Our Reckoning | The Marauders

"What does the fors part of the spell mean again?" Lily mumbled, quill scratching away at the parchment before her.

"Lily, for God's sake just go to the Library," Aria said to her exasperatedly, "I barely know the spell. Plus, I've got this—" she jumped on her trunk in a futile attempt to use her weight to get it to close, "stupid trunk to close."

Lily gave the trunk a distinctly amused look. Her fellow dormmate, Aria Wright, she'd discovered, had her trunk practically overflowing with stuff— most of which Lily thought unnecessary, although Aria insisted otherwise —and so, every time she wanted to get something out it was a big, long-drawn hassle to close again.

"Just keep your uniform folded on your bedside table next time onwards," Lily said reasonably. Or just don't bring so much stuff, she added mentally.

There were two bunk beds and a single, and Aria and Alice both had the lower ones for the former, thus being afforded a small table as well.

"But— actually, that's not a bad idea, Lils— can I call you Lils?" Aria grunted as she pressed against the lid, before humming, "Yeah, I'm calling you Lils. Sounds too cute to pass up."

Lily just shook her head, "So, about the fors bit—"

Aria groaned, "I was being serious about the Library, Lily."

"She obviously doesn't want to go there for some reason," Marlene noted bluntly, then paused, frowning, "Why aren't you going there, though?"

"Let her be," Evelyn Martin interjected finally, saving Lily from answering. Really, the girl had said little since their introduction, but Lily liked her already.

The reason Lily didn't want to go to the library was, well… the bigoted twits there. It wasn't that she was scared, but she'd really rather not ruin her morning listening to sour kids who thought your lineage made you worthy of studying magic. She'd had enough trouble over the night sleeping because of them, for every time she closed her eyes, the whispers of mudblood freak would echo through her head, before simply turning to the word freak. That last bit sounded an awful lot like Petunia. Always.

The fact that her potions partner Avery thought she wasn't human enough because of whether her parents were magical or not…

Disgust wasn't enough to sum it up. There had to be something better to describe this terrible feeling, when you'd waited every second of your life for something and realised that you were now going to achieve it, live it, and then to see that you weren't accepted for it because the people thought you unworthy for something frankly irrelevant that you couldn't control.

No, she hadn't enjoyed being seated with Alain Avery at all.

It wasn't even anything he'd said to her. She'd seen the Slytherins whisper discontentedly to themselves, the looks of sympathy they gave to those who sat with those filthy little mudbloods. She saw her partner take it and agree. She saw his sneer when she took her rightful seat.

Lily felt the hostile glares throughout the period, and she never wanted to feel them again.

If that meant staying a little longer in her dormitory and avoiding public places, well…

Lilg suppressed a shiver. She wasn't scared, wasn't scared. Petunia's words weren't true, they couldn't be. She was just… troubled. Right. That was it. And it would pass.

She'd figure it out, make her way through it, but right now? She just wanted to study in peace.

Alice came to sit by her, silent for a few minutes. Lily soaked in the pleasure of her silent comfort.

She continued reviewing and adding to her notes from yesterday. When she paused, Alice leaned towards her and whispered, "Will my company mean something? Will it make things a little better?"

Lily looked at her, surprised and a tad touched. She knew those words had hurt her too. She, the blood traitor who'd disgraced her family. She, the Gryffindor who dared argue against their beliefs.

She, the girl with a frail smile who refused to wear a mask. Who refused to conform at the expense of others.

She was a different kind of brave, Lily thought.

"Why?" Lily asked her quietly, remembering her frail smile from the train and how close she had seemed to breaking down, "How could you even offer?"

Alice gave a soft, sad smile, "It's because… well, we don't need to fight them, show them they're wrong and prove our worth. It's not our responsibility, not your responsibility. But somehow… I don't think I can be okay until I do. And besides, I want to have the time of my life here. I don't want to let them… take that from me. I don't think you want to either. Am I wrong? Because it's fine, Lily, if I'm wrong," She told her, "You don't need to stay here, put up with all this."

Lily's eyes widened. "No," she breathed, "no, you're not wrong."

This time when Alice smiled, she thought she saw something happy in it, "So, wanna go?"

"Yes."

Lily placed the muggle notebook and pen in her stachel and walked with Alice out the dorms and common room, both holding hands.

They'd have a quiet hour in the library before the classes began for the day.

It was her second day at Hogwarts, but somehow she felt it was her first, and the former had been but a bad dream indicative of something she wanted to fix.

***

"Oh please," Regulus waved him off, "There is no way that's what she meant."

Sirius grinned despite the situation, "C'mon Reggie. Is it really so hard to imagine our darling mother making you the Heir instead of me? I mean, I've never quite been the golden child."

He had a gift for understatement, though their parents' idea of a golden child was a bit disturbing, Regulus thought.

"Mother can't do that, Sirius," Regulus said, "Honestly, did you read those books father gave us on the Wizengamot or just deface them by doodling the Gryffindor crest?"

Sirius had done that once, and Father had lost it. So he did it again. And again. And again.

Really, Regulus should have known that was all he did.

"You wound me, little brother," Sirius said with exaggerated hurt, "Of course I read them. How else was I to know what etiquette and criteria not to meet?"

"How—" Regulus barely stopped himself from calling him irresponsible. It really wouldn't help their situation.

It was tough, though. Even if Sirius didn't care a bit for the Black Family legacy, such power was not something to discard so easily. It could be put to so much use . Good use. The Blacks and their allies together held 25 seats of the Wizengamot, and that was not a number to mindlessly throw away into the hands of someone who could do so much ill.

Maybeit's just the hard Slytherin in you speaking, a voice said to Regulus cruelly, really, this sort of thinking must be why you were sorted in the house of snakes.

He ignored it with the ease of old practice, but it solidified somewhere in his chest, a cold feeling he couldn't shake.

He didn't need to. He was used to it.

"Look, she needs a really good reason to disown you or pass the heirship to me," Regulus said, "You'd have to commit an Azkaban worthy crime."

Sirius raised an eyebrow, "I'm fairly certain I never read that."

Regulus suppressed a smile, "Perhaps mother and father didn't want you knowing that."

"Perhaps," Sirius said. Regulus had expected him to grin, but he seemed lost in his thoughts.

"Anyway, don't worry too much about the letter, Sirius," Regulus said to his brother.

I'll handle it for you, he thought.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Sirius said, "I mean, what's… the worst she could do?"

Regulus stilled, and suddenly in front of him there wasn't a pewter cauldron but Sirius convulsing on the floor, screaming and begging almost incoherently for the pain to stop. The wand trained on him didn't let up. And Regulus was standing in the corner. Doing. Nothing.

His book bag felt ten times heavier, and breathing just as hard. He clenched his fists tightly to regain his bearings.

Thankfully, the soft, almost broken mumble he'd let out went unnoticed by the only other possible witness. He chanced a look at Sirius and saw him staring ahead, pale and glassy eyed, lost in his own memories of the encounter.

Regulus paled further in turn. He couldn't let another one of his brother's episodes start, or his magic would start reliving the physical damage and pain the memory showed had been inflicted on him.

"Sirius," Reg said urgently, shaking the boy.

Sirius' lips were wobbling, and he looked sick.

"Look at me," Reg said, trying to gain his attention and opening his water bottle at the same time.

It happened both suddenly and sharply: Sirius' eyes became hard, and then almost… indifferent. He certainly didn't look haunted, instead eerily calm.

Regulus' frown deepened.

"Sirius?"

"What, Reg?" Sirius snapped.

Regulus took a step back. Something was off. And how had Sirius blocked the oncoming panic attack, again? So much that he didn't look even a mite anxious anymore?

"What did you do, brother?" Regulus asked him gently.

That seemed to blunt some of the harshness that was lining Sirius' face.

"Nothing much," he said idly, before shaking his head as if to clear something, "just a little Occlumency trick father taught me."

What the hell?

"Occlumency?" Regulus said, "What do you mean? You're freaking twelve and you've got to have years of training for that sort of thing. I've never seen you study it before."

Sirius shook his head again, grimacing, "Nah. He just taught me this bit to deal with… the surfacings of my torture, y'know?"

And then he giggled.

Good lord, he's gone mad! Regulus thought. That giggle sounded a bit too much like his mother's for comfort.

"Okay, that's it," Regulus said, grabbing Sirius' arm and steering him towards the general direction of the hospital wing, "I'm taking you to Madam Pomfrey."

"Wha—no!" Sirius said suddenly, yanking his arm away with more bodily force than Regulus could manage and shaking his head in insistence, "You mustn't, you mustn't! That's the whole reason he made me learn this!"

Regulus was now seriously confused, but he wasn't about to let his brother go strutting about the castle with some weird— and probably misdone —Occlumency trick clouding his thoughts and judgement.

"Alright, alright," Reg said coaxingly, "Can you remove it now, whatever Occlumency block you put?"

Sirius frowned, "...Yes."

"Then do it,"

Sirius pouted petulantly, "But I don't want to! I don't feel scared anymore!"

Regulus barely refrained from running a hand through his hair.

More likely it messes with a lot more than just fear receptors.

"Look, you want a…" Regulus cast his thoughts around for ideas, "...a broomstick ride?"

Sirius perked up, "Yes!" And then his face took on a confused set, "But I don't have a broomstick."

"I'll give you mine," Regulus said, thinking back to the rule about first-years not being part of the Quidditch teams, and how he'd gotten a broomstick anyway.

Sirius hadn't.

"Oh. Will you? Siriusly?" Another giggle.

Regulus was getting seriously—siriusly—seriously concerned.

"Yeah, this once," Regulus said, "but you have to undo whatever you did with your Occlumency just now. It's… a requirement before anyone is allowed to fly."

"Hmphf," Sirius complained, but his eyes seemed to go glassy and his body stilled once more.

Regulus watched his statue-like features with concern, and then Sirius was groaning, clutching his head.

"Well, that was one hell of an experience," Sirius said, letting go of his head after a few minutes.

"It was," Regulus said, before suddenly punching him in the arm.

"Hey! What was that for?"

Regulus didn't know, "Why did you scare me?"

"It wasn't intentional, " Sirius sniffed, "And you can thank our father for it."

The minute the words left his lips, he looked like he regretted it.

Regulus stiffened, "What was that about, anyway?"

"I…er, nothing." Sirius said unconvincingly, "It's all good now."

Because I was there, you idiot!

"Look, you can't do that again, alright?" Reg told him, "No matter what it is, don't go around messing with Occlumency without proper training. Who knows what could go wrong. I have half a mind to drag you to a healer to have you checked out right now."

"I know, " Sirius said with some frustration, "Do you think I don't know that? It isn’t that simple! You don't have the whole picture right now."

"Then give it to me!"

"I can't! "

"You can't or you won't?"

"How about a mixture of both?"

Regulus stared at him.

"Okay, how's this:" Sirius asked him, "I'll consult someone who is practised in Occlumency to avoid something going wrong, but that's it. You keep faith in the fact that what I'm doing is necessary, and leave it there. No healers get involved. Alright?"

It wasn't much of a deal, but…

"...Alright," Regulus said wearily, "If you don't mind, I'd like to go to the Slytherin dorms now."

And so saying, he turned around.

"Wait!" Sirius said, a bit sheepishly, "Do you, er, know anyone who is practised in Occlumency?"

Regulus barely stopped himself from facepalming.

"No…? None that aren't cold blooded psychotics, anyway," Regulus shuddered at the memory of some of his parents' friends.

"Yeah, definitely not them," Sirius said, then his voice seemed to brighten, "What about Dumbledore? He did say his office was always open."

And this time Regulus did facepalm.

His mother was going to have an aneurysm.

Well maybe it's better that way, he thought darkly as he turned to give Sirius a considering look before leaving.

After all, there was the reason Sirius needed to do any of this in the first place.

***

James noticed her in the corridors, walking some feet ahead of him towards the next class, and after a moment of hesitation bit his lip and caught up to her.

"Hey, Alice. Do you know about what happened to Peter?" He asked her. Seeing her frown, he said, "I guess not. Could you spare a second?"

She nodded, joining him to the side wall.

"What happened, James?"

"He's… not keeping well. You two seemed close, so I thought you should know," James said, rubbing the back of his head with his hand. 

Something flickered in Alice's eyes, "Not keeping well? What do you mean?"

James shrugged uncomfortably, "I'm not sure he wants it known. He didn't let Madam Pomfrey say… But you can check on him in the infirmary after classes with me, if you want. For support."

Alice nodded slowly, "Yeah, let's do that."

James gave a thumbs-up motion with his right hand, before rushing to join the rest of the students, most of whom were already a staircase ahead of them.

The classes passed by in a blur, and yet there was a soft, beautiful cadence to each one of them that had James staring wide-eyed. Transfiguration was his best by far— his was smooth and almost… Well, not effortless, he did feel a drain on his magic after each one, but it was more like the pleasing ache in the muscles after some exercise.

It felt like flying.Freeing.

Something about the delicate precision and focus and dedication the art demanded from him while still providing him a creative lease reminded him of flying and the pure adrenaline that came with it, and James loved the class, despite having only had the chance to attend it twice now. The theory was fascinating, too, although James would forever stand by how he loved the practical applications more.

McGonagall was a cat animagus, as they found out during their second class when they were discussing Human Transfiguration.

"While humans can only be transfigured while under very specific conditions which you will learn sometime in your third year— not in practice Mr. Featherhorn, stop looking so appalled —there are some other specific types of transfigurations they can undergo. Namely as an animagus, metamorphmagus, or a werewolf." She paused, "An animagus— animagi for plural —is a wizard or witch with the capacity to fully transform into an animal representing their spirit. It is a voluntary act, and there is a long, difficult process to undergo until you are able to achieve such a Transfiguration. We will not be learning this in class, and if I catch anyone in the foolish act of trying this until you're old enough with proper supervision I'll turn you into a mouse and set the Hogwarts cats after you, myself included. Is that clear?"

There was a collective gasp as she turned into a cat.

James was grinning ear-to-ear.

Did he mention how Transfiguration was amazing?

McGonagall turned back, and explained how each animagi had unusual markings relating to their own person. She then went on to talk about Metamorphamagi.

"Metamorphamagi, however, possess the power to change part of themselves— with limitations of course. For instance, they cannot change into a part or whole of an animal, whatever the rumours say. It is a draining transformation initially, and requires cultivation like many other magical gifts. The gift is genetic, however, and not possible to replicate in another unless they already possess it. Metamorphmagi and animagi are one or the other— choosing to cultivate or become one is to discard the potential for the other."

James considered the piece of information as she moved onto Werewolves.

"The main difference between these transfigurations and that of werewolves is that the latter is not voluntary, and werewolves almost completely lose contact with their human mind during their transformation, which occurs every full moon. You'll study them further in Defense Against the Dark Arts."

The students nodded thoughtfully, but nobody dared to whisper. This was McGonagall's class, after all. Their single previous experience with her combined with her Head Of House greeting to the students had shown them that she had little patience for nonsense.

"Now that that discussion is over, everyone may flip to page 12 of their textbooks," Here, McGonagall's lips twitched upwards, "We shall now move from particular incantations to wordless Transfiguration. Almost all transfigurations are so— we cannot have a separate spell for every single possible transfiguration in the world, now can we? We used incantations in your first class only to help you gain the feel of Transfiguration for some familiarity, and as a moral boost, but most such spells with different incantations are categorized as charms. So from this point on, expect it to be mostly wordless. You should not find it as difficult as casting other wordless spells would be— these spells are designed and formed mostly with intent and precision. Incantations are not a value that you must try to substitute, as you may have to when you try to wordlessly stun someone."

Oh yes, James loved Transfiguration.

After class was over, he moved as fast as he could without technically running towards Lily Evans.

She was busy talking to Alice and Marlene and two other girls he assumed were her dorm mates.

"Er, Evans?" He said when she paused, not sure how she would take to him calling her by his first name.

She turned to regard him, "Potter."

"I-" He swallowed. This was harder than he'd imagined, especially in front of the other girls, too. Then again, the apology meant little if he wasn't willing to say it in public, "I wanted to apologise for the things I said on the train. I thought about it— really thought about it —and realised you were right. I made a mistake by judging Slytherin House like that. Some of those people are terrible, but they are the ones who deserve my frustration, not the House in general. I really am sorry. What I said was uncalled for. I realise that… it made me quite a bit like those bigots."

Evans looked at him hesitantly for a second, as if gauging his sincerity, before smiling with her full face, eyes crinkling.

James thought it looked beautiful, that smile— it reminded him of his aunt, ever bright, ever forgiving, and yet determined so that it could turn dangerous if the situation demanded it.

He lost her to mysterious circumstances.

"Well, that's good to know," she said, still smiling that beautiful smile.

"So, things are fine between us?" James said, a little overwhelmed by the sudden reminder of his aunt.

"Yeah, I think so," Evans said, "so long as you stick by those words."

James nodded in acknowledgement before leaving for the next class.

Which was with the Slytherins. Which included two particular students who, he knew, he also owed an apology to.

And it was also flying.

"Line up," Madam Hooch said crisply, her yellow eyes like a hawk.

Some thirty or so brooms were lying in neat lines on the ground. James was not to bring his own to class, as it gave the children with one an unfair advantage in class. He was only supposed to use it when his free times coincided with when the pitch was available.

Something which he hadn't done yet in anticipation of his first flying class. He hadn't had formal tutoring— only what his father had taught him.

His father.

There was a painful clench in his chest everytime his mind went down that trail of thought, but he ruthlessly pushed it away.

It could wait until he was in the air.

James glanced down at his broom. It was a little damaged and worn, with some of the twigs sticking out at odd angles, but nothing he couldn't make do with so long as the charms on the broom were intact.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," Madam Hooch called loud enough for everyone to hear clearly, "and say 'UP!'"

They shouted as one, "UP!"

James's broomstick shot into his hand at once, but surprisingly it was one of the few that did.

Even several purebloods who should technically have been familiar with brooms had trouble commanding new, broken brooms.

James arched an eyebrow, but said nothing. He knew his control over broomsticks was almost considered unnatural. Instead, he moved closer to his partner— and wasn't he surprised to see it was Evans? —and asked her to sound more comfortable as she said the word. She blinked at him, before saying UP again, this time considerably more relaxed. The broom twitched.

"Not that relaxed," James suppressed a laugh. She sounded like she was talking to her mother while in an embrace.

She repeated it, this time with just a hint more of command, and the broom jumped up into her hand. She stared at it, a pleased smile overcoming her face.

"Thanks," she said.

"No problem, Evans," He said, and seeing that the partner on his other side had gotten it too, he went back to his original position.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off at the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. James thought he saw a pleased smile grace her features momentarily when she passed by him, but that was probably wishful thinking. She corrected Evans slightly before moving on.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, all of you will kick off the ground hard," she said, "Remember to keep your brooms and yourself steady, and only rise a few feet before coming back straight down by leaning forward slightly. Ready? Three—two—one!"

James gently flew up, hovering the few feet she'd permitted, although he longed to soar through the skies. Perhaps he shouldn't have waited for this class and flown earlier.

"P–Potter," came a panicked voice from beside him— the side opposite Evans.

He leaned slightly to his left, and the broom glided towards Alice Carrow.

"Alice? What is it?" He said, making note of her frightened expression, "You're doing fine—"

"Not me, dammit!" She hissed, "It's-I can't. My bag. I need my bag."

What?

It wasn't wise to have her up in the air so panicked, "That's fine, let's get you down to it, alright?" He looked at her trembling hands, which were unsettling the broom.

He asked her to grab the front of his broom, then did the same with hers. It was something his father had done once, when James had had trouble getting down.

"Okay, now gently lean forward," James said, noting in his peripheral vision that Madam Hooch was slowly moving towards them. Whether that was because she recognized that James knew what he was doing or because she didn't want to startle Alice, James didn't know, but he suspected both.

Alice did so, but James saw the trembling increase and sweat build up on her nape.

"Alice, it's fine," James said gently, "You're doing well."

Alice shook her head sharply, "No, I– Just get me to my bag. Please."

James frowned, but aquiscened, slightly increasing the speed with which they descended down.

Once they were down, Alice, with admirable self-control considering how badly she said she wanted her bag, slowly made her excuses to Madam Hooch before going to her bag 'for a sip of water.' But James saw her shrink it and place it in her pockets.

Perhaps it was some form of emotional support?

When she rejoined them, the look on her face stopped him from asking.

After that, he saw her do the same movements with her broom again without the trembling, and she did well, just as he had said. James didn't press the topic, and everyone, one by one, managed to ascend into the air.

Once she'd analysed them all, Hooch gave some of them permission to fly with some more liberty while she helped out the others, and James took the chance gratefully.

The air pressed against him, so he changed directions for the fun of it and did a couple of rolls. Dips weren't allowed yet, but he did whatever else he was given the permission for. He could do the rest later, without unnecessarily demanding Madam Hooch's attention, no matter how inviting such an idea seemed at times.

Once class was over, he pinned down Regulus Black and Severus Snape, who were maintaining considerable distance from the rest of the Slytherins, seemingly embroiled in their own discussion.

"I think we've got a shadow, Severus," Black said with a smile the moment James came into hearing range.

"Do we? I wonder why," Snape said dryly, and James didn't miss his derisive snort.

"Snape, Black," James greeted, "I wanted to apologise for my rude words at the train. It was both uncalled for and wrong. I wanted you to know I don't intend to hold your house against you, or anyone. I really am sorry."

He saw the surprise flicker in Snape's face, but Black just smiled knowingly.

"Apology accepted from my end," Black said, inclining his head, "No hard feelings, Potter. I do hope, though, that you can pardon me if in the future we ever cross paths and I seem on the wrong side."

James didn't know what exactly to say to that, so he just gave a nod.

Snape assessed him for a moment, eye glittering with some emotion James couldn't name.

"It's… fine, Potter. So long as you stick by your words," He said finally.

It struck James how similar his wording was to Evans'.

"Always," James said with a smile. It was what his father would have said.

Snape nodded, before setting off with Regulus.

James went to join the rest of the Gryffindors, feeling somehow ten loads lighter and twice as strong.

He hoped to sleep soundly tonight.

Three hours in, and he woke up gasping as the image of his father's smile slipped away.

***

Saturday dawned bright and clear, and the children, happy to have a respite from classes despite enjoying them, roamed the grounds and corridors freely.

A boy dressed in green and silver sat in his room, however, writing a note while holding back a grimace.

Dear grand—

The paper was crumpled and thrown. The boy took a deep breath, and tried again.

To Kaylee Pettigrew, of House Pettigrew,

The Exalted House of Deventier wouldn't work as an address, given the boy had no idea if she'd claimed that status. He thought he would have to check that, sometime.

It was not only in the dungeons that a child felt that they might have tasted something dangerous but decided to have it anyway. In the third tallest tower of the castle, nested in books borrowed from the library and some from home, a girl dressed in an Indian kurta fidgeted with her sleeve.

She took a deep breath, and set off towards the Defence Classroom.

Down by the grounds, a wolf rested within a boy, slowly counting down the time till he could rise and have his way with the delicious , delicate beings around him.

By that boy stood another with windswept hair and round frame glasses, grinning and reassuring him that he was getting enough sleep.

Some ways off, a girl with auburn hair flowing in the wind assured another of the same. Her friend accepted it, unlike the boy, for she had a heavy weight in her book bag that was slowly eating at her herself.

Two Slytherins sat by the lake, grudgingly becoming friends and sharing highly tempered stories of their past. A Gryffindor watched one of them, a strange longing in his chest. A girl with a blunt tongue and observant eyes distracted him, surprising herself. She reminded herself that she'd received no letters from home, no update on her mother's condition, so it was excusable to act a bit out of character in her sadness.

An ancient wizard with half-moon spectacles looked over the grounds and then the clear sky above, thinking of blood red eyes and how long this delicate peace was going to last.