Sirius
It was hard, I’ve decided, very hard, to take a bath.
This is not a question of my hygiene, but the sanity of my house elf who routinely sticks his ugly snout into the toilet to see if I’m cleaning myself up as well as my mother had ordered me to.
When this happens for the third time, I lose my temper and fling the nearest towel into his face. I mean, Mother makes me use Mrs Skower’s Dirt Removal Wash, for crying out loud. The first time I bathed with it, it nearly got rid of my skin, let alone “Muggle filth”.
I’ve never quite understood my family’s hatred for Muggles. They’re the same as us, apart from the fact that they don’t have a spark of magic in their blood. Once when I was eight, I’d secretly went out of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place to the nearest playground because I was sick of Kreacher’s tutoring. I’d played with a few Muggle children, and they didn’t seem as disgusting as Mother describes them. Their lack of magic (which isn’t their fault, I’m sure” I mean, who wouldn’t want to perform magic?) seemed to be the drive of Mum’s anti-Muggle speeches, which she gives once a day and which my wuss of a brother lap up. And no, it’s not enough that he actually takes the nagger seriously. He has to parrot her, too. I swear, sometimes having Regulus around is like having a mini Mother be your shadow.
Speak of the little wuss. There he is, banging on the door.
“What?” I holler, toweling my hair dry.
“Are you done bathing?” he asks.
After pulling on clothes, I wrench the door open. “Yeah, I’m done. What do you want?”
He looks around him nervously, as if he is about to commit a crime. Dunno why he bothers, though. Mother never scolds him. Neither does Father. Kreacher’s never nasty to him, either. In all of their eyes, he can do no wrong. After making sure that the coast is clear, he gestures for me to go closer and then says in a low voice, “Watch out, Sirius. Mum’s really angry that you threw a towel at Kreacher.”
“It’s not my fault, “I say indignantly. “The sneaky arse was peeping in on me when I was naked, Regulus, naked.”
“But Mum was the one who made him do that. Anyway, what makes you think he wants to look at your scrawny self?” Regulus protests. Have I mentioned that Regulus’ very big on the way we treat Kreacher?
Well, if I haven’t, now you know.
“Scrawny?” I ask indignantly, pointing to my arms. “There’re more muscles here that you’ll ever have on your body, you twig.”
Regulus isn’t fazed. “Whatever. The point is, if you’re angry about that, you ought to take it up with Mum.”
I make a face at the thought of what could happen if I do that. Probably will involve a couple of curses and my yelling.
“Thanks, but I think I’ll pass.”
“Sirius! Just””
“I know, I know! Leave Kreacher alone! The message got through crystal clear, Regulus!” I cry in frustration. “Now leave me alone.”
“We’re supposed to go to the Malfoys, remember?”
“Ah, of course,” I say sourly. Our family goes to the Malfoy Manor at least once a year, because our father and Abraxas Malfoy are colleagues. And each time, Regulus and I are forced to go along, whereas the children of the other colleagues are stripped of this burden. Which means that Regulus and I are left to the devices of the delightful Mr Lucius Malfoy, who prattles on and on about how he, being Keeper for the Slytherin Quidditch Team, has so many adventures and excitement in his life.
Which means that we are in for pure torture.
And this evening it is no different.
Oh, wait, I forget. Lucius Malfoy has just been appointed as Prefect, which means that we are in for purer torture.
“Mum and Dad are waiting downstairs for us,” Regulus informs me.
“What? Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, dashing about the room to get a comb to run through my hair.
“I was going to tell you, but I thought it’d be better to warn you about Mum. Her mood’s pretty foul now.”
When I am done, I grab his arm and sprint down the stairs, where our parents are waiting. They don’t look too happy about the delay.
“Looking messy as usual, Sirius,” Mother says disapprovingly. “Did you not clean yourself up?”
Father strides forward to adjust my dress robes. “Looks fine now,” he says brusquely. “Let’s go, the Malfoys are already waiting.” He grabs my hand and Apparates. We arrive at a pavilion outside the Malfoy Manor, and wait for a few seconds for Mum and Regulus to arrive. Then we walk up the driveway towards the tall towering gates of the Manor.
“Now, remember, be polite to everyone,” Mother reminds. “Sirius, don’t use that dull-eyed stare on anyone, or else.”
She doesn’t have to continue. “Or else” simply means that I will be locked up in the basement of our house for the night, and be susceptible to the clutches of our ghoul.
“Yeah, all right,” I say.
“This time, all of your father’s colleagues are bringing their children…”
So this means we aren’t going to be stuck with just Lucius! I can dance the whole night through.
“…and I want you to be the aristocratic children who you were born as, and not like the common slob you often behave like, Sirius.”
I give a jerk of my head, whereas Regulus trills, “Of course, Mum!”
She smiles and ruffles his hair, because Regulus is her son. Her obedient, smart, charming, and eager-to-please son. The son who shares all her beliefs, the son who is a worthy Black.
The son who I never was. The son who I will never be.
James
I suppose that I’m considered quite lucky. I can even qualify as pampered. I have whatever an eleven-year-old wizard could dream of: a Cleansweep Two, a crystal chess set, a gold Gobstones set, a peacock-feather quill, and an owl.
So, if I can have all those stuff, why can’t I not attend the dinner at the Malfoys?
It was exactly what I have asked Mum as I unwillingly put on my dress robes.
She has replied that all of Dad’s other colleagues are also bringing along their children, and if I don’t go, it will seem as though they spoil me rotten, and I don’t want to seem spoilt, do I, and besides, Gemma’s going too, so why the complaints?
I’ve replied that I happen to know that the Fawcetts have a twelve-year-old daughter to whom Gemma is relatively close, and she’d probably leave me alone the whole evening to die of boredom.
Mum has only laughed and said that I was such a worrywart, and a people-person. The latter of which I do not understand, but she doesn’t go on to explain, only gets me downstairs, where Dad is waiting, and we Apparate to a pavilion near the Malfoy Manor.
Which is where I am at the present.
“Are we ready?” Dad asks me.
“No,” I reply sulkily. “I never will be.”
I know I am behaving like a spoilt child, but I cannot help it. The fact that I am to waste an evening at an annoying dinner tends to do that to me.
Mum sighs. “C’mon, James. Cheer up, it’ll be all right. Fun, even.”
I cross my arms, unconvinced. Dad kneels down beside me and ruffles my hair. “James, you behave yourself, and I’ll get Nellie to bake you your favourite brownies.”
I almost drool. “To eat tonight?” I ask.
Dad nods, and I grin, cheering up considerably. “Okay. I’ll behave!”
“Excellent!” Dad and Mum share a smile but I don’t care that I am being bribed. All I care for are the promised brownies.
We walk to the imposing Malfoy Manor, and almost immediately, a fair-haired boy appears from the manor. He greets Dad and Mum politely, albeit coolly, and gives me no notice.
“Lucius,” Dad says to the boy. “How tall you’ve become!”
Lucius smiles coldly. “I should hope to be tall. Whoever has heard of a Quidditch Captain who is not tall?” That said, he gives me a contemptuous glance.
I know I am short and skinny for my age, but who is to say that I wouldn’t grow to be tall?!
“You’re Quidditch Captain?” Mum asks, and I know that she has caught sight of that less-than-friendly look Lucius has given me; although she has a smile on her face I can tell it isn’t entirely friendly.
“A prefect, too, Mrs Potter,” Lucius reminds humbly.
“That’s wonderful!” Mum says, and I can almost see her struggling not to roll her eyes.
“Thank you, Mrs Potter,” Lucius says, leading us to the drawing room.
I know the Malfoys are rich, but I’ve not expected the front doors to be gold-leafed. We are shown to the drawing room, where the other families and their children are sitting. I catch sight of Gemma and wave at her. She grins back.
“Ah, Phillippe!” says a tall man who looks remarkably like Lucius. He stands up and shakes Dad’s hand “You are just on time!”
“I should hope so, Abraxas,” Dad says, smiling, but there is something strained in it. “This is my wife, Eleanor, and our son, James.”
The rest of Dad’s colleagues and their families stand up, shaking our hands. We are then led to the dining room, and I find myself sitting between Gemma and a dark-haired boy whose name I have not caught earlier on.
As Gemma is busy talking to Amelia Fawcett, I decide to make some conversation with the boy beside me, because Merlin forbid I should die of boredom.
“So, er, what’s your name?” I ask.
The boy starts, and looks at me, as though surprised that I am actually talking to him. “You didn’t catch it earlier on?”
I raise my eyebrows. “No, I didn’t. I hope that’s okay with you.”
He looks relieved, even happy. “No, it’s perfectly fine. I’m Sirius. And I know you’re James.”
“Yeah, that’s me,” I say. “So what’s Hogwarts like?”
He looks nonplussed. “What are you talking about? I’ve never even been there.”
“But you look thirteen!”
“Well, I assure you that I’m eleven,” he says. “I’ll be going there on September first.”
“See you on the train, then,” I say, grinning.
“You’re going to be a first year, too?” he asks.
“Mm-hmm,” I say. “And so is Gemma here.” I indicate my traitor of a best friend, who doesn’t seem to care whether I had any company or not.
Then the food starts appearing on our dishes. I am extremely impressed, as Nellie, our house elf at home, has been serving us our meals, sometimes along with Mum. We’ve never had things like this happening at home. We start digging in and soon the small talk between Sirius and I go on to Quidditch and our favourite teams. Mine are the Ballycastle Bats, whereas his are the Tutshill Tornadoes. We then start arguing about which team is the better one.
And as the dinner goes on, I realise that this evening has not been entirely wasted after all.
Still, that’s not saying I don’t want the brownies.
Remus
Since I was five, each time I mention Hogwarts, Dad will be very silent, and Mum will look very sad. And when I was eight they took me aside and told me that werewolves are less than welcome at Hogwarts.
It has been one of the worst days of my life.
But yesterday has been one of the best days of my life. Yesterday, Professor Dumbledore had given me a chance that few wizards will have given, and let me enter Hogwarts. He has given me the chance to walk through the crowded alleys of Diagon Alley, purchasing wands and spellbooks I will otherwise not be able to purchase, and study witchcraft and wizardry with other wizards and witches my age.
Professor Dumbledore has assured Dad that arrangements have been made for my transformations every full moon, and that neither the students nor I will be in danger of any sort. Dad told me that the Headmaster of Hogwarts has said that apart from my affliction, I will be just like any other student at his school.
Professor Dumbledore had given me a new lease of life.
And I cannot thank him enough.
Lily
I cannot understand why Petunia is so wary of magic. She knows what she has agreed to when she had said she is coming with us to Diagon Alley. Mrs Snape has had already told her that there will be magic occurring everywhere. Petunia has nodded bravely, and like the best friend she is, she said that she’ll stick with me.
I’ve beamed at her, happy that she is joining us, but now she is whimpering and flinching at any bit of magic going on around her. “I want to go home!” she tells Dad and Mum repeatedly.
“But we can’t,” Mum keeps saying. “We haven’t gotten all of Lily’s things yet!”
At which Petunia throws me a dark look, as if it is my fault that she can’t go home. All right, I admit, it is somewhat my fault indirectly, but isn’t she the one who’s agreed to come with us?
“She’s getting on my nerves,” Severus, my other best friend, says to me in a low tone.
“Mine too,” I mutter back, hugging the basket containing my newly bought cat. I’ve always liked cats, so I’d gotten Nightfall, a cat with ice blue eyes and dark grey fur, from The Magical Menagerie. (Severus doesn’t like cats much” he’s gotten a black rat instead” but the feelings between him and Nightfall are pretty much mutual.) “I don’t get why she’s so strung up. She’s usually a lot better than this.”
Severus gives a cough that sounds like a snort. He is always disagreeing with me on the terms of Petunia being nice. He thinks that she’s mean and spoilt and keeps making me do things, but honestly, she isn’t. She’s a great sister. I am perfectly willing to do whatever she does.
However, ever since Professor McGonagall came to my house, she has become rather detached from me. Today is the first time in two weeks since she has spoken more than ten sentences to me at a time.
“Can we hurry up and get her things, then?” Petunia goes.
“We’ve not long to go, have we?” Dad asks Mrs Snape.
She shakes her head. “Just their wands left,” she says, and brings us to a small, rather shabby shop which has gold letters on the door that read: Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC. Mrs Snape pushes the door open and somewhere in the shop a bell tinkles. We follow her in. There is a sort of air about the place that suggests mysteries that can never be solved. The noise and bustle of Diagon Alley was entirely muted as the door swung shut. The shop was small and we have little room to stand. There were shelves and shelves of long thin boxes, containing wands, or so I presume. Once we settle down slightly, an aged man seems to appear at the back of the shop out of nowhere. He approaches us slowly, andwhen he reaches us he looks at us, his gaze finally resting on me. His eyes are pale and wide, and look like moons. It is a little creepy, because he says nothing for a long while, and when he does speak, it is in a soft voice.
“You’re here to buy a wand.”
It isn’t a question.
I look at the rest of my family, Mrs Snape and Severus. Petunia is currently between Dad and Mum, as if they are shields, whereas Mrs Snape and Severus just looked at me as though expecting me to answer him. “Er, yes,” I say.
He takes out a tape measure from his pocket and starts to measure the length of my shoulder to my finger, then wrist to elbow, followed by shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, and lastly, around my head. While he measures, he tells us a little about wands, and what the different cores are. And when he is done measuring he leaves the tape measure on the floor and darts around his store, and returns with a stack of boxes in his arms.
Brandishing a wand at me, he says, “Try this one. Maplewood, dragon heartstring. Twelve inches, rather bendy.”
I take it, and wonder what I am supposed to do with it. Mr Ollivander looks at me as though I am a little slow. “Give it a wave.”
I wave it, feeling slightly stupid, and nothing happens. Mr Ollivander takes the wand back and hands me another. “Birchwood, phoenix feather, nine and a half inches long.”
I wave, and still nothing happens. Now truly feeling stupid, I hand the wand back, but Mr Ollivander looks far from annoyed. In fact, he looks rather happy. He looks like what I feel like when I’ve been given a particularly difficult school assignment” ready for a challenge.
After many wands, he hands me yet another, saying, “Made of willow, unicorn hair, ten and a quarter inches long, swishy. Give it a wave.”
I take it from him, and there is sudden inexplicable warmth in my fingers. Upon my waving it, red sparks shoot out from it. I look at the wand in delight, and my parents cheer, as do Severus. It has also wangled a soft “wow” of awe from Petunia. Mr Ollivander himself is nodding appreciatively, and as he packages my new wand away, he tells me that it is excellent for charm work.
Then it is Severus’ turn to get his own wand. Mr Ollivander measures him like he did me, but for Severus it does not take long for his wand to choose him. On his very second try, his wand (“Made of fir, dragon heartstring, twelve inches”) has silver sparks shoot out from the tip. Severus looks pleased, and after we pay for the wands, we thank Mr Ollivander and head outside.
Dad takes my wand and examines it interestedly. “This is all so great,” he says. “I suppose it doesn’t work for me?” He waves it, but nothing happens.
“Only our Lily can make it work,” Mum says, looking at me fondly and ruffling my hair. I take my wand back from Dad and run my fingers over the smooth willow. Severus has also taken his out and is looking at it, too. Petunia sidles over and joins me at my side.
“Can I look at it, Lily?” she asks.
Severus starts to say something cutting but I shoot him a glare and he falls silent. This is the first time all day that Petunia has said something that is remotely pleasant to me.
“Sure,” I say cheerfully, and pass my wand over to her.
She examines it in admiration and hands it back to me with something strange in her face.
It’s only after we return home and I’m sitting at a corner stroking Nightfall that I have put a name to her look.
Longing.
Peter
Boys should never go shopping with their mothers. Especially if their mothers are like mine. Mum is slightly bossy, and she’s always wanted a girl. That, as you can see, is an extremely dangerous combination.
As a result, Mum has been trying to get me things that seem more suited for girls. At Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions, she has actually fingered the Hogwarts uniform for girls longingly, with a far off look in her eye. I have to clear my throat loudly and point to the boys’ uniform significantly.
Shopping with Mum is a very dangerous affair.
Thank Merlin it is all over.
We’re sitting at the Leaky Cauldron, drinking butterbeer. Mum looks at me across the table. “My little boy, all grown up,” she says proudly. “I can’t wait to see you in your uniform, you’ll look absolutely dashing, sweetie.”
I beg to differ. I’m not exceptional in looks. I am rather small in size, with mousy hair and small blue eyes. If you want someone “dashing,” I’m not your man. Or boy.
A few rowdy boys at the next table look over at Mum’s words, and sneer at me. Mum doesn’t notice them, but I do. I’ve been jibed countless of times, but that doesn’t mean that each time it gets easier being the brunt of people’s jokes.
“Mum,” I say quietly, after draining the last of my butterbeer, “can we go home now?”
Mum nods, and gathers our shopping bags. “Of course we can.”
As we leave, I can’t help but throw the rowdy boys a last look. They stare back challengingly, and I sigh. If this is the kind of company I’ll find at Hogwarts, then I’m not so sure I want to go anymore.
Lily
Severus and I lie on the porch, staring at a moth which has chosen to rest upside down on the ceiling.
“What shall we do now?” I ask, fanning myself. It is so very hot, I feel like plunging into a sea of ice cubes.
“I dunno,” Severus replies in a tone that sounds as lazy as I feel.
I drag myself off the heated tiles of the porch.
“Where’re you going?” Severus asks.
“Up to my room,” I tell him, “where maybe watching a little television can take my mind off the heat.”
“Good idea.” He scrambles up too and we head into the house.
This being the first time he’s in my house, Severus thinks that Petunia’s bedroom’s mine, and walks in before I can stop him. When I am about to yell to him that it’s in fact Petunia’s room, Severus has already given a gasp and says a strangled, “I don’t believe it!”
I dash into Petunia’s room, saying, “What is it?”
I ask. He doesn’t answer, but beckons me to go over. After looking over my shoulder to check that Petunia’s not there (she’d be furious if she knew Severus’s in her room), I walk over to where he is, at the dresser, holding a yellowish parchment in his hand. It is similar to the one that I had received from Professor McGonagall. “What is it?” I ask again curiously.
“It’s a letter from Dumbledore,” he says in reverence. “I don’t believe this! She’s written to him and he’s written back! Frankly, I’m astonished the letter had even gotten through to Dumbledore, they must have wizards working undercover in the postal service or something…”
“Let me see!” I demand, and he hands it over to me.
Dear Ms Evans,
Thank you very much for writing to me. However, I must most regrettably tell you that we are unable to give you a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
However, do not fret too much about this. Being a non-magical person does not mean in any way that your sister is better than you. Being non-magic certainly did not stop Sir Isaac Newton from discovering gravity, nor did it stop Thomas Edison from inventing all his most miraculous gadgets. Being non-magic is merely like being born without a certain tool that your sister has been born with, but there is really not much difference” if you persevere, you can be every bit as successful. And that is what I call magic.
Yours sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
I feel a pang. The reply, though kind, must have hurt Petunia very much.
Just then, the automatic gates of our house open with a crack like a shot. Severus and I jump, and Severus snatches the letter and stuffs it back into the envelope before leaving it on the dresser. We look at each other in panic, and then, forgetting totally about our plan of watching television in my room, dash downstairs and lie down, grabbing a couple of magazines to pretend that we’ve been reading.
The car parks, and Petunia comes in. She sees both of us. “Oh,” she says to Severus flatly. “You’re here.”
Severus does not deign to reply.
“So, Petunia,” I ask hurriedly, having no idea why I am asking her this at all. Paranoia, I guess. “How did your ballet lesson go?”
“It was fine,” she says shortly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going upstairs for a bath.”
She heads for her room. I look after her, and there’s that twinge in my stomach again. Although she’s only going upstairs to bathe, it’s as if she’s taken a path, a different path from the one that I’m taking. It’s never going to be like it has been all these years. It’s going to be very different. I used to do everything with Petunia. Now I’m leaving her, Mum and Dad for an entire school year to live and study with other children, most of whom I do not know.
And for the very first time, I am scared.
A/N: Okay, firstly, please don’t kill me for having Remus’ part so short. I just didn’t have anything much planned for him in this chapter, but I’ll have more stuff for him to narrate, pinky-swear. And yes, just in case you were wondering, I love Remus just as much as most of you do. Which is a lot, just not as much as I adore James and Sirius. Well, feel free to leave a review, yes? :D