Outrunning Our Shadows

Disclaimer:  All characters (but those I’ve invented) belong to JK Rowling and the respective publishing houses.  No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made on this story apart from the personal enjoyment I get in writing it.

 

A/N:  You know how I promised one-sided fluff?  Yeah, I lied… *ducks*  I’m sorry, I know, but I figured I had to have some original plot in there along with all the teenage anxiety.  Not that writing teenage anxiety isn’t fabulously interesting, please don’t get me wrong.  I just figured I’d like to have a point to my story other than for puerile enjoyment and for sticking one’s nose into some imaginary characters’ love lives.   Yes, I’m well aware of the fact that I’m a loon.  That goes without saying, thank you very much!  And now, on with the story!

 

Outrunning Our Shadows

 

The Ground Beneath 

 

1 day, 12 hours, and…my eyes wandered almost involuntarily to the hands of the great clock on the wall, my mind deciphering the meanings of the whirling planets and shooting stars. And… 34 minutes.  I sighed, feeling every moment pass all the more slowly with Lily gone.  It had only been a little over two hours since I’d watched her train leave the rail station at Hogsmeade, and I had yet to move from the position I took upon entering the Common Room:  chin in my hands, staring off into space, eyes focused just to the right of the window which was bathing the room with the last of the day’s sunlight.  

 

I had noticed my train of thoughts moving down progressively more depressing avenues, traveling from Lily’s sorrows, pausing to think about my parents, and sliding down the spiral of grief which never truly left me.  Someone wise (likely Dumbledore) had once told me, after my parents had died, that it never actually gets better, but simply farther away.  The more I thought about them, the more it seemed to hurt, today anyway.  All my thoughts centered around the promises they’d made to me when I was young, how they’d always be there for me…

 

The summer before 2^nd year, as I watched my mom polish her old, slightly tarnished Prefect badge:

“You know, James, if you study hard, you could make Prefect when you’re in 5^th year.  It’s a great honor, you know, such responsibility over the school.”  She smiled at me, ruffling my already messy hair.  “When you get your badge, I promise we’ll throw a great big party.  Would you like that?”

I nodded, eyes glued on the silver badge, hoping that “studying hard” wouldn’t get too much in the way of “having fun.”

 

That memory faded into another…

 

The Winter Hols of 3^rd Year, right before they died, as we opened presents under the Christmas tree:

“A Silver Arrow!”  It was the newest broom on the market, and my dad had gotten one for me.  My fingers itched to take it outside and fly around, catching snowflakes on my tongue and enjoying the freedom of a spectacular broom.

“Now, James,” began my dad, recognizing the look of sublime joy on my face, “I want no gallivanting around on that broom until you’ve let me show you a few Chaser tricks I picked up in my days on the Quidditch Team.”

My jaw dropped.  My dad, who was idolized by all of the older kids at Hogwarts for his prowess with a Quaffle, was going to teach me some of his signature moves?  Wicked!  I couldn’t wait to get back to school to show off for Sirius and the guys…they’d be so jealous!

I narrowed my eyes on my dad’s face, to make sure he wasn’t joking with me.  “Are you sure?  You’d really teach me some of your moves?”

And, like Abigail had done two summers ago, and frequently in the interim, Henry reached out a hand and mussed my disheveled bed-head hair.  “Of course, buddy.  I promise, you’ll be the greatest Chaser that Hogwarts has seen in years!”

 

Oh god…my heart contracted painfully, tears pricking my eyes, as I grieved anew for the loss of two people so in love with each other and with life.  I couldn’t exactly blame them for not keeping their promises, as they did plan to be around to see all these important events in my life.  I fingered my Prefect badge unconsciously, a voice in the back of my head chiding me that the silver would tarnish from the oils of my hand, and it would soon be in need of serious polishing.  This thought served only to bring a fresh wave of loss coursing along my veins, and I closed my eyes against any further depressing thoughts.

 

And though it’s leading me on

And though I know that it’s wrong

And though I’m living my dream

I still can’t seem to move on

 

I let out the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding, and raised my head from my hands.  I have to stop thinking like this, or I’ll go batty.  None of this is helpful.  I looked around the Common Room, desperate for a distraction from my sobering thoughts.

 

My attention was caught by narrowing beam of light from the window, which lit a chess table like a spotlight.  On one side, Peter sat in his normal high-backed leather chair, elbows resting on the table, fingers enlaced, thumbs tapping to keep time as his hawk-like blue eyes took in every aspect of the battlefield in front of him.  His players were, surprisingly, silent throughout this, having been with him for many years, knowing he would not sacrifice them unnecessarily.  On the other side of the table sat a boy I’d seen no more than a handful of times during the last year and a half.  He was rather tall, but he looked very young, and was almost swallowed by the size of the pouf on which he sat.  The name Weasley rose through the sodden depths of my mind, and this label was reinforced by the flaming hair and freckled-face.  I tried to coerce a first name out of this information source, but nothing bubbled to the surface.  I walked over to them, intent on escaping from my own doldrums.

 

Both players looked up as I approached, each nodding in recognition, and immediately returning their focus to the game.  I summoned a chair, one of the red armchairs that usually encircled the fireplace, and prepared myself to enjoy the chess game.  I myself was not a connoisseur of chess – never a proponent of allowing your own side to be injured in the strategy of waiting until a weakness was shown on the other side, I preferred to go right after my opponents, cutting out all of the foreplay and preamble.  My methods for handling problems had brought me immediate and prolonged success on the Quidditch pitch – as a Chaser, I was only in charge of scoring against the other team; the Beaters took care to create gaps for me with their Bludgers.  Unfortunately, however, this head-on approach made me miserable at chess.  Therefore, I watched the deliberate moves carefully, hoping once again to understand this intricate dance of knights and pawns that would eventually topple a king.

 

I did have my own set of chess pieces – a very old set, from my father, which went to me upon his death.  They’d been in the family for years, and they gave me advice during the rare games I played from almost 100 years of chess experience.  Their nonsense never made sense to me, however.  Why should I have let my knight be sacrificed just so that a pawn could be spared?  Lily always laughed at me, however, teasing me about how I ignored this well of information and resources.  Of course, my pieces always liked to flirt with her, telling her stories about how they’d saved their queen from peril countless times, and yadda yadda yadda.  Last time we played each other and I was trounced five games straight, Lily stopped me from challenging a best-out-of-11 by saying, “You know, James…I’m surprised you don’t see it.  Sometimes the sacrifice of one player in the game can turn the tide of the entire battle.  Sometimes that’s all you need to find the route to checkmate.”

 

Now, as I watched Peter, who was obviously the better player, though Weasley could have wiped the board with me, move his bishop, I thought about a practical application of Lily’s comment.  Even though I couldn’t play chess well for all the gold in Gringott’s, and would probably never understand all of the strategies of the game, if I had an opportunity to make a sacrifice to turn the tide in the war against Voldemort, I knew I wouldn’t even hesitate.

 

~~~~~

 

At dinner, I brought up the identity of the Weasley kid Peter was playing chess with.  He stopped eating his shepherd’s pie, fork halfway to his mouth, and stared at me as if I’d forgotten something crucial, like his birthday.  Sirius snickered at my confused look, and Remus smiled at my discomfit as Peter slowly put the fork down and gave me a glare worthy of McGonagall.

 

“That kid is Bill Weasley,” he said curtly.  “If you remember, I spent a good amount of my time growing up at the Weasley’s.”

 

Ah.  Of course, that’s right.  I felt like a complete git.  Peter’s father had died when he was young, and his mother was so busy trying to raise Peter as well as make a living, and had hired a young couple to watch Peter during stretches in the holidays.  The Weasleys, Arthur and Molly, lived only a short way from the Pettigrew’s, and Peter enjoyed time in their boisterous household over his taciturn mother’s any day of the week.  Mrs. Pettigrew had been thrilled at this, and had foisted Peter on Arthur and Molly the entire summer previous to this year.  If I’d had two brain cells to rub together, I’d have remembered the letters he wrote about how his mother never appreciated his achievements…Not having been made a prefect was hard on Peter’s relationship with his mom, and there seemed to be nothing Peter could do to mend the rift.  So, instead, he spent his time having fun with his friends, knowing that any letters sent home to his mother would only result in further time spent at the Weasleys, playing chess with Arthur, and running around with Bill and his younger brother Charlie.

 

By this time in my thought process, my cheeks were rather pink from embarrassment, and I stuttered out an apology to Wormtail.  He must have been in a good mood after winning his chess match, as he nodded briefly, returning his full attention to his meal.  Almost nothing could interrupt Peter during a meal.  Even though we all had voracious appetites, my man Peter was vicious if anything got between him and his plate of food.

 

The rest of the meal was eaten in near silence, with occasional bursts of chuckles from Sirius.  That wanker would laugh at his own impending doom, I thought, grouchily.  I chucked a carrot at his head.

 

At that moment, however, Sirius chose to bend over double, laughing silently.  The carrot glanced off his forehead and landed in Remus’s pumpkin juice, splattering the orange liquid all over Peter’s plate.  Sirius’s “Ow!  Bloody Hell, Prongs!” was lost in the silence that followed as Peter again was interrupted in the midst of his meal.  The hand that had held the fork was now going to be sticky with the juice, and he looked up slowly to meet my gaze.  I waited for another little outburst, almost afraid of Peter, which almost never happened.  Usually, it was Sirius and I who would watch out for the smaller guy, keep him from being pounded into a pulp by bullying Slytherins and anyone who took offense to Peter’s blunt remarks.  Today, however, it seemed no one was going to back me up when faced with Peter’s disgruntlement.

 

Instead of curse words, however, Peter just let out a giggle, leading to a full-fledged laugh, just one.  He then heaved a great sigh, smiling, “Thanks, mate.  I needed something to take my mind off of this thing with Lily.”

 

The three of us just stared at him for a moment, realization dawning on all of us.  We all were wound up for the same reasons – we needed to do something for Lily.  I missed her during dinner, for I’m sure she would have had some witty comment on how having female admirers was turning my brain into mush and leaking my memory out of my ears like a sieve.  The problem was, we had tried to cheer her up, and we couldn’t re-enact James and the Giant Peach without Lily to act as the blind worm (of course, Sirius would play both Aunt Sponge and Aunt Spiker, since, as he would say, “No one has yet to match my spectacular performance from my debut work, and I find myself a true thespian.”  Peter would then, of course, follow right up with, “Well, of course you’re a lesbian…you like women!”  Remus would then have to explain that difference, and the hope would be to have Lily quite pink by the end of it).

 

Peter continued, saying that Bill had suggested that everyone chip in and show Lily how much she was appreciated within and without the House.  As a Prefect, naturally Lily had the respect and admiration of most of the students, if for nothing else than her diligence and hard work, as well as her responsibility to the students and the school.  Lily, however, was loved by most of the students.  The first years saw her as a maternal figure they could go talk to when they felt homesick, especially if they were Muggle-born.  Even though I was a Prefect as well, I was surprised at how easily Lily talked with the Muggle-born students, convincing them slowly that they were every bit as magical as the pure-blooded students, and that there was no excuse for any sort of prejudice.  Oftentimes, I’d seen a young kid leave Lily with a look of awe on his face – I knew the feeling.  Even among her friends, Lily was widely liked for her intelligent conversation and ready wit.  She was also very passionate about some of the equality issues in the Wizarding World, and when someone (usually Snape or some other Slytherin) would rile her up, we’d call down the hallways, “Sharpen your eyes and your tongues, ladies and gents --- Lily Evans is on the loose!”  Oddly enough, she wasn’t a fan of those types of comments.  We all thought them hilarious.

 

In any event, Bill had thought that, since Lily was friends to so many in the House, why not all help get her something that would really mean something?  His idea had been a photo album, into which everyone could contribute a picture, either with Lily in it, or of something significant that Lily would appreciate, and know that she was appreciated.

 

Having unanimously declared it to be brilliant, we planned how to achieve this great endeavor before Lily got back on Sunday.  Peter said he’d talk to Bill and have him go around to the younger students, if I could approach the other Prefects and older grades, since I myself was a Prefect.  Sirius volunteered to sneak into Hogsmeade and get the album, but I, for one, wasn’t about to allow him all the fun, so I suggested we all go.  Before we could make plans to slip out of the Great Hall to the one-eyed witch, Remus coughed loudly.

 

“Since this is going to be for official business, don’t you think we should talk to Dumbledore about it?”  For a moment, we all looked at him like he was crazy, and he cleared his throat once more, fidgeting a little as he continued.  “I mean, he might have some good ideas.  I’d rather not be caught heading to Hogsmeade for legitimate business, if I could have gone on a pass from the Headmaster, is all.”

 

Sirius’s face broke into a grin, and he smacked Remus between the shoulder blades.  “Good man.  Knew we could count on you to save our detentions for when they’re actually worth something.  Quality, not quantity.  I can see the merits in that.”  He stroked his chin, mock-thoughtfully, tugging on the imaginary beard as Dumbledore did occasionally.  His eyes lit as he eyed each of us in turn, resting lastly on Peter, whose hand was no longer wet, but plenty sticky from the pumpkin juice.  Hiding a smirk, Sirius declared, “Mr. Practicality has spoken.  Let us then to Dumbledore for permission on this grand quest!  Away!”

 

With that, he unsheathed his invisible sword, stood up, and pointed it meaningfully up at the stars, which dotted the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall.  All along the Gryffindor table, people gave us funny looks that turned into giggles.  Obviously, nothing they’ve never seen before…

 

“Sirius?” Peter asked quietly.  “Do you mind sitting down?  I’d like to finish my dinner, if you louts don’t mind.”

 

~~~~~

 

The gargoyle sprang aside immediately as we approached, so we figured it would be alright to go up.  I heard a faint, “Do come in!” in response to our knock, so we pushed open the oak doors and entered the Headmaster’s office.  Even though we’d all been here several times, we still felt like “kids in a candy store,” as my mom used to say.  My fingers itched to go around and touch every little whizzing object, to flip through each of the huge volumes that lined one corner of the massive room, to pet the crimson-plumed bird which was watching us alertly from his perch near a window.  I gave in to the last impulse, and rubbed my forefinger on the side of Fawkes’s head, enticing a slight coo from the magnificent phoenix.  We each took chairs before the giant desk and waited for Dumbledore to show.

 

Clunk clunk.  We looked up to see him walking down the spiral stairs from a higher level, his purple robes following his movements and billowing out slightly from his thin frame.  “That was a wonderful impression at dinner this evening, Mr. Black,” he began, “though I do imagine that it could have been improved with some planning and extra resources.”  His eyes twinkled above his glasses as he raised his eyebrows at Sirius.

 

I could see Sirius’s mind already working, as to how he could have improved his performance.  I tried to follow his thoughts by watching his smirks.  Ok, that was a big grin…I’d need a real sword, for one…a smirk which was slightly questioning…maybe a Filibuster to shoot up fireworks toward the ceiling?… he shook his head slightly, side to side, and then nodded …maybe we’d just shoot up sparks all around me.  I sighed, knowing my friend far too well, and he looked at me and grinned wide, likely coming to the same conclusion.  I mouthed Lily at him, and he quickly assumed a somewhat somber face, and turned back to face the Headmaster, who was now sitting at his desk, watching us with amusement.

 

Remus, who was sitting to my left, gave an eyeroll to Sirius and began our argument. “Well Professor, it’s about Lily.”

 

“Miss Evans?” Dumbledore said gently.  “Ah yes, you five have been good friends for quite some time.  Most unfortunate events as of late.  Please, continue.”

 

Remus nodded.  “We all, not just us four, but the entire House, wanted to do something for her.  You know, so she knows that she feels appreciated.  One of the second-years, Bill Weasley, suggested that we buy her a photo album and fill it with pictures for her, since she has enjoyed looking through them in the past.  We thought that was a smashing idea, but we don’t have an empty album lying around, and it’s not a Hogsmeade weekend.”

 

Dumbledore smiled.  “And so, in order to procure this album, you’d like permission to go to Hogsmeade.  Am I correct in this jump to a conclusion?”

 

We all nodded.

 

Here, Dumbledore almost smirked.  “I must say I am surprised that you came directly to me.  It is nice to know that your students still look to you for permission occasionally,” he swept his gaze over the lot of us, “instead of making use of the resources at their disposal.”

 

My eyes got wide.  Could he be talking about…I looked over at Sirius, to see the same look of shock on his face.  The secret passages!  I gulped, feeling very much like a child who had been caught with their hand in the cookie jar, and was then asking for a pre-dinner snack.  Remus and Peter had assumed similar faces, Remus grimacing as if chiding himself for being lax in our security measures, and Peter looked downright horrified, as if Dumbledore was about to send him packing, back to his mother’s house.

 

Not paying attention to our reactions, Dumbledore continued.  “In any event, I think that’s a very good idea, and I believe Ms. Evans will be very glad to know she has such faithful friends.  I wonder if I might ask you to pick me up some sherbet lemons from Honeyduke’s while you’re down there, James?”  I nodded, making a mental note.  He continued, “You’ll be going tomorrow, I assume?”

 

We all looked at each other for a moment before nodding.  “Ah,” he said, “you will not be the only Hogswarts students in the village tomorrow.  Mr. Severus Snape has also asked permission.  It appears that he has important family business to attend to.”

 

The four of us, Peter especially, cringed at that bit of news.  Snape in Hogsmeade with us?  Ugh.  We immediately, and silently, planned to go early in the day to avoid any confrontation with the abrasive Slytherin.

 

Off in his own thoughts, Dumbledore continued.  “An odd family, the Snapes.  I remember his mother, Desdemona, very well.  She was then a Montveau, but she had such a strong sense of ambition.  A Prefect, if I remember, and her greatest characteristic was certainly her thirst for power.  Her son reminds me greatly of her during her days at Hogwarts, in fact.”  His eyes darkened slightly.  “I have not spoken with Mrs. Snape in quite some time.  A shame, really, for she always had a different way to look at everything, even if it was a bit unorthodox and precarious in the public eye.”

 

Well, this is distinctly odd.  Why was Dumbledore telling us this?  It’s not as if Snape was a friend of ours, in whose background we might be interested.  Was Dumbledore attempting to get us to feel sympathy for the slimy git, simply because his mother went far off the beaten path after graduation?  I was confused, and wasn’t sure how to process the hints that the headmaster was tossing our way.  My brain filed this information somewhere within those gray folds, and for a moment, I attempted to see the world through Snape’s eyes, having grown up with the women described by Dumbledore.

 

Begin to ending is really just a go round and round and round

As I stand here - the ground beneath is nothing more than one point of view

 

The meeting ended there, with some cheery parting words and a promise on my part to come visit following our outing.  Once outside the Headmaster’s office, we headed back to the Common Room, intent on polishing the prank we’d come up with earlier, to make sure that, if we were forced to meet Snape in Hogsmeade, it would be a memorable experience.

 

~~~~~

 

A/N:  I hope that you’ve enjoyed this.  It’s quite a bit different from what I’d originally planned.  I appreciate all of your comments, especially on any of the characters I’m describing.  I like to know my people have plausible personalities.

 

Songs used in this chapter are (in order) as follows:  London by Splendor, from the Halfway Down the Sun  LP; and Raven by Dave Matthews Band, which is found on the Busted Stuff LP.  Both are most excellent CDs, and I recommend them highly.  In addition, the quote referring to grief not getting easier, just “farther away,” belongs to Molly Moon, who wrote a fabulous story on Schnoogle.com entitled, “Arrival Unexpected.”  If you have not read it, please do, it’s quite amazing.  Go to http://www.schnoogle.com/authorLinks/Molly_Moon/. 

 

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed!