Chapter Ten: Hapless Slytherins
[Remus]
Marty puts her notebook and quill in her pocket and bites her lip for a moment, her eyes glancing around at me and my friends, worriedly. Occasionally, they flick towards the compartment door and back again.
“What’s up, Marty?” I ask, extracting myself from the conversation with the others about the highs and lows of being a sea creature (and no, I don’t know how we got onto that particular topic either).
“Oh, uh, I was just thinking ... I should probably leave.”
Okay, I wasn’t expecting that. I had mentally prepared myself for some strange, unfathomable female worry or for her to say something sentimental about her Mum, or maybe ask me to do a fun fact-file for her book, answering questions about my favourite colour and whether I prefer blondes to brunettes. Although I’m immensely glad it wasn’t any of those things, it was just as awkward and confusing.
“Um ... why?” I ask. Might as well see if there’s a reason.
“Well, you see those girls in the doorway?” she says. I begin to turn my head, but she hisses viciously, “Don’t turn around to look!”
“You just asked if I could see them,” I point out. Maybe it would have been easier if I’d gone back to talking about whether or not I’d rather be a fish, squid or whale with the others.
“You can’t just turn round like that. Look subtly at them.”
Feeling like some sort of spy on a secret mission, I slide my eyes slowly over to the door. There are indeed some girls outside, who seem to be having a perfectly normal conversation. When I turn back to Marty, I notice that she has no problem with staring at them openly herself. Apparently it’s only me who they can’t know is watching them.
“Damn,” she mutters. “You weren’t subtle enough, they realised you were looking.” She narrows her eyes at them, but she doesn’t have a very convincing evil glare.
Trying desperately to understand what is going on, I ask, “Why are you allowed to look, but not me?”
“They already know I know their game. They want me to know, so I’m letting them know I know. They can’t afford to have you realising you’re onto them as well, though.”
“What game? What are you talking about? I’m really confused.”
“Their game is one of jealousy and trying to victimise me because of it, I’m talking about the evil looks they sneak me as soon as you look away and you’re confused because you’re not a woman.”
I blink. “And I thank Merlin for that every day.”
She looks back at me for a second and smiles. “I suppose you do. Lucky.” And then she goes back to giving the girls outside suspicious stares (although once again, they’re more funny than suspicious). I turn to look at the girls again and they seem to be talking normally to me, but according to her, that’s because I’ve turned to look at them again.
“So why are they jealous of you?” I ask, desperate to understand why Marty started the conversation with ‘I should probably leave.’
“Because I’m sitting with you, Sirius, James and Peter.”
“Why would that make them jealous?”
“Because you’re you, Sirius, James and Peter.”
“But why can’t they be happy you’ve found some friends?”
“Because they’re girls and they want it to be them sitting here. Also, they probably don’t think I deserve to be your friend, because I’m weird and as far as they know, I’ve managed to worm my way into your inner circle over the summer. They probably want to find out what trickery I used to do it, but they won’t ask outright because then I’d know that they’ve noticed and that they’re clearly jealous and they don’t want that, because then that would show that they have a weakness and if they have a weakness then people can hurt them. What they really want is to see me slipping you a potion or something.”
“How do you understand how their minds work like this? I thought you didn’t have anything to do with all that ... that girl politics stuff.” After all, she’s the one who keeps mentioning that she’s never had real friends before, in that uncomfortable and blunt way of hers.
“I haven’t directly, not until now. But that means I’ve had plenty of time to study how it works over the years as an impartial observer. No one could understand better than me. For the others it’s all instinctive, they probably don’t realise why they’re doing it. Not completely anyway.”
I try to get to grips with her explanation. “Wait ... why would they want us to be being poisoned if they like us enough to be jealous when you share our compartment?”
“Because if I was slipping you a potion, then it wouldn’t be down to your free will that I’m sitting here. If I’m clouding your judgement then the only thing I have that they don’t is a means of getting you to take it. However, if I’m here because you want me to be, then I have a quality that you like and they don’t have. And if they don’t have it, then it’s much less likely that one of you will ask them out.”
She takes a deep breath and continues.
“Also, by being one of the most unpopular girls in the school, I have absolutely no right to be here, since you four are, so to speak, the royalty and I am, hypothetically, a tramp off the streets. If the royalty preferred a random tramp to the high born ladies they should be trying to marry, then those ladies would be very upset and put out and would have just cause to hate the tramp for taking what is rightfully theirs. So what they’re really hoping is that I’m an evil tramp with a large potion supply and I am bewitching you into liking me. They’re hoping that once I’ve been exposed and put a stop to, that you will four will come back to your senses and realise that you’re actually in love with them.
“If only I hadn’t been poisoning you, you would have proposed to them long ago. They’re hoping that you’ll fall to your knees in front of them and grovel for forgiveness, which they will only give once you start to cry and produce an expensive ring. Preferably in the rain. While wearing an open white shirt, which gets absolutely drenched and becomes see-through and sticks to your chest, to really show off your amazing body. Anyway, it would really be better for everyone if I just left, because then they would realise that my mission failed and you are not under the influence of anything at all, so should be proposing marriage to them any day now.”
I say nothing. The sea creature conversation has come to a halt. We are all staring at Marty in complete and utter confusion.
“Let me get something straight,” Sirius says carefully. “Are you bewitching us into liking you?”
Marty looks appalled at the very thought. “Of course I’m not! How could you even think that?”
“Right. Okay.” He stands up and walks over to the compartment door, before pulling it open. “Ladies,” he says smoothly. They look surprised, but pleased and a little deliberately flustered. “Do you have a problem with our friend, Marty?”
“Us?” the leader asks. She’s a fifth-year Hufflepuff, I think. “Of course not. Why would we care about her?” Her eyes flick dangerously over to Marty and I see for the first time that it’s true; that is a look of death.
“Good,” Sirius says. “Then would you mind moving along? You’re blocking the corridor with your inflated heads.”
The girls look angry and king of hurt and bitter. Now is probably not the best time to mention that if it’s a competition between whose head is the most inflated, Sirius would wipe the floor with all of them, so I say nothing and feel some satisfaction as they saunter away irritably.
Sirius sits back down and smiles at Marty. “There we go. Now tell us, Marty ... would you rather have fins or tentacles?”
She bursts into tears. “I love you all so much,” she cries between sobs.
Sweet Merlin. I will never understand what happens in the mind of a teenage girl.
[Marty]
“Boy, these Sortings take longer each time,” Sirius mumbles. He receives a couple of icy glares, but ignores them.
“We need to make them more interesting one year,” James comments, barely bothering to keep his voice down. Remus sneaks him a disapproving glance, but says nothing.
“Lamb, Jemima,” McGonagall calls. Personally, I rather enjoy the Sorting. Everything is just thrown out there; your hopes, your fears, your pride and your insecurities. As an observer of people and personalities, I find it fascinating.
“There is no way we could ever make this interesting,” Sirius says, which kind of contradicts my thoughts.
“I dunno,” James muses, as Jemima is made Ravenclaw. “We could always do some sort of charm ...”
“Gee,” Sirius mutters. “Some sort of charm. Yeah, good plan, Prongs. I like it. That’ll knock ‘em dead, that one. Wormtail, quick, start researching how best to perform some sort of charm, it sounds tricky to me.”
“You just don’t have any imagination,” James says. Sirius’s eyes light up, as a short kid called ‘Rockster, Damien’ sits confidently on the stool and winks at McGonagall saucily before the hat covers his eyes.
“Is that a challenge?” he asks. Remus looks rather pained and gives them another subtle glare. He is, once again, ignored completely.
I take out my notebook and quill. “Do you mind?” I ask under my breath, quill poised, hoping to catch some of their ideas for improvements on paper for The Book.
“Go ahead,” James says. Meanwhile, Damien Rockster, the one who winked at McGonagall, is still sitting on the stool proudly. His legs are crossed in a very manly way, his hands are on his hips and somehow thrusting forwards, despite the fact that he is sitting down. If I could see his face, I would imagine a very smarmy grin. At a guess, I would say he will be a Gryffindor. Which other house would dare to attempt flirting with the Deputy seconds before the biggest decision of their time at this school is made?
“Hufflepuff!” The hat announces. Well, that showed me.
“We could release Hippogriffs on every single Slytherin that gets sorted,” suggests Sirius.
Release hippogriffs on hapless Slytherins, I write.
“We could release Moony on every single Slytherin that gets sorted!” laughs James. Remus glares at them a little more viciously so that I feel I am missing something.
Release Remus on hapless Slytherins “ but why would they do that? What could he possibly do to harm them? He’s hardly a savage monster. My hand is flying across my notebook as they speak. It’s a good job I’ve gotten so quick at taking notes over the years.
“Better yet, set up some kind of time portal, so that every time the new Slytherins try to sit at the table, they get transported to sixteenth century Mexico or something ...”
Transport hapless Slytherins to Mexico “ unusual but creative.
“What about the other Houses?” Peter asks.
“We could always ...” James begins.
“Do some sort of charm?” Sirius suggests, cutting across him and snorting with laughter.
Tensions are running high, I write and cannot help chucking to myself quietly.
“Mr Potter, Mr Black, I’ll be charming your mouths shut if you’re not careful,” McGonagall suddenly says tritely, her voice carrying across the hall towards us. Remus tries not to look too pleased until heads start turning towards us. Then he looks uncomfortable.
“Whatever you say, Professor,” Sirius calls back. “Carry on!”
Despite his cheekiness, they do stay quiet for the rest of the Sorting. I can’t take any more notes, which is a shame, but at least I get to enjoy watching the kids be Sorted. I try and guess the Houses and sometimes I get it right, but often I don’t. Maybe I’m a bad guesser, but I think part of the magic of Sorting is that outward appearances don’t seem to matter any more. Look at Sirius ... he was a dead cert for Slytherin because of his name, but that didn’t affect the hat’s decision in the least.
And I was so sure I would be in Ravenclaw (not for intelligence, but because of how hard I am willing to work), but no. “You have more to give than you’re giving,” the hat said, a little too enigmatically for my taste. And then placed me in Gryffindor. I never did work out what it meant, so I just carried on as I was, but I’ve never forgotten those words.
Eventually, however, the last young girl is sorted into Gryffindor and we cheer loudly for her.
“Thank Merlin’s toenails that’s over!” James says as loudly as he can. “No offence,” he assures the girl, who is now four or five seats away from us. “But it was bloody boring.”
She looks terrified to have been addressed by a scary sixth year and a little unsettled at his rather uncouth choice of words.
“Thank you, Potter,” McGonagall says from the front of the hall, once again. “And I’ll see you in detention tomorrow evening.”
There is a low, “Oooh ...” from the surrounding students and James basks in his, uh, ‘shame’.
“What would you say that was, Peter, twenty minutes into the start of term? I think we broke a record!” Sirius says, still not troubling to be discreet. Peter grins but doesn’t dare say anything in reply just yet.
“Actually,” I mutter to them. “The record is minus three-and-a-half hours.”
Dumbledore has moved to the front and gives a rather amused warning glance in our direction but thankfully decides not to comment. “I’m sure you are all absolutely desperate to eat our delicious feast, so I will not hold you up too long ... however, I would just like to welcome you back, second years and above and welcome you here for those newly sorted. And before your minds are so addled by good food that you forget everything I say, may I just give a few words of caution. You may have noticed the rather unsettling incidents over the summer, older students particularly, and I want to stress that while you are safe within these walls, it is never a bad thing to be on your guard. Now, I will keep you no longer or Sirius Black and James Potter might deem it upon themselves to tie me up and gag me ... so do enjoy your most wonderful meal.”
He gives a smile and a small bow, before returning to his seat and clapping his hands. Delicious smelling food appears all along the tables.
“He’s too good to us,” Sirius says, smiling. “He knows us too well ...”
“Nah,” James says, shaking his head and waving his hand. “We’d never do something so crude.” He discreetly checks to see whether the young first year girl heard him say it and smiles at her when he catches her looking. “Honestly,” he says to her warmly. “We’re not all that bad.”
“Yeah, you’d never tie someone up unless you’d taken their clothes off first, right?” Remus jokes, happy to contribute now that there are no first years being sorted or speeches being made.
“Okay, those are images that I just don’t need,” I say and laugh. I reach for the mashed potato and start piling it on my plate in a miniature mountain. You can never have too much mash, after all.
I notice that rather more looks than usual are being thrown in the direction of the Marauders ... and I should know, after all, how many looks are usually given in their direction. Except ... it’s not the Marauders they’re looking at. I think it might ... I think it’s me.
Come to think of it ... almost every girl in the vicinity, from third to seventh year, has given me a hostile look in the last minute or so. All except Lily, who seems to be more interested in that Snape guy and his friends over at Slytherin, with a sad, rather hopeless look on her face.
It’s just possible that this is going to be a long year.
[Remus]
“Moony, give over a minute. I need to hang up these posters.”
I move out of James’s way and look in mild surprise at the dorm, which is already half-plastered with Quidditch prints and other merchandise. Most are of the Wasps, but there are lots of other teams too, whizzing around about our walls. I feel a little dizzy at all the zooming figures and bright colours.
“What would be really cool,” James says, not to anyone in particular, “would be to attach some brooms to the wall ... kind of retro and garage-like. It would be great ... really underline the point about Quidditch.” He suddenly stops and turns around. “Ooh,” he says, shivering a little with a disturbing pleasure. “Ooh. I like it. And while I’m at it ... we could make some of the balls ... hover them from the ceiling ... ooh. That would be awesome. Ooh.”
“Stop ‘ooh’ing!” Sirius snaps at him.
“Ooh,” says James, much more dramatically than before.
“Are you really going to waste Quidditch equipment on decoration?” asks Peter.
“Hmm ... it’s a good point ... Moony, give me your lamp.”
“No,” I say defensively. Who knows what twisted plan he could have in mind for the poor thing?
“Accio lamp,” James says casually and it shoots towards him. He catches it with ease and begins transfiguring it into a large round ball, which he then colours the exact red of a Quaffle. He levitates it up towards the ceiling and leaves it hanging there, before moving onto Peter’s alarm clock and ‘ooh’ing to himself, under his breath.
“You know,” I say lightly, “We might actually need this stuff you’re transfiguring into dormitory accessories.” No on else is about to challenge him over it, after all.
“Nah, you’ll be fine. Besides, it will look bloody fantastic.”
I exchange a look with Sirius.
“Why do you seem to have taken such an interest in interior design, Prongs?” he asks.
It’s true, actually. When we ‘decorated’ Sirius’s old bedroom at the start of the summer, it was James who got most of the stuff together and enjoyed himself the most.
“I dunno. I just like it. Besides, you’re all slobs. Someone has to make this place look good.”
“You’re the biggest slob of all!” points out Sirius, once again quite truthfully.
James looks offended. Whether he is pretending or not is hard to tell. Time to change the subject; just in case.
“So, guys, how do you feel about Marty?” I ask. Wait ... where did that come from? The others are staring at me a little sceptically.
“You already know how we feel, Moony, she’s okay and she’s our friend now. We all like her. Why do you keep bringing her up?”
“I do not keep bringing her up!” At least, I don’t think I do. At least, I try not to. At least ... well, it’s been on my mind a lot lately!
“What are we going to tell her about, you know. Me. If she’s sticking with us now, she’ll notice when I disappear every month. And you guys will follow me, so she’ll notice even more.”
“She’ll find out eventually,” Sirius shrugs. “And she probably won’t care. But ... maybe we should keep it, sort of ... to ourselves for now. She’d never intentionally give anything away, but she’d probably write it in The Book and what if she left that lying around? We’ll keep it to ourselves for now.”
I sigh. It makes sense, of course, but we’d gotten so close over the summer ... it’s sort of like she’s my sister, or my mother, or my wife, or my daughter all rolled into one big ball of Marty-ness. Or something. It’s weird keeping something so huge from her.
“I agree with Padfoot,” James says solemnly. “You don’t want to risk it, mate. Not yet. Wait until we’re sure we can trust her.”
I nod. “Yeah. Okay. Fine. But ... it’s just so awkward. Especially with that book of hers, taking those notes, asking questions ...”
“Maybe we should do a test,” Peter says out of the blue. We look at him.
“What?” asks Sirius.
“A test. You know, we could tell her something no one else knows ... but that isn’t Remus being a werewolf. And see if she keeps it.”
It’s kind of deceitful. And a little mistrustful really. I should trust her simply because she’s my friend, not because we’ve put her through a test. But at the minute ... it’s probably the best I can get away with.
All right then. A test it is.
[Marty]
After a summer away, the dorm hasn’t changed much. Back when we were first and second years, we would barely speak on the first night, we were so sleepy, but now we’re sixteen we have a little more endurance. Surprisingly, I’m not only included in the conversation, but kind of central to it.
“Martina Price, you dark horse, how did you do it?” Phyll asks outright. I presume she is talking about the Marauders.
“Do what?” I ask, deciding feigning innocence for the time being.
“Don’t give us that,” Mary says, rolling her eyes. “You know what. How did you make friends with James Potter?”
“Who cares about that idiot?” Phyll shoots back at her. “How did you get in with Sirius, Marty? And don’t pretend you don’t know what we mean. The whole school saw you sitting with them at the Feast; not to mention the train.”
Never mind that my Mum died over the holiday or anything. What’s really important is that I made friends with Sirius Black.
“I bumped into them and we got talking,” I say, shrugging. And then I lived with one of them for the remaining summer. But that really would send them over the edge with jealousy. “That’s all.”
Mary snorts with disbelief. “Whatever. That is clearly not all. I mean, I’ve spoken to them before and I’m not their new best buddy.”
Lily looks up from the slow, methodical unpacking of her things. She says nothing, but raises an eyebrow. Roxie hasn’t said anything yet either, but that’s because she hardly ever does. I wonder why Lily is keeping out of it? Probably because she doesn’t like the Marauders all that much.
“I don’t know why they accepted me, Mary, maybe they just liked me,” I suggest, not really thinking it through but realising from the look on her face that maybe I should have done.
“Are you trying to say that they didn’t like me?” Oops. I didn’t mean for it to sound like that.
“Geez, Marty, you make some friends for the first time in your life and suddenly you’re better than us?” Phyll asks, sounding incredulous.
“Of course not, that’s not what I meant. It’s just that I was feeling a little shaky “”
“So you thought, hey, I know what’ll make me feel better. Tricking the most popular boys in school into thinking that I’m actually worth knowing!” Phyll asks, flaring up. Mary looks quite shocked at the outburst on her behalf, but says nothing.
“No, it wasn’t like that! They were the ones who invited me ...” I insist, feeling a weird urge to defend myself over it.
“You didn’t turn them down though, did you?” she asks, nastily.
“Why would I? I just told you, I was feeling really low. Look, I don’t know if you realised, but over the holidays “”
“What? Something earth shattering, I suppose? Did one of your lunatic petitions get ignored?”
“Phyll,” Lily says softly. “Leave it.”
“No! What could possibly be so bad, that “”
“Her Mum was killed,” Lily says. She tries to catch my eye, but I turn away and won’t let her. Hearing it said so bluntly was like a stab in the chest.
“Yeah ... well ...” Phyll suddenly sounds uncomfortable. “Still doesn’t give her the right to ... to ...”
“What?” I snap, whipping around. “Make something good come out of it? Distract myself from thoughts of losing the person who I thought would always be there for me? Yeah, Phyllis, I see what you mean. I’m such a bitch.”
I climb into bed and draw the curtains shut. There is a loud silence. Eventually, I hear the others go to their own beds and go to sleep. Or so I thought, until much later, when I hear, oddly enough, Roxie’s voice speak up softly.
“Marty?”
“Yes?” I reply, more intrigued than anything. It’s not often Roxie says something without being asked or it being a necessity. She’s not shy, it’s just not her way.
“I’m really sorry about what happened to your Mum.”
I pause for a moment without saying anything. I can’t really think of anything to say. But I suppose I can’t just leave something like that hanging. “Thanks.”
“Yeah, me too,” Mary says from the darkness. “I was on holiday so I missed a lot of the news. Otherwise I would never have been so insensitive.”
“That’s okay,” I reply. “You couldn’t have known.”
Now, Lily speaks up, too. Blimey. Is anyone actually asleep? “It must have been horrible,” she says.
“It was,” I reply, not wanting to go into detail. “But I’m okay.”
There is another long silence, this one much more comfortable.
“I’m sorry, too,” Phyll eventually tells me. It takes me rather by surprise and now I really can’t think of anything to say.
Eventually, I settle for the only thing that occurs to me. I take a deep breath. See, while the others were sorry that my mum was killed, I think Phyll is sorry for something else.
“It’s okay,” I say, thinking of the harsh, mocking words she had said and trying not to think on them for too long. “I forgive you.”
AN: Hmm ... so, things going well? How are you liking it? Please review!