfect calm, talk smoothly and evenly, and save himself from punishments.
And Sirius was left to trust that it had just been that— an act.
Sirius was pretty good at reading people, but only when they weren't actively trying to hide how they felt. When the layer of cool indifference hit Regulus' face, he had trouble seeing the little brother that he hoped lurked beneath.
There was only trust that held their relationship together.
"—Sirius? Dammit why are people acting so unwell today?—"
The problem was, Reg didn't need to take an extra leap of faith to trust Sirius— Sirius was as frank and open about his feelings as it went —but Sirius did. He needed to believe that his brother wouldn't do those things, say those words, if he could have his way.
It didn't help that practically everyone he knew was quite a bit like the mask they wore. You couldn't really change that much.
"Sirius!" Regulus whisper-shouted.
Sirius blinked.
"Yeah?" He said.
Regulus frowned, "You blanked out there for a good minute. What's wrong?"
Sirius realised just how low Regulus kept his voice, so that they may not be heard talking together. It just made him feel colder.
"Everything's fine. So," Sirius nodded to the cauldron, "Now we have to brew something?"
Regulus raised his eyebrows, "Yes? Slughorn just explained the entire process to us. The instructions are on the board."
Sirius's eyes flicked to the board and back sheepishly, "Right. Boil Cure."
Regulus shook his head in slight disbelief before moving past him and saying, "I'll go get the ingredients. Heat and oil the cauldron till then."
Sirius made a sound of disgruntled assent before focusing on the board again.
Five minutes later the cauldron had been treated with a stinky olive oil and Regulus was on his way back, struggling with balancing the different ingredient jars.
Sirius took a calming breath before meeting him halfway.
"Here," He said, not quite meeting his eyes as he picked some of the jars from him, "I'll take some of those."
"... Thanks,"
They walked back to the table and set them down, and Sirius began crushing six of the snake fangs in the mortar while Regulus gnashed some horned slugs.
For a time they could pretend silence, but Sirius caught him looking with concern towards Peter and James' empty seat and nudged him gently.
"I'm just… worried," Regulus said, looking down at the slugs again, "Peter's a good person. He was fine at the start of classes today, but he looked pretty green earlier in Transfiguration. All of a sudden, too."
Sirius didn’t really have too much pleasant to say about Peter, but he didn't wish ill for the boy either. The boy was… difficult, what with how he rarely let any real emotion show on his face. Sirius found it hard to appreciate people like that.
Regulus waited for him to put the crushed snake fangs in the cauldron before pouring some water in.
They waited for it to shimmer.
"Sirius—" Regulus said at the same time Sirius decided this was enough.
"Reg—"
They stared at each other for a minute.
And it took that minute for Sirius to realise that Regulus' voice was very quiet again.
"Let me make this easier," His throat was dry, "Reg, you know I've got some, well, problems with Slytherin House, mostly because every damned wizard and witch like our parents I know are in it. But I-I don't mind your sorting, alright? Actually, I do mind it a little bit, but I won't hold it against you. I'm… coming to terms with it. It's going to be fine," One side of his lips curved up, "So long as you don't start thinking 'nutcase Avery' is good old company, anyway."
That got him to snort, and then look around in alarm.
Sirius frowned, "Why're you so troubled? Can't even be seen with me?"
Reg shook his head, "No‐no! Slytherin house is a bit like back at home. You've… got to be careful."
Then why go there? Sirius thought, but said nothing.
He remembered his words last night, the burst of emotion in which he'd told Lily Evans that Regulus being sorted into Slytherin had been a mistake.
"Why do you think you were sorted into Slytherin?" Sirius asked as he took the plate of horned slugs from him.
Regulus frowned in thought, "I… don't really know." Then he grinned, "Probably my cool, calculating cunning."
It was hard to draw a line connecting those words and the goofy, vulnerable grin on his face.
And just.
Like.
That.
Reg had opened up his expressions, mask gone, and Sirius immediately melted.
"Yeah, that's probably it," He said, smiling.
And they continued to brew.
The fact that Horace Slughorn merely called their potion "passable," didn't dim their grins in the slightest.
"See you, then?" Sirius said as they were just about done cleaning their cauldron.
"Yeah," Reg said with a smile. His eyes flicked around the room once, before deciding on something.
Arms wrapped around Sirius, and he stood still for a second, surprised.
He knew what the hug meant.
Slytherin house is a bit like back at home.
They didn't do this at home.
Sirius returned it, and didn’t hold back.
***
The grounds were large and welcoming, if a little intimidating. Remus surveyed it for a moment before taking off.
The cool wind pressed against face and slowly but surely brought more life to him. The running seemed to elevate some of the worry that had unconsciously stiffened his muscles over the course of the day.
He let out a laugh before closing his mouth and reminding himself firmly to breath from his nose. He'd tire himself out faster if he didn't, and right now, all he wanted was for this feeling to never end.
Thump-thump . The small, soft sounds of his feet against the ground and his heart's loud beating together sounded like an encouraging anthem.
The full moon was on the 5th, thankfully a Sunday, so his heightened senses didn't miss the scent and sound of another joining him.
"Having—"/huff/"—fun?" Aanya Kashyap asked him with a small smile.
He couldn’t help but return it, "Yeah."
She looked to him for a second, "You're running quite fast."
Oh. He'd forgotten he was supposed to suppress his somewhat unnatural agility, too. Thank Merlin he hadn't been going full force before she brought it to his attention.
"Thanks, it's one of my pleasures," Remus said finally, then realised, "You're running quite fast too."
She looked more worn out than him as she did it, certainly, and he could tell it wasn't a comfortable pace for her, but she was handling it decently well.
She laughed before shrugging, "I guess you can say I enjoy running too."
Remus had to smile wider at that. They both weren't quite parting with the complete truth, and then knew it. Still, there was the fondness for this, and they decided that was all that mattered right now.
Two rounds later, Aanya had to stop. Remus did one more, then stopped too. They lay on the ground, panting.
Aanya twisted to lie on her side, observing the grounds.
"It's so beautiful," she breathed.
Remus gave a nod. It really was.
"We're so lucky, to be part of all this," He said, almost to himself, "I want to make the most of it."
This time it was Aanya who nodded.
Perhaps it was that that made Remus decide to just say the words on his mind. This nervous hesitation wasn't doing him any good.
He tilted his head, "Aanya Kashyap, right? We're in this weird limbo mode where we've both talked to each other but never introduced ourselves and also heard the other's names being spoken elsewhere. I've no idea what to call you."
Aanya chuckled, "Aanya's fine. I was thinking the same thing."
"Remus for me, then," he said, and then, "Can I ask you something?"
"Hm?"
"Where did you get the notes for Professor Flitwick's class?" He asked curiously, "You missed more than half of it."
Aanya shook her head ruefully, "I have no idea how he did it, but Professor Rosier charmed some parchment to write it for him. Perhaps all Professors can do it."
"That sounds… convenient," They both looked at each other appraisingly, "Do you think it's in the capacity of a first year?"
"You'll never know if you don't try," Aanya said, eyes sparkling.
"We should have been Gryffindors," Remus said with a wry grin.
Aanya shook her head, "Honestly, this whole house business is a bit silly. One main trait doesn't define a person. We are almost pressured into—"
"I know," Remus said, amused.
Aanya ducked her head, "Heh. Sorry."
"For what? I'd enjoy talking about something like this normally, don't worry." He didn't need her taking the wrong meaning to the thoughtless words. Merlin knew he knew next to know one in his house. Remus couldn't suppress a sudden yawn, "I agree with you, anyway. I'm just tired today."
"Well, our first day at school did just get over," she said agreeably while also giving into a yawn, "We reserve the right to be tired."
"I'd say so too," Remus said with some disgruntlement, "And yet we've to go to dinner in a few minutes. Compulsory dinner. Why does only our house do that, anyway?"
Aanya laughed, "You know. Because of exactly this reason. Most of us would never go if there wasn't a rule."
"Wish I could deny that," he said with a smile, "I've been told that the mini library in our common room has a switching charm connecting to the Hogwarts Library. The books keep changing."
Rabastan Lestrange was not a very talkative person— but push him on a topic that he was passionate about, and well…
Remus now had a whole load of information on the Ravenclaw common room.
"That-"/yawn/"sounds awesome…" Aanya sat up suddenly, "Our escorts."
"What?"
"The Ravenclaw Prefects we have as escorts," she elaborated, "They'll be doing roll-call now and wonder why we're not there. At best, they'll assume we've already gone instead of worrying, but we won't have escorts to the Great Hall this time round."
Oh.
Remus sat up too, "Guess we'd better hurry if we want to arrive on the table on time by ourselves. It could take long."
"We'll ask the first person we meet," she assured him before helping him to his feet. There was the pleasurable ache in their muscles that came from exercising. "Let's go."
"Race you to the castle entrance?"
"You're on,"
Remus thought maybe, just maybe, he could fit in here at Hogwarts.
***
Alice blotted the offending words with ink, almost tearing the paper with the sharp tip of her quill. There had been a time when she didn't like defacing texts like this, but by now she was truly immune. Besides, if she accidentally tore it, the book would mend itself anyway.
These sick books and their sick spells, she thought spitefully as she glared at the tome with its regal, dark aesthetic dust jacket. She hated that the cover looked so beautiful. Alluring. Deceptive.
Tell me, mother , what kind of satisfaction did you get from giving me this?
She stilled, before shutting the book hard and stuffing it in her bag, which she positioned as far away from her as possible. She turned away, and the fight, the slow, pulsing hatred slowly drained out of her.
Alice shook her head ruefully. She really had no idea what to do with the damned volumes she'd gotten. They were virtually indestructible— and she was compelled by magic and oath to reveal their existence to no one and never lend or offer them to another, so somebody else couldn't even help her.
She wondered if it was really so odd that everyone in her family seemed insane, if they kept the books around them always.
I'll go mad too, she thought quietly, the fear anchoring in her gut once more.
There was a loophole to the no-revealing oath, but it was as good as none. You could show, even hand over— the key word being temporarily —the Carrow grimoires to another so long as you had the clear, definite approval of the Head of House Carrow.
Figures that her dad hated her. Alice knew she'd never get it. She doubted even Alecto— who he clearly prefered —could request him to relieve her of the books.
She placed her palms on her cheeks, fingers pressing her aching head. She'd think about all this later, she told herself.
But there was only so long she could stay without solving this issue. It was already affecting her. Salazar—Godric—whatever— forbid she ended up caving in and using any malicious magic against a helpless student. Forget expulsion, Alice didn't think she'd be able to live with herself.
She rubbed her temples. She'd become a little better at resisting it since coming to Hogwarts: some newfound hope warming her, calming her, strengthening her, but a lot of it, she now realised, had been ruthlessly squashed in Potions.
Amycus. She'd been paired with Amycus.
A slight, short hysterical laugh burst out before she could stop it. She didn't even want to think back to the class. To when she'd been by her brother.
There was some shuffling from the bed above her, and Alice, startled, whipped out the thick black gloves she was wearing and stuffed them under her pillow before watching Lily descend down the rungs of the ladder to the ground.
The gloves weren't innately suspicious, especially in the dark where you couldn't see anything odd about its texture, but guilty instinct had her hide them anyway. She told herself sharply to get over it. She didn't need her dorm mates to think she was up to something dark.
And wasn't that the truth?
Lily's eyes fixed on hers, and she smiled.
"Still awake?" Lily whispered softly, mindful of their sleeping dorm mates.
Alice nodded, before remembering that she probably couldn't see it very well in the darkness, "I was just about to tuck in."
"Have a good night, then," Lily said as she treaded quietly towards the bathroom.
"What about you?" Alice asked curiously, "Do you usually sleep late?"
"I've got insomnia, so it gets a bit difficult," Lily grumbled, "The ambient magic here seems to help somehow, so I was able to sleep decently last night, but apparently stress still gets it to work up."
Alice frowned, remembering the redhead sleeping with her head at the table at the welcoming feast. She must have been overwhelmed with the respite the ambient magic would have offered her. Or simply tired, and for once afforded the sleep.
"Take care," Alice told her gently, "Oh, and check in with the mediwitch here once, maybe? She might have something to help you."
Lily smiled, "I did, actually. She's the one who told me about the ambient magic thing. I'll be fine. Thanks."
Once she was gone, Alice lied back down and mulled over her words.
"…stress still gets it to work up."
She raised a hand up in the air and made out her shadowy fingers in the dim moonlight coming softly from the window.
She remembered the source of stress all too well; the disgusted looks and the quiet, snide remarks of the Slytherins— particularly Alain Avery for Lily, she supposed, given they were the assigned potion partners for the month —that were shot at Lily and Alice and every other muggleborn and 'blood traitor'. Really, that was all that Alice had been able to pay attention to all day. That, and the volumes of the grimoires she'd almost compulsively carried along with her in her bag throughout the school day.
She could only imagine how all that discrimination would have felt to Lily. Lily, who's look of pure excitement and fascination at being included in this world new to her put the stars to shame.
She wondered how she'd handle it.
Lost in her concern and curiosity for her friend, another who saw the girl with a glamour on her hair might think she'd momentarily forgotten about the grimoires lying in her bag, kept as far as possible and yet too close.
But there was a sticky, disgusting feeling all over her body.
And try as she might, she couldn't ignore it enough to forget.