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Red by Rockinfaerie
Purple Boils, Disembowelled Toads and Argus Filch
James paused, listening as the sound of Professor Flitwick’s light footsteps faded from the stone corridor. Once assured of the teacher’s absence, he pulled his bag from his shoulder and dug his hand inside, his search stopping as his fingers closed around a familiar, angular object. Smiling, he pulled the old mirror out, and with a hasty glance around the corridor, ducked inside the empty classroom where he had served his detention only moments before. He sat on the desk nearest the door, and placed his bag on the seat beside it. As soon as he was comfortable, he held the mirror directly in front of him.
“Sirius?”
He only had to wait a moment before his reflection was replaced by that of his best friend. Sirius looked as tired as James felt, and his dark hair fell limply about his eyes. It seemed that McGonagall had long ago decided that separate detentions proved far harsher a punishment than otherwise, and, predictably, tonight was no exception. Poor Sirius had been forced to clean the Potions room and to sort its ingredients “ a highly undesirable detention. Even so, he grinned widely at James.
“I see Flitwick let you out early?” he asked enviously.
James glanced at his watch. “I wouldn’t call midnight early, Padfoot. How are the negotiations for your release going?”
“Well, by the looks of those, it seems like I’ll be free roughly… this time next year, I’d say. Sluggy has me disembowelling toads, Prongs. Toads!” he cried, thrusting a lifeless, slimy thing in front of the glass. “I really wouldn’t mind, only for the fact that it’s so clichéd! I must have done this a million times “ perhaps I should tell him to get some new material...”
“Don’t,” James warned him. “Then you really will be there until next year. Where is he now?”
“Doing exactly that “ he’s getting some new material “ more toads in need of disembowelment, from his storeroom.”
“Do you think that could be a profession “ toad disembowelment?”
Sirius laughed. “Someone has to do it, I suppose. Sluggy seems to enjoy it… what would ever possess anyone to become a Potions teacher? McGonagall has gone soft on you “ Flitwick’s nothing compared to this. What have you been doing for the past three hours?”
“Lines, lines, and more lines,” James replied in a bored voice, rubbing his sore wrist. “I’ve been transcribing from some stupid housekeeping book. I can now recite any cleaning, cooking or gardening spell that was in use during the early seventeen-hundreds. Can you think of anything more pointless? I even wrote it then, at the top of the parchment “ “Pointless Exercise” “ I don’t think he’ll even notice!”
“I still say you got a better punishment “ you’re a “lines” veteran! I’m dealing with toads for the next two weeks “ how am I going to cope?”
“I’m missing Quidditch practice, remember? Rory Stone would have hit me if given half the chance. After all those times I told him not to get into fights! So it does look like “ what was it she said “ “an unrehearsed Quidditch final” for me… unless I sneak down during the night…”
“There’s an idea!” Sirius said enthusiastically.
“Padfoot, what in Hades were we thinking, attacking him so near her office?” James asked seriously.
“I know. That was a rare bout of stupidity, on our part. Spur of the moment, I suppose.”
“And Moony was thoroughly pissed off.”
“Gave us a right scolding, didn’t he? As if we needed another. How did he not find it funny?”
“Yeah, what’s not funny about covering Snivellus in purple boils?”
“Even if it is well, less, shall we say… legal than some other hexes?” Sirius chuckled.
James laughed. “It’s not like he hasn’t done it to us before, right?”
“Well, maybe not quite “ I don’t think purple is his thing. Anyway, I have no idea what Moony was howling about “ we were defending his honour!”
“Damn Snivelly, prowling behind us, thinking he can make one of us let it slip… and after months of that, he thinks he’ll get away scot-free if he says, right in front of us “”
“That we only hang around with him because of his “more monstrous qualities” “ as if! Do you think we’d hang out in the Shack for one second “ and do the stuff we've done “ for Snivelly, if he were a werewolf?”
James shuddered. “Never. He’s a slimy, unhygienic prat, and the only courtesy I have to afford him between now and the final is total avoidance. You know he’ll have some trick up his sleeve, just to prevent me from playing.”
“All right, you can leave him to me for the moment. That said, attacking Snivellus is a perfectly amiable way of passing one’s time.”
“So is toad disembowelment in some circles,” quipped James. “Or so I’ve heard.”
“Unfortunately for me,” said Sirius scowling.
“Unfortunately for you,” James agreed grimly.
Thankfully, James did not spend much time in the dungeons any more. He had never taken to Potions as much as he had to other subjects. He had found it a tiresome, boring subject, altogether too formulaic for him. These sentiments, along with Sirius at his side and an abundance of ingredients at their disposal, had led to several interesting experiments, which in turn had understandably led to Slughorn’s immense dislike for both of them, in spite of their respective families’ significance. Even after he had separated them to opposite corners of the room, James was able to escape from the painstaking instruction and methods displayed in the textbooks by doing what he usually did when bored “ drawing. But even this hobby had been abandoned during Potions class with the discovery of an alternative passion “ for Lily Evans.
She was, without a doubt, the best in their class, and initial envy had given way to admiration, and then, in fifth year, to something else entirely. He had watched her carefully, from his back seat beside Remus “ who he had been placed beside in the vain hope that Remus’ quieter manner would rub off on him. He knew he had not been alone in the class in looking at her in this way “ and after her rejection of his proposal to go out with him almost a year before, he had tried to push those feelings from his mind. There were, as his best friend had reminded him, plenty of other girls practically falling over themselves to go out with him. Thus, as she had been the only attractive aspect about Potions, he had promptly given it up for NEWT level “ preferring the more interesting and less intoxicating Ancient Runes as his subject of choice, in spite of the fact that no class was complete without Sirius.
Sirius, though at similar odds with Slughorn, had stayed put, preferring a teacher with whom he was acquainted and a subject that, he believed, gave him the chance to see what Snivellus was up to.
His friend in the mirror sighed loudly.
“It’ll be over fairly soon,” James said sympathetically. “And see if you can sneak some of those toads into your pockets “ we can put them in Snivelly’s dinner “ and when he’s not looking “”
Sirius put his hand up, silencing him. His head was tilted to one side, listening intently. James waited.
“I hear him coming,” Sirius whispered.
“Good luck with the rest of it, Padfoot,” James said quickly, and Sirius grimaced before his face vanished, to be replaced by his own.
James raised his hand in a wave, even though he knew Sirius could not possibly see it. Then he stood up from the desk, opened his bag and stowed the mirror inside. With a quick look around the dark classroom, he slung the bag on his shoulder, and within minutes was striding down the wide Charms corridor towards an old faded tapestry. The staircase behind the tapestry had long been a favourite shortcut of his “ it frequently allowed him and Sirius to evade capture by angry teachers, recently-hexed enemies, and annoying female fourth-years. Careful not to rouse its sleeping inhabitants, he gently pushed it aside. He ignited his wand as he entered the dark, winding stairwell, and began his ascent.
Without the warm company of Sirius, his thoughts retreated reluctantly to the letter he had received from his mother that morning. In it, she had related plans to go to France that summer, and expressed a wish to take James and Sirius along. He was glad that there had been no mention of Lucius, but it worried James that she was completely ignorant of his true nature. Now that he had had time, in the past month, to mull over Lucius’ words in his head, he had concluded that for once, he would have to do as he was told. He did not want to risk telling her, or anyone for that matter, what Lucius was up to behind his perfectly behaved mask. He would never forgive himself if harm came to his mother, and though he had remained obediently silent, a feeling of dread persisted in his chest, and sometimes, during class, he found his mind drift to the day when Dumbledore had summoned solemnly him from the Transfiguration room, and fearfully prayed that it would not have to happen again.
No-one would ever believe Lucius to be in active support of Lord Voldemort “ Death Eaters were usually perceived to be of a lowly, grotty sort, perfectly deserving of a life-sentence in Azkaban. Such dire and violent activity was rarely equated with high-standing, wealthy families of influence, he realised miserably. He had not even told Sirius, though Sirius was one of the few people who knew this wasn’t the case.
And apart from his anxiety for his mother’s safety, was the fact that he missed his father greatly. Somehow, he would have known how best to get himself out of such a situation. He missed his neat, orderly handwriting in his weekly letters, and the newspaper clippings he occasionally sent him. He missed the way he gave advice that James needed, even though he had never been asked for it, or the way he subtly made jokes at the expense of his own peers.
At this stage detention was a very frequent occurrence in James’ school life, but he had felt during this one, for the first time, properly guilty of his offence. He did not feel this on account of Snape “ that, he believed, would never happen. It was for his father, and that request he had issued annually to “behave.” It had rung through his ears during his brief audience with MgGonagall, resounding loudest as she reached for the disciplinary notification slips. He doubted that his mother even had known what they were, he thought bitterly. What distressed him the most, however, was the information in his father’s desk, information he had never divulged to anyone. The lack of a Dark Mark, and the fact that his death occurred on Muggle territory mean that it was not deemed suspicious, but James knew there had been more to it. His father's post had been that of an advisor to the Minister, and not directly connected with the Aurors. Why then, had he been so involved with tracking Voldemort and his followers’ whereabouts? And the feather “ the scarlet plume which had looked so familiar, and yet he could not place it…
Lost in thought, he emerged from the secret staircase, and walked slowly up the corridor which led to the Gryffindor tower. In the high, vaulted window which sidled the passage, criss-crossed by ebony frames, was a cold sliver of the moon hanging cautiously atop the frozen, silhouetted pine trees.
He halted, gazing at it, and rested his elbows on the sill, his chin in his hand. The stars had been erased by the cloudy night, and the thin, white crescent appeared almost afraid to be seen, veiled behind thin streams of smoky mist. He sighed, thinking how wonderful it would be to grab his broom right away and to fly up there, far from thoughts of detention or Lucius or Voldemort or anything else that could serve as an obstacle towards such blissful freedom. He tipped the cold glass with his fingers, and his eyes travelled to the tangles mass of branches that was the Whomping Willow, which stood remarkably still.
“James?”
Startled, he whirled around to see the speaker. She stood several feet away from him, carrying a set of spellbooks in one arm. Her long dark red hair glinted in the weak moonlight, and he could see the soft contours of her pale face. Her mouth was upturned slightly, as though she was smiling, but not quite sure why. He moved away from the window, hoping that he had not looked too foolish, staring at the black night sky.
“Hello, Evans,” he said pleasantly.
“Let me guess,” she said. “You had detention?”
“Well done,” he nodded, though in truth he felt almost ashamed that she knew so easily. “And why are you up at this hour, Evans?” He wondered suddenly if she had been outside by the lake, as she had been when he had returned to Hogwarts “ the vision which had made itself permanent in his mind.
“Detention,” she replied smoothly.
“Detention? You’re joking,” he exclaimed, as they began to walk together towards the tower, but she nodded. “Who with?” he asked.
“Sprout “ I skipped one of her classes yesterday because I needed to finish a Potions essay “ I honestly didn’t think she’d notice I wasn’t there, but she was rather angry that I was “ “giving priority to other subjects” … but at least it’s over now.”
“What did she make you do?”
“Clean the pots in Greenhouse Seven “ without magic. Thankfully I have some experience with that, but really, I think she overreacted; it took forever! What have you been doing?”
“Flitwick had me transcribing household spells and charms that were in use during the seventeen-hundreds “ did you ever want to know how to roast a vermin without cooking the innards? - I know I didn’t!”
“No,” she laughed, looking up at him warmly. “So you’ve been missing training then?”
“Yeah,” he sighed. “We’ll still win though.”
“Isn’t that a bit presumptuous of you?”
“I should hope not,” he said hurriedly, running his hand through his hair, knowing it would stand on end. Then he realised who he was with, and tried, unsuccessfully, to flatten it again.
They walked in silence for a moment, and James stole a glance at her. She walked quickly and gracefully beside him towards the main stairs that led to Gryffindor tower, and she appeared to have retreated into her own thoughts. He knew it was not his own quick pace that made his heart beat the way it did as he walked with her, and that it was not mild exercise that had created the warm sensation in his chest. In the darkness, he saw that her cheeks were flushed slightly, a result, he assumed, of the cold night air in the corridors.
He had tried, on Sirius’ suggestion, to forget these feelings for her, which he had presumed would amount to nothing anyway. But through a short series of girlfriends he had come to the conclusion that most of these girls at school, though pretty and rather funny, were in fact exceedingly dull, only interested in his more superficial qualities. And after each relationship ended, his thoughts had returned to Lily, who was not only both very pretty and funny, but kind, talented, intelligent, and completely dismissive of the fact that he was, among other things, captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. This, far from diminishing his feelings for her, had augmented them, and in recent weeks he, in spite of his family troubles, had found it difficult to keep her out of his mind.
Her robes swished against his as they approached the end of the passageway. In the dim light he could see that she was half-smiling again, and he was just about to strike up conversation again when he froze, putting out a hand to stop her walking further.
“What?” she asked loudly.
He shushed her, and listened again. He was correct “ there were footsteps approaching them from around the corner. They were heavy steps that smacked against the stone floor, accompanied by the sound of robes dragging behind the walker, and light, wheezing breaths.
“Filch,” he whispered, and as he said this the distant footsteps seemed to grow faster, louder, nearer...
James glanced around at the wall beside them “ but it was devoid of doors. Desperately, he looked back at the corridor behind him. It was blank but for a lone portrait of a pale, elegant woman, whose slumbering face was drooped onto her large chest. With a flick of his wand it flew open, revealing a small, dark cavity. The moonlight that surged weakly through the windows flung the caretaker’s shadow on the wall before them, but several feet away from them they saw clearly the skulking shape and large yellow eyes of his awful cat, Mrs Norris.
“What is it, my sweet?” the caretaker asked menacingly, and his words resounded against the walls like a bell.
Without further hesitation, Lily had grabbed his arm and they were racing towards the open portrait. They scrambled inside, and when James shut the picture behind them they were enveloped in darkness. They stayed still, James listening fervently over Lily’s breathing for Filch’s inevitable approach.
His knowledge of the school passageways and tunnels had meant that any encounter of his with Filch had been rare, but each occasion had made a firm imprint in his mind. Filch, for some reason, harboured a great dislike for all students, but most notably James and Sirius, perhaps because of their penchant in their early years for wreaking havoc with the latest joke-shop purchases. Though it had been a long time since those days, Filch constantly seemed on the lookout for them, hoping to punish them once more.
Filch was a strong advocator of capital punishment, and whenever a student’s penalty for rule-breaking was put in his control they usually returned to their dormitories with painful welts on their fingers or shins. Therefore, James was most annoyed that Filch had chosen to appear now, especially as he and Lily had been acting so civilly towards each other. Of course, only in his dreams had he imagined that he might be confined behind a portrait with her, but somehow, that Filch should be prowling outside had never entered his mind.
“If he discovers us,” whispered Lily cautiously, “you know what it’ll look like?”
“Well if he thinks that,” James replied in a low voice, “I should be very flattered.”
She elbowed him sharply in the ribs, and stifling his mirth, he was pushed towards the wall, but was cushioned by his bag.
“I just remembered something,” he breathed, incredulous that he could be so stupid.
“What?” she asked, but James didn’t answer. He was busily rooting through his bag, and reaching to the bottom of it seized something soft and crumpled.
“It’s here!”
“What’s h-”
But they had heard the clunk of a stick against the wall beside him, and she jumped. James threw the invisibility cloak over them just before the portrait opened, revealing the moonlit corridor and Filch’s bulging eyes and disappointed frown.
“No-one’s here, my sweet,” Filch called down lovingly to the cat, which, James assumed, was padding up and down under the door. “It seems we are mistaken…” The caretaker swivelled his head around, his small nose twitching as though trying to sniff out any rule-breakers. Filch held his hand on the open portrait, but did not close it, and began to walk away, down the corridor to where the entrance to the secret stairwell was.
James exhaled, and heard Lily do the same.
“Nice cloak,” she whispered.
“Thanks. It helps to get out of tricky situations, like when Filch is after you and you’re trapped behind a portrait with a member of the opposite sex,” he whispered back.
“It does.”
“But watch out, the cat can still see us,” he said quietly, and, making sure his feet were covered, lowered himself from the portrait-hole. He felt her invisible hand against his shoulder as she climbed down after him, and, ensuring they were still unseen by human eyes, began to walk towards the Gryffindor Tower again. James glanced back at Filch, who had stopped as his cat sniffed around the bottom of a statue. Under the cloak he saw that Lily was grinning at him.
“We’d better hurry up,” he said in a low voice, “unless we want him chasing us again.”
“It’s not too bad, I suppose,” she replied calmly.
“You think? Clearly you’ve never been caught by him, Evans.”
“OH, SO YOU THINK YOU’LL GET AWAY FROM ME THIS TIME, DO YOU?” Filch roared, and they whirled around, James gripping the cloak before it slipped off, trying to come up with some sort of excuse.
But Filch was no-where near them. He was still at the other end of the corridor, screaming at another individual, who, it appeared, had just emerged from behind the statue…
“Sirius,” James realised, and in a flash was out from under the cloak.
“What are you doing?” Lily hissed. “Get back under!”
But he shook his head, and darted down the corridor towards the caretaker, who was gripping Sirius’ shoulder very tightly.
“Thought you could escape, didn’t you?” Filch asked triumphantly, as Sirius stared at him blankly. “Philandering around, was it, with some girl?”
“Unfortunately not, no,” said Sirius, apparently unfazed, but James knew that Sirius dreaded Filch’s office, or “torture chamber” as it was more commonly known, as much as he did.
“A likely story!” Filch spat, and grasping his arm roughly turned to come face to face with James.
“And what’s this, my sweet,” he asked the cat, who looked back up at him, licking its lips. “It’s two brats for the price of one tonight!” He reached out to get a firm grip on James as well, but James avoided his dirty fingernails as easily as he would a bludger.
“Why aren’t you releasing him?” James asked, indicating to Sirius.
Filch seemed quite taken aback. “Because he’s a vandalising vagrant,” he replied through yellowing teeth. “Who needs the worst lashing my facilities can offer. Just like you, you -”
“Really? What have I vandalised recently?” he asked, ducking the caretaker’s arm again. “Do we need a lashing? I’d say we need a cure. It seems for once, the caretaker isn’t right, after all. What are your thoughts, Mr. Black?”
Sirius shook his head, sniggering.
“So we’ll just be off, if that’s all right with you.”
“Merlin, it is NOT ALL RIGHT WITH ME!” He lunged at him again, and James allowed himself to be caught this time. Filch shook him roughly. “Wandering the corridors at one in the morning, thinking you own the place. Brats, the pair o’ ye. BRATS!” His chest was heaving, and James could see the red veins in his eyes, and was forcibly reminded of Lucius.
“Filch, Filch,” he tutted, half-laughing at himself. “Don’t you understand? We’re on our way to the Hospital Wing “ emergency, you know. I believe Sirius and I have contracted an awful illness “ Grumnet. Now see here “”
He lifted up his sweater, revealing his muscular stomach, which was covered in oozing purple boils.
“Not very nice,” he added, prodding one. Filch had released his arm, staring at him with an appalled look.
“It’s also terribly contagious, which is why I suggested that you release Sirius, although it may be too late,” he continued, eyeing the caretaker’s torso in a scrutinising fashion. Filch dropped Sirius’ arm, and Sirius disguised a fit of laughter as a coughing fit, which, far from giving rise to suspicion, only added to the effect of James’ lies.
Filch stepped back and stared at them as though as revolted by their appearance as they were of his.
“So we’ll just be on our way then,” said James, beginning to turn away from him.
“Do you expect me to believe that rubbish?” Filch snarled suddenly, and started at them again.
He would have caught them, if there hadn’t been a deafening crash as the window behind the caretaker shattered, shards of glass raining down on the hard floor. James jumped backwards, and looked up to see a large, gaping hole among the thin ebony squares, and the delicate white moon peered through it, framed by transparent jagged teeth.
Filch spun around.
“PEEVES!” he screamed, and promptly ran around the corner in pursuit of the poltergeist. But Mrs Norris was staring at an empty space just beside James, and he smiled, his heart beating faster as he realised who had helped them out.
“Come on, we’re free to go,” said Sirius happily, beginning to jog along the corridor, and James followed, accompanied, he knew, by a new sort of Marauder. “Fantastic lying, by the way “ he was fit to kill you! But he’s catching on way too quickly these days. Just as well Peeves saved the day, otherwise “ I don’t like to think of what he would have done.”
“Good old Peeves,” James replied, smiling at the space beside him.
“So why are you still down here?” Sirius asked.
“I got diverted, I guess.”
“Did you go down to the pitch?”
“No,” he said truthfully. “I should have, but didn’t. How did the toad disembowelling go? Was Sluggy asking for me?”
“Ha! The toads were fine - they didn’t complain.”
“Good. Merlin, these boils itch horribly,” he said, resisting the urge to scratch.
“Well, you’d better get rid of them if you want even half a chance with her,” Sirius advised cheerily, and James felt the colour rise in his cheeks.
“What makes you think I’d want to keep them?” he asked, feigning curiousity, quickening his pace before Sirius said too much.
“Not that I think she’s shallow in any way,” his friend continued, “but I think, for your own sake -”
“Yeah, yeah, for my own sake,” he said, and stopped, lifting up his sweater again to perform the counter-jinx. The purple boils faded away, and James sighed with relief.
“There,” said Sirius brightly, “I’m sure Evans will fall for you without too much bother!”
James glared at him, and felt his face burn with embarassment. “Her loss if she doesn’t,” he claimed indifferently, his eyes avoiding the space where he was certain she was.
After several long, mortified minutes, they arrived in the Common Room. It was dark; the only light in the room came from the dying embers in the fireplace. It was empty of all other students, and it seemed the house-elves had not yet been - cards and magazines were scattered about the small, rickety tables. Sirius poked a rolled-up edition of the Prophet, and grimaced at the ominous headline and large photograph of a Dark Mark about blazing rooftops.
He then walked briskly towards the stairway to their dormitory. He looked back in surprise to see James, still standing in the centre of the room, looking at the newspaper.
"Are you planning to sleep down here?" he asked jokingly.
"No... I'll follow you in a minute."
"Suit yourself," he said, eyeing the newspaper with a sour expression.
Once he was certain Sirius was not within earshot, he raised his head from the newspaper.
“Still here, Evans?” he asked to the seemingly empty room. He wasn’t quite sure he wanted to see her, but he needed his cloak back. True, he had made no secret of his admiration of her last year, but now, things were different. He did not want the whole world to know his feelings, and though Sirius had had no notion that she had been present, he felt rather annoyed at him for mentioning it at all. He heard a rustling sound beside him as she appeared, and neatly rolled up the cloak before handing it to him.
“Thanks,” she said politely, with no trace of having heard what Sirius had said, moments before.
“Any time,” he replied casually, and actually meant it. “Just… don’t tell anyone else about it, all right?”
“I promise. I’ve never seen one before “ where did you get it?”
He looked down at the treasured item in his hand. “My dad gave it to me, a few years ago,” he said steadily.
She nodded understandingly. James suddenly realised, that if anyone would understand how much he missed his father, she would. It was known throughout the school that her parents had died during the previous summer, in a Muggle accident. In spite of this, she never displayed any anger or sadness, and James wondered how she did it.
The dying fire cast a comforting glow on the room, and she smiled at him again.
“Well, thank you again for letting me use it, James.” She walked away from him, to the door leading to her dormitory, but faltered. “Good night,” she said, looking at him compassionately.
“Good night, Lily.”
When she was gone, he sighed, pulling the cloak towards him. Slowly, he made his way up the dormitory stairs, past the sleeping forms of Remus and Peter, and into bed, his mind filled with her voice, her eyes, and her smile...
There you go, chapter 16, and my, isn't it long! Don't expect chapter 17 for another while now... go on, review it!
Seriously, I do appreciate reviews, so go for it!
I just realised that this fic has gotten nearly 1500 reads - pretty cool, huh?