Red by rockinfaerie
Red by Rockinfaerie
Final Festivities, Part Two: Fireworks
Murky water lapped against Sirius Black’s heels as he knelt down, the damp twigs of the lakeshore crunching beneath his knees. There, he poised his soaked wand above the wick of an impatient Filibuster, and turned to grin at the crowd around him as they collectively inhaled in anticipation. Then, backing lightly away into the large circle of students that surrounded the stack of compressed explosives, he rubbed his hands gleefully, watching the firework begin to fizzle.
“Filibusters never disappoint,” he told his best friend happily. “Just like you, mate.”
James laughed. “Thanks. And I’ll hold you to that remark, Padfoot.”
The Filibuster gave a sudden jolt and spluttered golden sparks, before zooming upward with a whirl of red to the sound of loud cheering from the crowd. With a severe right turn it sped across the lake, where for a moment it paused, frozen in time, before bursting into an array of red and gold flecks in the black night sky. These sparks tumbled downward, expanding like a glorious hand stretching itself out to catch an enormous, invisible snitch.
James grinned as he watched, and felt the warm, tingling manifestation of a recent Firewhiskey in his chest, accompanied by a pleasant drowsiness which pacified the pumping adrenaline that had rushed through him since winning the match.
Somewhere in the distance he heard Peter’s raucous laughter among the excited, victorious throng of people, and felt Sirius clap his arm around his shoulder as they manoeuvred their way through a crowd of giggling third years, Sirius stumbling slightly.
“I’m free,” Sirius chuckled, turning to shake his head in disbelief and raising a bottle to the blazing sky. James had never seen him happier, yet he looked down, flicking a piece of dried mud off the front of his scarlet Quidditch robes with his finger, in the hope that Sirius would not see his sudden glum expression.
“Poor Alphard,” his best friend continued, looking at the dark grass and steadying himself, his hair falling into his eyes as he steeped his right hand into his pocket, the bottle hanging from his left. He grinned, gazing at the sky again, his face bathed in a flash of red from the Filibuster above them. “I think I’ll miss him.”
James said nothing. He knew that the cause for his friend’s euphoric mood had little to do with the bottle of mead he had just devoured, or even the Gryffindor Quidditch victory.
Early that morning James had, of course, been in the Gryffindor changing room, preparing his team for the final. Sirius was always welcome there, but he had not expected an interruption from him at that time of the day, and had been surprised by Sirius’ appearance at the old steel door. He had looked out of breath, as though he had run all the way from the castle without stopping, and wasted no time before telling him, half-cheerily, that his uncle Alphard was dead.
He had pushed Sirius’ words from his mind as he walked out onto the Quidditch pitch to loud applause “ and booing from the Slytherin side “ but now, he felt that he had little to captivate his attention in the same way a Quidditch Final did.
From his pocket Sirius pulled out a small, rectangular cardboard packet, and flicked it open with his thumb. Both young men began to walk up the sloping lawn to another group, away from the lakeside fireworks and Peter’s jokes. Sirius placed a cigarette in his mouth, winking at a blonde girl who had smiled at him as they passed. He offered the packet to James, but he declined.
“Why, who do you have lined up for tonight?” Sirius asked. “I know you don’t like the idea of tasting like an ashtray…”
It had been common practice in their earlier post-match parties that James would snog at least one girl in celebration of his victory (and in such cases commitment was rarely an issue), but James felt that he had moved on from those immature evenings. Besides, in spite of the hopeful smiles that he had received from a variety of female faces on the lawn that night, he felt no inclination to near any one of them with his.
“No-one,” he replied.
“Lily Evans is a “someone,” not a no-one, James,” said Sirius, as a teacher would correct a dim-witted student.
“Is she here?” he asked hopefully, realising that he had not seen her.
“Of course! Why wouldn’t she be?” Sirius exclaimed, quickening his pace and gesturing to the large group of older years. “Sitting near Remus, I believe, by that fire we conjured up earlier”
“Oh.”
“Oh?” Sirius repeated quizzically, a curious expression forming on his face. “Full steam ahead then, or do you have other plans?”
“Sirius,” James said exasperatedly, vaguely accepting a bottle of mead that was pressed at him as they passed through a crowd of female fourth years. “I think she explained herself coherently enough some time last year “”
“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” Sirius interrupted warningly, looking at the mead in James’ hand. “Fourth year girls, love potions, Quidditch Captains… it could get messy.”
“Yeah,” said James, turning his head to look at the group of giggling girls, and back at the bottle in his hand. “We shouldn’t let it go to waste though…”
“Who do you have in mind?” queried Sirius.
“Philip York,” James replied immediately.
“I have no idea who he is.”
“He’s the most idiotic fourth year I have ever encountered,” he explained as they walked on. “I heard him telling his friends last week that I hadn’t selected him for the team this year because Lily Evans fancied him.”
“So you’re jealous.”
“Ha!” James laughed derisively. “She’s two years older than him, and he looks like a stretched goblin “ not bloody likely.”
“Why didn’t you hex him then?” asked Sirius curiously.
“With the threats McGonagall made? I’m not insane!”
“Fair point,” Sirius declared, turning left to go to the tall oak tree.
“And he’s a rubbish flyer,” James continued. “I wouldn’t care if he looked like Alguff the Awful if he could fly well “ but he flies like an intoxicated Acromantula “ limbs flailing everywhere “ and that was long before I had even contemplated hexing him.”
“You should have let him fly!” cried Sirius with a bark of laughter, James following him to the base of the oak, where, among the tangled roots and flowers, Sirius had placed a large crate. “It would have been highly entertaining for all concerned.”
James nodded, his mood lightening at the thought. Sirius bent down, and with a swift glance around him to detect eavesdroppers, whispered the password, the lid of the crate lifting off easily. It contained all the alcoholic beverages that could be obtained from Rosemerta without staff knowledge, but it remained out of bounds for the younger years, more out of the older years’ feeling of entitlement than a wish to protect them from drunkenness.
“So do you agree that York deserves a slobbery, desperate fourth year?” James asked, as he stood, looking over the slope of lawn at the group of chattering girls.
“Most definitely,” said his best friend, rummaging for several moments before finally extracting several cold bottles of mead. “Here,” he said, throwing him one, which James caught in his left fist without even thinking.
“Is it safe?” he joked, pretending to examine the label.
“Yep,” said Sirius cheerily. “Unless Rosemerta’s been toying with them, that is, but I doubt it.”
James smirked as he opened the bottle, holding it away from him as the white foam spilled over the brim, soaking his fingers and falling onto the grass.
“I wouldn’t put it past her. Don’t know what she sees in you, mind “”
Sirius heaved exaggeratedly, his arms hugging an assortment of drinks into his chest as he sauntered past, but he grinned, tilting his head towards the group ahead of them.
“Come on, Prongs. Evans won’t wait forever.”
James sighed. “Look, just to prove my point, I’ll take you up on your earlier offer,” he said, pointing at the shortening cigarette in Sirius’ mouth.
Sirius gave a sly laugh, the bottles clinking as he walked. “No way, Prongs. It’s detrimental to your health, and she won’t like the taste of it.”
James shook his head, pushing his hand irritably through his hair as he reluctantly followed Sirius into the gathering of his fellow students.
They were clustered around the large fire that he and Sirius had conjured hours earlier, and as they approached it James could feel its heat against his face. Here and there he saw groups sitting and chatting, while others talked animatedly, re-enacting incidents of the match. The fireworks were far more recurrent now, and every few moments these people before them were illuminated with red and gold rushes of light.
James was greeted with loud cheering and quips as they entered the throng, and his peers quickly burst into an enthusiastic rendition of a song he had heard from the stands that day, Sirius joining in loudly in front of him. The students sitting on the ground smacked the palm of James’ hand with theirs in elation as he passed, and when Sirius handed out the bottles of mead he was met with similar fervour.
He spotted Remus at the opposite side of the gathering, sitting with his legs crossed in the long grass beneath a familiar old beech tree. When James reached it he promptly sat down in the empty space beside him, watching Sirius offering a bottle of mead to a pretty fifth year.
“He’s in high spirits tonight,” Remus chuckled.
James nodded, taking a sip of mead. “In more ways than one, I’d say.”
“Well, he has as good a reason to celebrate as you do,” Remus mused, picking a leaf up from the ground and tearing it into two green halves.
“Probably better.”
“I had no idea what had gotten into him this morning,” Remus began, settling back against the worn trunk. “When the owls flew in over breakfast, he caught a letter, ripped open the envelope and he just... stared at it. Worm and I asked him what it was, naturally, but he just got up and sprinted out of the hall to find you.”
James grinned, lying back into the grass to stare up at the celebrating scarlet sky.
“He interrupted my pep talk,” he recounted. “It was beginning to gain momentum when Sirius burst in to tell me, and I had just been about to tell Chameli Lal to watch the tail wind on her broom.”
He sat up suddenly, seeing the third year Chaser, who had turned from her cluster of friends at the sound of her name. “You did brilliantly anyway Lal,” he called sincerely, and she smiled and waved, her own Quidditch robes spattered with the mud of the stadium.
“And then,” James continued, turning to look at Remus’ amused face, “He announced to the whole team that Alphard was dead.”
“I’m sure they appreciated that,” Remus replied, watching a stream of Filibusters whirl through the night.
“After a minute I realised why he looked so delighted, “ I mean “ he didn’t seem very sad or anything, even though he always said that Alphard was his favourite uncle.”
“Did you ever meet him?” Remus asked curiously, dropping the torn leaf pieces to the ground.
“Only once,” James said, staring at the unopened mead bottle he had placed upright, between the roots of the beech. “Last summer. He clearly wasn’t in great shape, even then. He was a bit too fond of finding reasons to celebrate, I think. Cracked jokes all the time, though.”
The leaves above them swayed softly as he remembered the ruddy faced, decrepit man he had seen. Remus nodded, reaching for the bottle beside him.
“Don’t touch that!” James said suddenly, grabbing it from friend’s grasp, which instantly released it.
“Why?” Remus asked, sounding both surprised rather hurt.
James sat up straighter, putting it away from him and out of his friend’s reach. “It’s been spiked.”
Realisation dawned on Remus’ pale face, and he grinned. “One step ahead of the fourth year girls, I see.”
“Well I have to be, don’t I?” He said, looking across at Sirius and raising his hand expectantly, and Sirius, resurfacing from his endeavours with the fifth year girl, smiled and immediately flung an unopened bottle towards him, which James caught effortlessly.
“Have this,” he said, handing it to Remus.
“Thanks, Prongs,” he said, and the drink hissed as he opened it.
James sank back into the comfortable grass again, and between the thick branches of the beech tree he returned his gaze to the fiery sky.
“So with the money Alphard left him,” he heard Remus discern through sips of mead, “Sirius is free from his parents.”
“He said he wants to get his own place, as far away from them as possible.” James said, rolling over onto his side and deriving as much comfort as he possibly could from the ground. “I mean, that’ll be great,” he continued, “but I liked having him at my house.”
Though James was confident that he had kept the sadness out of his voice, he knew that Remus had a penchant for detecting the moods that he usually intended to hide from others.
“I suppose everything is different now,” James continued lightly, swirling the bottle about in his hand. He looked up at the reddened stars, trying desperately to regain the happiness he had felt only moments before.
Before Hogwarts, he and Sirius had not known each other. Perhaps, had James lived in London all his life, they would have become acquainted at an earlier stage, but before the war, Godric’s Hollow had been James’ home.
There, and throughout his childhood, he had been allowed more freedom by his aging parents than perhaps he deserved, and given whatever he wished for. Back then, he had been free to roam the expansive grounds of their cottage on the edge of the village, content with the companionship of the winged horses.
It had never been lonely, but his was a childhood that had been surrounded by those much older than him “ his parents, occasionally his uncle, and in the earlier years a kindly nanny “ but rarely children of his own age. He did not recall experiencing bouts of longing for a sibling, but he had always thought it would be nice to have someone to share his discoveries with.
When he came to Hogwarts and met Sirius, it was as if they had always known each other. He had been quick to learn how much Sirius disliked his family of Slytherins, and his residence at Grimmauld Place. He had heard stories of how mean his mother was to him, how indifferent his father was, and how trapped he felt in his myriads of conservative and bland relatives.
James’ father had never held Mr and Mrs Black in high esteem, but came to regard Sirius and his rebellious streak very highly. And so the eldest Black son came to stay with the Potters each summer in Godric’s Hollow, and finally James had a brother, and came to realise what had been missing in his life up to that point.
Those times accounted for some of his favourite memories: sprinting through coarse grasses to the old, crumbling manor; climbing up the sparse trees in search of something they had not yet seen; wading upwards through the marshy stream, thoroughly soaked but exuberant; and boldly fighting their way through fierce, thorny bushes as they descended the gradual, heathery slopes; inventing stories by the fireplace in the cottage, listening to the powerful wind as it swept across the moor like a reckless, unstoppable flier.
Then, with the War growing worse and worse each year, they saw less and less of Godric’s Hollow, and by fifth year his parents had moved to London permanently, as it was in closer proximity to the Ministry, where Mr Potter had been a senior advisor. The cottage was left, “to be saved for better times,” as his father had said, and James had not seen the old building and the beautiful land since.
He missed it sorely.
Now with Sirius financially independent and ready and willing to buy a place of his own, he wondered if, without Sirius, the narrow townhouse in London with its cold, empty rooms and small, bare garden could ever be called home.
“Prongs, it’s not as though he won’t let you stay with him!” came Remus’ optimistic voice, and James smiled at the reassuring words of his sensible friend.
“I know “ and I can’t wait to see what he buys,” he said, the grass tickling his neck as he settled back into it, and feeling the happiness he had felt shortly before return. “Undoubtedly something that will go against every grain of thought present
in The Noble House of Black.”
“So this is where you went,” came Peter's jovial voice, and sure enough, it was his generous outline that was silhouetted against the sky when James looked up. “I couldn't find either of you down by the lake.”
He seemed out of breath, but he was beaming, a bottle swaying from one hand and a handful of Filibusters in another.
“Are you coming back down?” he asked hopefully.
Remus nodded, leaning his hand against the tree and standing up, taking his mead with him. He looked expectantly at James, who made no move to rise from the grass.
“Coming, Prongs?”
“In a bit,” he answered. “I'm waiting for my balance to return “ mead and Firewhiskey do not make a good combination.”
Peter nodded, somewhat dejectedly, as he turned to go down to the lake with Remus.
“Wait, Worm,” exclaimed James, taking the enchanted bottle from the ground beside him, and held it up to his friend when he turned around. “Bring this to Philip York, but don't say it's from me, and whatever you do, don't drink it.”
Peter grinned and nodded, not questioning the effects this would have on York. He always said that he liked to be surprised when it came to James and Sirius' tricks on others, and though the amount of these had dwindled over time, he was still always up for a laugh. Of course, he was still often on the receiving end, but he always bore it well, with his good sense of humour.
“See you in a bit then,” said Remus, and James watched them run down the slope together towards the lake, Peter letting out whoops of excited laughter, Remus chuckling good-naturedly alongside him.
The night, which had descended swiftly hours before, should have by now fully accomplished its usual task of steeping the world in black. But the fireworks mocked it; they were the voices of defiance from the ground, loudly calling a proud victory and momentarily thwarting the oppressive and inescapable hours between sunset and sunrise with intermittent flashes. Determined, they raced headlong into the unknown, expansive sky, streaking upward to brighten it in a single second; with death, they generated an impressive spectacle of defiance to the tyrannical darkness, commanding attention like nothing else.
James stretched out his arms and closed his eyes, blocking out the immense dizziness that had been brought on by drinking the mead too soon after Firewhiskey. He could feel the swelling heat of the fire close by, and the red bursts of lakeside fireworks penetrated his closed eyelids. As he often did after matches, he felt that he was flying again, even while remaining stationary in the grass. The red lights became the scarlet blurs of his team mates as, with an inward grin, he travelled back to the match, to the cheers and gasps of the crowd, to the Quaffle darting between him and Sadhbh and Chameli, the saves of Barry Ryan and the defeated Slytherin faces at Rory Stone’s capture of the Snitch…
“I see you took my place.”
James’ eyes flashed open.
As they readjusted to the dark night air, which, apart from the fleeting skyward blazes was lit only by the flickering bonfire, he looked past the clustered silhouettes of his classmates and to the slim figure standing before him. Her school robes were wet and creased, as though they had been taken for a wade in the lake, and her long, dark red hair was swept over one shoulder, gleaming in the light of the brilliant flames. Her arms were crossed, but he detected some degree of amusement on her pretty face as she turned her head to one side impatiently.
“Well?”
“Hello, Evans,” he said, as pleasantly as he could, realising with some vague degree of embarrassment that he had been staring at her.
“Hello, Potter,” she replied, equally pleasantly.
James sat up, his hand brushing away the small twigs that had clung to the back of his Quidditch robes, and then shrugged, gesturing to the empty space beside him.
“There’s room for both of us.”
She looked somewhat suspiciously at him as she sat down, but seemed adequately content to stay there. James glanced over at Sirius, whose attentions were now totally focused on the fifth year girl he was with, and was therefore incapable of acknowledging who had just sat down beside his best friend.
“You played well,” she said, and when he looked up James saw that she was smiling.
“Thanks,” he replied, not bothering to hide his amazement that she of all people would admit it. He wondered if she had come here expecting to find Remus; they had, as both were prefects in the past year, become quite friendly “ but Lily didn’t seem to notice his absence.
“Why the war-paint?” she asked curiously, settling back against the smooth silvery bark of the tree, her elbows pressing into the earth, surveying him closely with her green, wide-set eyes.
“Oh, that,” he said, suddenly remembering the two horizontal red streaks painted across both of his cheeks. “It was Rory Stone's idea.”
She nodded, raising her hand to her hair and smoothing it over one shoulder again.
A lone firework suddenly exploded in the branches of the beech tree above them, and red and gold sparks rained down on the gathering of students, the air filling with shrieks of delight. Lily laughed, her hand outstretched, the shimmers pouring onto her palm.
James felt an excited burst of adrenaline in his chest, resurfacing above the alcohol-induced drowsiness, and his heart pumped energetically when he looked away from her and at the flashing sky. He was seized with an urgent, tremendous desire just to be with her, and everything unrelated to this abandoned his mind completely.
The bang that had erupted through the balmy summer trees brought a rapid trail of moths from the forest, flapping their wings against the tips of the leaves and creating a light breeze as they neared the glowing fire.
Feeling strangely terrified, yet also compelled, to look at her, James cautiously directed his eyes in her direction. Now, the red and gold sparks were dancing through her fingers and onto the grass and broken twigs beneath them. Resting her head on her elbow, her white shirt collar crooked against her wrist, and her tie slung casually about her shoulders, he saw her watch the last vibrant sparks closely, as they disappeared into the ground. Somewhere in the distance, he heard Sirius’ loud, bark-like laughter; he sounded a million miles away. Lily brushed a strand of hair away from her face, before looking right up at him.
“Why does he laugh so much?”
“Sirius?” he heard himself reply. “He laughs at everything. I think the world could end, and he’d still find some deal of hilarity in it.”
His own voice seemed as distant as Sirius’ laughter. He was barely conscious of speaking “ this odd, intense, uncontrollable feeling had overwhelmed him completely.
“You know, for ages in first year, I thought you were brothers.”
“Well, I suppose we sort of are,” he said, jolting slightly at the sound of her voice, trying with great difficulty to assume a normal expression when he felt as though Peter had released a Filibuster inside him.
“Do you think it is?” she asked quietly.
“Do I think what is?” he asked her, his heart and head pounding rather uncomfortably.
“The world,” she answered, looking off into the blazing night and pulling a handful of grass from the earth. “Do you think it’s ending?”
James sat upright, closing his eyes to a rush of dizziness and shaking his head. He felt the firm ground beneath him and the heat of the blazing fire, and gradually he found himself able to put his mind in order. Slowly, he opened his eyes to see her looking at him inquisitively from the grass.
“Why are you asking me if I think the world is ending?”
“Because you suggested it,” she said, her eyes widening, as though it was obvious.
He thought for a moment, sitting back and sighing. He knew this was not some vague question on her part “ she was speaking about the War that currently dominated everyone’s thoughts, in some form or another. No-one, no matter which side they were in support of, knew what the future would hold, but for them it seemed bleak.
In one year the situation had worsened enough to make people envious of the former. There were widespread massacres of Muggle villages; defenceless against the powers of Dark Magic, they had become the recreational prey of the Death Eaters. Whole families had been slaughtered in their beds, Muggle and magical alike, and all the time Wizard families were leaving, fleeing the jeopardy of their own homes. James’ own class had dropped in numbers, and even at this gathering he could name at least twenty people who should be present, but who had left Britain with their families for presumably safer havens, either on the continent or even further abroad.
It had never been vocalised, but James worried, as he knew others must, that between leaving Hogwarts at the end of this month and returning next September, there was a very high chance of some of his own classmates being killed. As sickening a thought as this was, he could not help thinking that perhaps tonight was the last time they would all be together, laughing about nothing and running without being chased, cheering and singing for no reason other than to hear the sound of their own voices.
“Don’t be so pessimistic,” he said loudly, more to himself than to Lily.
“That’s one answer,” she decided, with a shrug of her narrow shoulders. She frowned, examining one end of her striped tie. “You think I’m a pessimist?”
“No,” he replied, lying down on his side to look at her. “I just don’t want it to end, so maybe it won’t happen.”
“You’re being presumptuous,” she said, smiling again, and another red flash in the sky illuminated her lovely face.
“You always say that.”
“I said it once.”
“Yeah,” James laughed, inclining his head upwards. “And we won the Cup, didn’t we?”
Lily raised her eyebrows and then grinned, throwing the handful of grass at him.
“I’m a realist,” he declared, and running his hand through his hair he pulled out several green stalks and threw them back at her. “And don’t deny it “ you just told me I flew well, and you’re like McGonagall when it comes to complimenting me.”
“So you think that if you want something enough, you’ll get it, and that’s being realistic?” she asked shrewdly, narrowing her gentle eyes.
“It’s what I’ve been raised to believe, I’m afraid.”
“But if…”
“If it all ended now, I couldn’t be more dissatisfied,” he concluded meaningfully, looking at her directly.
She smiled broadly, and the loud whistling of a firework sped above them, before bursting into a golden shimmers behind her.
“What about you?” he asked her. “And tell me, how could it all end now?”
“Lightning could strike this tree,” she decided, tipping the firm trunk with her finger. “And I think I’d worry that my last conversation had been of very little substance “ other than alcoholic.”
“Hardly my fault,” James said. “How much have you had to drink anyway?”
“Not as much as you,” she laughed.
“I doubt that,” he replied, sitting up. “I’ve had one Firewhiskey and a bottle of mead.”
“That’s all?” Lily asked in disbelief. “Then why do you look so… out of it?”
“You tell me,” he exclaimed.
“I don’t know,” she said, reclining against the tree again and surveying him once more with those eyes. “Have you been struck by lightning?”
He looked away from her and up into the crimson sparks of the sky.
“Certainly feels like it.”
It was only now that he became aware of how close she was to him, and that the space they occupied was rather small. He could see that there were blades of grass and small twigs in her straight auburn hair, and he began to pull them out, one by one. She made no effort to deter him; she sat beside him calmly, her chin resting in her hand, her mouth curved in a small smile as she watched him. The crackling flames sent waves of warmth towards them, and less frequently, only when a Filibuster streak burned in the sky, they were bathed in a fleeting red light, and even when these showed to James that there was nothing left in Lily’s soft hair, he continued to search through it.
The thick boughs above them shook as a wind gathered from the lake, the leaves shuddering in their dark masses, and James heard the wings of fairies and the faint cry of an augery in its nest. The fireworks had ceased, and the fire had grown low; it cast long, cold shadows on the leafy ground in front of them. Lily shivered, leaning her head against his shoulder, but immediately bolted upright, looking around the clearing.
“Where is everyone?” she asked.
When James followed her gaze to the empty space around them where, just an hour before, plenty of students had been. He stood, Lily taking his hand and hoisting herself up, before brushing down her robes. James followed suit, and they began to walk, following the distant sound of voices to the lake.
There they found the missing students, who had joined the milling throng by the lakeside. It was clear that the party had wound down; the group, he noticed, had grown much smaller, perhaps totalling roughly forty people. The students ahead were packed tightly together, their backs to them, as if awaiting another firework display.
It seemed also that a change in the weather had been a factor in the reduction of the amount of students; the air was increasingly cold; the wind rose in small dark waves on the lake, and the ends of Lily’s hair blew against his cheek as they came towards the lakeside.
On the periphery of the group James saw gangly Theodore Gardiner, the fifth year Gryffindor Beater, standing with his neck craned over the heads of those in front of him.
He was frowning; his thick eyebrows creased downward, parallel to the red paint on his cheeks, but he looked slightly relieved when he saw James and Lily approach.
“What’s going on Ted?” James asked, half-reluctant to hear an answer.
Theodore smiled weakly.
“Sorry to say it, Jim, but some of your favourite people in the world have arrived,” he replied quietly.
James comprehended and sighed, and with an exasperated glance towards Theodore roughly pushed through the knot of students with Lily close behind him. Emerging on the other side of the group, they saw clearly what everyone’s attention had been directed towards.
A sizeable group of Slytherins, including what looked like their entire Quidditch team, stood before them. Each was dressed in green, either as supporters or players, and there was a very unpleasant stench about their robes. Why they had chosen to make an appearance at their opposing team’s victory party, James could not fathom, but their expressions were worryingly smug for a house that had just been beaten.
He grasped his wand readily in the pocket of his scarlet robes, and joined Sirius, who was looking at the group with a highly amused expression.
“It looks like Gryffindor’s Lucky Number Seven has finally decided to grace us with his presence,” he heard a familiar, very sarcastic voice say.
In the faint wand-light James saw that the reference to the number stitched on his back had been made by the small, stringy figure in front of him. The speaker’s large nose protruded from his shiny face like a beak, between two small black eyes which glinted at him fiercely.
“Snape,” acknowledged James coldly.
“The epitome of cool,” Sirius added, to a burst of laughter from the Gryffindors.
Severus Snape seemed to ignore this remark, remaining motionless, his expression quite unchanged. Beside him the Slytherin captain, Cuthbert Mole, narrowed his eyes angrily, and James realised that these two were probably the oldest of the lot. On closer inspection, he saw that the majority of the green-clad group they were being confronted by was made up of much younger years; many he didn’t recognise at all.
This barrage behind Snape had their arms folded in what they seemed to hope was an intimidating manner, but their childish statures eliminated any cause for concern.
“Enjoying your little victory, Potter?” Snape asked, his tone soft and sardonic, and James glanced back at him, trying to figure out what his agenda was.
“Until you came along,” was his reply, accompanied by sounds of agreement from the Gryffindor crowd.
“Merlin,” Sirius exclaimed loudly, gesturing to the other Slytherins. “Snivelly has henchmen now!”
“What are they Snape, first years?” provoked James, grinning at the sounds of indignation from the group in green.
“Third,” a brown-haired boy retorted viciously.
“Third?” asked Sirius incredulously. “I can’t even remember that far back!”
“Perhaps you were drunk,” Snape condescended, his thin mouth twisted into a horrible smirk.
“Perhaps the memory of you going through puberty is so unpleasant that I have repressed it.”
A roar of laughter from the Gryffindor throng contrasted the Slytherins’ thoroughly aggravated expressions. But Snape’s expression had not changed. It still looked somehow triumphant, and unsettlingly so, as he moved threateningly forward.
“Well as I was saying, Potter, before I was rudely interrupted,” he said, addressing James but glancing at Sirius, who eyed him with a mixed look of amusement and revulsion. “It’s nice to see you’re not… drowning your sorrows.”
Sirius’ face darkened immediately, and the crowd fell silent; for a moment nothing could be heard but the rhythmic lapping of lake water on the shore.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” James asked dangerously, his blood boiling with rage.
Snape said nothing, but the smirk returned, leering at him, knowing that he had touched a nerve. His empty black eyes widened and his back tensed, as if anticipating what he believed inevitable “ the collision between James’ fist and his face.
Twigs snapped beneath his feet as James started forward, his wand drawn, filled with an fervent wish to hurt him like never before, and though he knew that this would only fulfil Snape’s expectations, he did not care. He was stopped, however, too soon in his tracks by a strong grip around his right arm, forcing him backward.
“Don’t,” Remus said quietly into his ear.
James heard the mocking laughter of the Slytherins, and tried to dart forward again, but Remus, in spite of his slight frame, resisted his efforts to even jinx Snape, and prevented him from making any further progress.
But Snape, unlike the rest of his house present, did not seem at all amused. His facial expression was uncharacteristically obvious: it was one of utter loathing, directed not at James but at Remus. Satisfied that he was no longer attempting to break free, Remus relaxed the grip on James’ arm slightly as he looked up, also noticing the hatred radiating from the Slytherin’s sallow face.
“No full moon tonight,” he said in a low voice, running his long fingers through his greasy hair, imitating James’ habit. “What a pity.”
“You mean you’d like to see one?” Sirius asked quickly, before any of the onlookers could comprehend Snape’s remark. He jovially reached for the top of the back of his trousers, to the sound of cheering from the group of girls behind him.
Though Sirius had successfully diverted the crowd’s attention, James saw the deep anxiety in Remus’ face that had been generated by that remark. His friend feared the discovery of his lycanthropy among his fellow students greatly, and it was due to Sirius’ own constant wish to trick or humiliate Snape that the knowledge had been passed to their Slytherin enemy.
He resisted the urge to hex him by recalling that Lily Evans stood close by.
“What exactly brings you here, Snape?” James then asked in a bored voice, having regained control over his emotions once more. “And surely it’s not the prospect of seeing Sirius’ arse...”
The Gryffindors erupted again, and Snape’s eyes shifted away from him with detestation, and back to Remus.
“If it was to find an excuse to get him expelled,” said Barry Ryan angrily, gesturing to James, “it didn’t work.”
“It would have,” Snape snarled, rounding on Remus.
“Piss off Snivelly,” said James, forcefully pushing him away from his friend.
Snape stood very still for a moment, contemplating what he would do next. The younger Slytherins, James could see, were very eager to get away, and James wondered what had been held over them to make them come down to the lakeside in the early hours of the morning. They shifted their feet from side to side uncomfortably, and he saw that Cuthbert Mole was looking annoyed, shivering in the cold air.
One by one, they began to turn around and slowly walk up the slope to the castle, but Snape did not even seem to notice that his group had abandoned him. He stared past Remus towards someone else in the crowd, and then back. Never one to take orders, especially from James, he did not expect that Snape would “piss off” as he had asked of him, and so kept his wand drawn readily.
So it was with a great deal of surprise that he saw Snape turn reluctantly away from them and follow the other green-clad Slytherin students towards the school. He lagged behind, walking awkwardly in that recognisably angular, round-shouldered gait up the sloping lawn, away from the lake and trees.
The Gryffindors heaved a collective sigh of relief; as much as Severus Snape was mocked and taunted by the more fearless members of the group, it was largely acknowledged that he had a great many unpleasant spells at his disposal, and rarely seemed afraid to use them.
“First time he’s ever done anything worthwhile “ pissing off,” said Sirius happily, producing a cigarette from his pocket.
James nodded, but as he did so felt some invisible force rush past him from the direction of the castle, grazing his elbow and colliding with the person next to him. He whirled around to find Remus being flung onto the ground, his face covered with blood.
He cursed, and glanced up to see Snape’s distant figure with his wand raised above his head, running up the steps and into the school.
Ignoring the screams of girls and the panicked voices of boys around him he knelt down beside his friend, who lay outstretched on the grass. He could see by his blinking eyes that he was still conscious, and exhaled a relieved sigh as he took Remus’ arm and hoisted him to a sitting position. Immediately, the blood flowed down Remus’ chin and dotted his shirt collar and tie. James enlisted the help of Sirius and Barry, and together, they pulled him to his feet and moved him as quickly as possible to the fallen log at the edge of the forest, several feet away.
Here, they sat him down, and James caught a Gryffindor scarf that Sadhbh Coolidge, her face painted like his was, threw at him from where it had lain on the grass. This he bundled quickly into his fist and pressed up against Remus’ nose, mopping the blood into the thick red and gold woollen stripes, to see where the incision had been made.
“It’ll be ok, Moony, just relax,” he told Remus, and Remus, his head tilted back slightly and his face half-obscured by the scarf, nodded jerkily, his scared blue eyes glancing from him to the black night sky.
Sirius swore angrily, casting a furious look to the castle.
“Tilt your head back, Moony,” James said calmly, ignoring his best friend, knowing that Sirius, had he not been as disposed to seeing Remus better, would have sprinted up the lawn after Snape and by now would probably have cursed the greasy toad have into Hades.
“Head back, Remus,” he repeated urgently, kneeling up on the log beside him. But Remus seemed deaf to his words, and the blood dribbled freely down his chin. The woollen bundle of material in his fist was scarlet right through, and his hands were soaked with Remus’ blood. His friend coughed, grimacing in pain as he spluttered flecks of red like an impatient firework.
As anxious as he was for his friend, he could not help but acknowledge the increase in his heart rate as he saw Lily sit down on the other side of Remus, gently laying his head down on her lap.
“Thanks,” he said quickly, jumping down from the log and around to him, as Sirius swung Remus’ legs up onto it, achieving a makeshift bed out of the fallen, decaying tree.
Dropping the bloodied, and now useless, scarf to the ground, he scanned around him for something else to cease the flow of Remus’ blood. Then, finding nothing, he pulled off his scarlet Quidditch robes, his skin protesting to the cold night air he was exposed to in only shorts and a Quidditch jersey. With one corner, he wiped Remus’ nose clean, and without hesitation cast a healing spell on the deep split in the skin there.
He heard Lily inhale as the skin joined, the tear woven together like a piece of new cloth. Remus blinked in Lily’s lap, the pain obviously disappearing. His skin was still streaked with blood, reminding James oddly of the Gryffindor team’s war-paint, and James, satisfied that there were no more incisions in his face, uttered a small scourgify spell to clean it. He flung his robes onto the grass, where the normally white number seven had stained scarlet, and sat back on his heels, exhaling with relief.
“I suppose it’s only fair,” Remus murmered, his voice hoarse. His blue eyes were glazed over, still staring into the sky.
“Fair?” James retorted angrily, sitting up straighter. “My team beat the lousy Slytherin one hollow today, and you, of all people, get your nose sliced open “ that isn’t fair!”
Remus simply shrugged.
“Would you rather it happened to you?” he asked vaguely, rising his head off Lily’s knees, flinching dizzily and clamping a hand to his forehead.
“C’mon,” James heard Sirius say beside him. “We’ll go back to the Common Room and finish up the party there. It’s warmer; it’s drier; and it’s not prone to invasion by ugly gits.”
“Wait,” said Lily worriedly, looking at Remus, who had now succeeded in sitting up, rather weakly, on the log. “He needs a replenishing solution.”
“I have some in the dorm,” Remus replied immediately, rubbing his head again. “I’ll be fine.”
“Seriously?” she asked, still looking concerned and not totally credulous.
“He will, Lily,” said Sadhbh convincingly, and she leaned over the log to get a good look at Remus’ face. “This kind of thing can happen a lot during training “ wayward Bludgers and the like “ but Jim always sorts it out for us.”
Lily nodded, but gazed at Remus’ face studiously. Now, the only evidence of his injury was the shocked and rather annoyed look in his eyes, and the dried, rust-coloured blood on his collar.
“You ready to go up, then?” asked Sirius, offering him his arm, which Remus took gratefully, hoisting himself up onto the ground, where he swayed a little before steadying himself. Sirius put his arm under Remus’, supporting him on one side while Sadhbh took the other, and James watched their three backs retreat slowly towards the castle.
“Why Remus?” Lily asked, and when James turned to her saw that she was looking to no-one in particular for the answer, rather just stared at the ground, her long hair hanging over one shoulder and her brow furrowed.
“Haven’t the faintest,” replied Barry, bending down to pick James’ Quidditch robes up from the long grass beside the rotting log. “All I know is that those Slytherins “ and that greasy one in particular “ just like to cause trouble. And I mean real trouble,” he added. “Not just setting off fireworks and drinking the odd pint.”
Lily stared ahead of her, frowning as she watched Remus’ slight figure, supported on either side by the two others.
“And they always descend to the lowest forms of provocation if it means getting what they want,” he continued meaningfully, handing James the stained robes. “And of course, if they want Jimmy here expelled, they'll play dirty, just like at Quidditch.”
James pulled on his comfortable robes, shielding himself from the lakeside breeze.
“Just as well you didn’t attack him though, Jim,” Barry said. “If a teacher had come down, our situation was dodgy enough already “ what with the drink and all.”
“Thank Remus for that,” said James grimly. The guilt of Remus’ unnecessary injuries was more than enough to make him resolve to exercise more self-control next time he was confronted with Severus Snape.
Barry nodded, his scarlet robes swaying in the breeze.
“I suppose I’d better grab the rest of those Filibusters,” he said, looking down to the lakeshore. “We’ll let them off in the Common Room.”
Barry left the log, descending the rough, shadowy slope to the black lake. Hours earlier, the scene had been ablaze with fireworks, but now it was nearly empty; the damp of the expanse of water was creeping into the ground, and few students remained. Lily rose and joined James as they walked, his robes and her skirt flecked with Remus’ blood.
As they ascended the dark slope of lawn the grass moved around their feet, and James looked at her, her pretty eyes fixed on their destination. Then, she glanced up at him and smiled, sending shivers through his ribcage.
“Have you ever thought of being a Healer?” she asked.
“No, actually,” he replied honestly.
“I mean “ you fixed Remus up very quickly.”
“Yeah, but Bludgers and Snape keep me well practised at that.”
She sighed, watching their long shadows, cast by the bright windows of the entrance hall, merge together on the dark grass.
“I used to think I could play Quidditch for the rest of my life” James said, and she looked up attentively. “But that’s impossible these days, especially as the League has folded.”
“Well maybe these days won’t last forever,” she mused, wrapping her black robes around her to dispel the cold that surrounded them.
“A few hours ago you asked me if I thought the world was ending!”
“Well maybe it won’t,” she laughed. “At least, I’d rather it didn’t.”
“I’d like to think that too,” he said watching her pull her hair around her shoulder. “My uncle captained England at the age of twenty-one. I’ve always dreamt of doing that.”
“What was his name?” she asked curiously.
“Same as mine,” he answered, grinning. “I never met him “ he died before I was born.”
“James Potter,” she said, smiling to herself. “So Quidditch runs in your family then?”
“In my dad’s side,” he replied, remembering. “He used to say it skipped him completely though.”
They both fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts, and James realised that for the first time since his father’s death he felt truly happy, just walking beside her, feeling her black robes swish against his red.
“I can’t believe sixth year is over,” Lily said sadly, stopping at the bottom of the steep castle steps and pressing her hand against the stone boulder on top of the pillar beside her. She paused, as though deliberating over what she would say next, before looking back up at him, and he was troubled to see her wide-set eyes saddened.
“I’m not looking forward to the holidays,” she said unhappily. “I have to stay with my sister and her husband.”
“Your have a sister?” James asked, surprised at this new piece of information. He had never heard her talk about her home, even before her parents died. Perhaps she thought it too irrelevant for discussion among classmates who were Pure-Blooded, like him.
“She’s much older than me,” she elaborated, placing her foot on the second step. “And not a Witch, if you were wondering. She and her husband live in Surrey, and lead the most boring lives imaginable.”
“To be honest,” she continued, brushing her hair out of her face as she ascended the steps, “I don’t even know her that well. We didn’t really grow up together “ she was away at school when I was small, and I’ve been here for the past six years, so she’s always seemed grown-up to me…”
She stopped, her cheeks reddening and looking slightly flustered.
“I don’t even know why I’m telling you this!”
“I don’t mind,” he told her truthfully, joining her on the step she stood on. “I never had any siblings, but “”
“You said Sirius was like your brother,” she recollected.
“He is,” he said. “But we didn’t grow up together either. I didn’t even know who he was until we came here.”
She smiled weakly, looking down at the lawn, to the trees where they had sat together, time passing over them unnoticed, flowers, twigs and fireworks descending on them both. The forest swayed in time to the lapping lake water and the grey grass whispered; a swift path flattening into it as though a giant hand was caressing it. The stars were sparsely spread across the sky which dominated the world of darkness, allowing for mere dots of light to shine through it.
Lily stared out at it, and as James watched her he realised, as abruptly as a lightning strike hits the earth, that this deep, intense affection for her that he had experienced in recent months was not the result of a vague teenage attraction.
When she turned to complete the fleet of steps that led to the dark oak door he followed, largely unaware of doing so, and as she talked to him on the way up to the Gryffindor Tower about the upcoming exams he barely listened, thinking only about the passionate feeling that soared in his chest whenever he heard her speak.
James’ friends, so helpful in other areas, would not understand this new, at once secretive and forthright emotion that overwhelmed his other senses. Lily was observed with small glances along the corridors, that he both hoped and dreaded would go unnoticed, wondering in a distant panic if she felt the same way.
He was in love with her.
Ok, I know that took ages to complete, but please leave a review - let me know what you think!