Chapter Four - Face Off
4.1
Several days passed-nearly a week. I found myself locked in an uncertain stalemate with James, as hesitant and awkward as a first year. Yet this awkwardness was exhilarating, and, heart pounding, I began looking for opportunities to seek out the bloke. I don't know whether he sensed the change, or was too busy to be bothered, but James seemed to stay as collected as ever, though I did spot his eyes quickly darting away from my glance more often than not, only to catch him, a split second later, with my peripheral vision, staring broodingly at me once my full gaze had shifted from his direction.
The completion of my letter to my parents that Saturday evening created the long-awaited opportunity. With the sealed parchment scroll clutched nervously in my hands like a talisman, I sought him out to collect my "promise-kept."
I didn't have to look far, and, when I found him, my lips twisted into a slight grin at the picture of academia I was suddenly presented with: he was lounging at the desk in his room, leaning so far back in his chair, with his ankles crossed and heels resting on the desktop, that I feared at any moment the pull of gravity would be too much for his delicate balance. His Transfiguration book was spread open on his lap, and he looked quite content, popping Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans into his mouth as he read.
"I thought you said to sod studying," I nagged casually as I leaned in the doorjamb of his room, arms crossed incredulously. "I thought you said you already knew it all."
He didn't turn to face me. "How do you know," James drawled, lazily turning the page and tossing another bean into his mouth, "that I'm studying for class? I could be... teaching myself how to turn into an animagus, for all you know."
I snorted. He seemed to take it as a legitimate response.
"No, you're right," he said, snapping the book shut and letting the front legs of the chair fall heavily to the ground. He stood to face me and spoke again, voice dripping with a sarcastic sort of long-suffering superiority that ended in a sigh. "I'm beyond that level."
"You're beyond believability," I retorted, rolling my eyes, mentally appraising the increasing size of his head and trying to counter this teasing arrogance. He took a few steps toward his bed-and, as it was, towards me-and I began feeling that sickening mixture of eagerness and anxiousness all over again. I stiffened as he reached out, before sagging a little as I realized that he was only reaching for his cloak, which had been flung onto his coverlet. "Anyway, I just came to tell you-"
"That you've cancelled the Quiddich season?" he asked jokingly as he fastened his cloak under his chin and straightened up his Head Boy badge, preparing, I assumed, to head to dinner.
"Err, no..." I said bashfully, remembering my mistake from the week before. "No, I, uh, just wanted to show you..." I thrust out my scroll, reluctant to leave the doorway, and, one hand in his hair, he reached out and took it.
"What's this?" he asked, turning the parchment over in his fingers, a pleased expression on his face as if he could make a particularly good guess on the subject.
"The... letter."
"Ah." His eyes held mine and I forced myself not to look away; it seemed that I was finding myself doing that more and more often, these days. "Off to mail it, are you?"
"Well, yes-"
"Then I'm coming with you," he interrupted firmly, passing the letter back to me.
I rolled my eyes. "Of course you are," I stated doubtfully, accentuating the comment with a raised eyebrow; I hated to admit-even to myself-that I had wanted and expected him to tag along, though I couldn't help but wonder why he would.
"I want to see you send it," he explained, raising his eyebrows at my own look of incredulous surprise. He smiled. "Just give me a second to tell my mates where I'm off to."
I nodded, and headed back to my side of Gryffindor tower. I was halfway down the stairs to the common room, when I realized: he had known the whole time what I was there for. I clenched the letter in my fist and blushed at how well he could read me, resisting the urge to hate him for it. I took a deep breath, forcing my heart out of my throat and back to its proper place.
4.2
We met up at the portrait hole, quite by accident on my part and by great timing on his, because by the time I had gotten down the stairs, I had decided to leave without him if only to regain my grasp on some semblance of spontaneity, no matter how weak. He met me without a word, only a passive inclination of the head, a formality of one Head to the other. It was then that I realized that the majority of the older students in the Common Room were watching, half with partly concealed looks of amusement, the other with tense looks of contemplation, as if wondering what James and I were doing together.
I waited until the Portrait Hole was firmly closed behind us and we were out of the earshot of the Fat Lady before speaking.
"As if the two Heads aren't supposed to meet," I said sourly, looking briefly over my shoulder to find that the Fat Lady's portrait had opened a hair and someone was peeking out at us. I heard a strangled yell from inside the room-it sounded like Alice-and the portrait banged shut. "I bet you anything that they were betting on whether or not we're going to start bickering." I shot him a daring look. "Or whether or not you are going to ask me out again."
James laughed as we turned a corner, our feet automatically tracing the route to the west tower, our destination. "I wonder who's going to end up winning."
I shrugged indignantly. "I guess it's up to you."
He looked askance at me, before saying, with a smile, "Speaking of dating-"
"No!"
He ignored my interruption. "-we need to plan out all the Hogsmeade days." He tossed me a pointed look. "You know, for all of those lucky bastards who do have someone to go with."
I laughed at the way he had laid the issue on the table, despite my unpleasant mood. "Okay," I said, blushing, feeling like a grand idiot for making such a completely wrong assumption-and yet, my mood lightened significantly. "We'll do that tomorrow."
We didn't speak again until the smell of feathers and owl pellets began to permeate the air; instead, we walked side-by-side in a sort of newfound companionable silence. Suddenly I was presented with the impression that I was very much an adult: there I was, Head Girl, striding along the castle corridors as confidently as if I owned the place, accompanied by-well, James Potter, but that couldn't be helped.
The impression was marred by the smell fouling the air, however, and upon reaching the wooden door that led into the owelry, I wrinkled my nose with distaste.
"Filch really needs to clean this place," I commented dryly as we passed into the owelry, ending up on a rickety, pellet-strewn wooden landing that was connected to a criss-cross of stairways that headed either down to the ground floor or to another floor's landing, though not in any particular order. Stairs from the third floor landing, for example, reached only the second floor or fifth, and only from the sixth floor were stairs that reached the first. It was painfully apparent, by the way the stairs creaked and swayed unexpectedly, that magic was the only thing holding up the woodworks.
I glanced into the crush of owls, shaking my head when I spotted the school owls far out of reach, roosting on perches stretching across the second floor, opposite the landing. Though here and there an owl, its feathers ruffled irritably at our intrusion on its sleep, stared accusingly at us with an amber eye, the school owls were decidedly ignoring our entrance.
"Stubborn creatures, aren't they?" James asked wryly, smiling and leaning over the railing. At his motion the whole landing lurched, and I leaned back against the stone wall nervously. He held out an arm, made a clicking noise with his tongue, and a spotted owl soared silently from across the circular room to perch on James' forearm. "But you can borrow Icarus, if you'd like."
"Are you sure you don't mind?" I asked, reaching out to stroke Icarus' dark feathers uncertainly. He turned his head to look at me, his dark eyes boring steadily into my own. Then suddenly the owl cocked his head before nipping my fingers and holding out a foot expectantly.
James laughed. "No, as Icarus doesn't seem to." He scratched the owl's head in a friendly way as its claws closed tightly over the scroll, before sending Icarus off with an upward lurch of his arm. "Don't fly too high."
I sighed as the bird soared away into the yellow evening sky, suddenly feeling so much lighter-so much freer. I turned to face James, who was staring unseeingly at his hands as though debating with himself.
"Thanks," I said awkwardly, giving him a small smile that he didn't see. "Promise kept, right?"
He grinned despite his suddenly preoccupied mood. "You're right."
"Now it's my turn to ask a favor," I said hastily, catching him off guard. "Can you answer me one question?"
James looked at me quizzically before nodding. "Of course."
"What are you thinking," I said slowly, trying to word my question just right, "when you're staring at me, and you don't think I'm looking?" I felt the tingling of heat in my cheeks, and forced it away.
He snorted unbelievably, though his attempt at nonchalance was destroyed as I noticed the nearly imperceptible tensing of his body as he tried to think of a response. I nearly smirked with the thought that perhaps I could read him almost as well as he could read me, though I worked my mouth furiously in order to keep my amusement from showing on my face.
"Do you seriously expect me to answer that?" he asked spryly, crossing his arms and turning to face me so that one side of his body leaned up against the railing. His face was blank but for a raised eyebrow, yet his eyes were very much alive.
I planted my hands on my hips and looked at him pointedly.
"Alright, alright," he said quickly, raising his hands as though fending me off. "Well... I think about how worried you are about your family, and that gets me thinking about my mum, and my dad, and the war." He paused, took the time to run a hand through his hair. "The war generally causes me to sidetrack to thoughts about my friends and future, but either way, it comes back to you. And I wonder at how you came to be such a-" he hesitated, but at a gesture from me, spat it out. "-a strong, beautiful woman, and I remember how horrible it must of been for you, the way I pursued you all those years like a blind, staggering idiot-sorry for that, by the way." He paused again, this time just long enough to smile. "But just remember that it's the thought that counts, yeah?"
I responded with a long-suffering sigh that was softened by a smile.
"Yeah. And that's about it," he finished, shrugging. "My thoughts go in circles: the war and my future in it, my parents, my friends, you." He glanced down at his feet, before adding boldly, "But it's when I force myself not to look at you that you should really wonder what I'm thinking."
"Oh yeah?" I asked, my face feeling flushed from his previous compliments. I narrowed my eyes, peering up at his face intently to try to discern meaning behind his bespectacled hazel eyes. "Why?"
He raised his head. "Because when I won't look at you," he said, in the tone of a man walking boldly into a do-or-die situation, ready to face the consequences, whatever they may be, whatever the cost, "I'm trying to keep from..."
"From...?" I prompted expectantly, forcing myself not to tap my foot with impatience; he had strung this out too long not to finish it off. Curiously, I felt both scared and thrilled at the unwavering look I found in his eyes.
"Well, since you asked," he said vaguely, a note of uncertainty creeping into his voice we contemplated each other. "From... this." And with a swift, eager motion he stepped toward me, cupped my face in his hands, and he was kissing me, thrills chasing up and down my spine. Just as suddenly-just as I was registering what was happening-James pulled away, apologized, and retreated from the landing. I glimpsed a shadow of pain in his eyes before he vanished, heard him cursing himself as he fled.
4.3
The next morning I arrived to breakfast earlier than normal; the previous night's tête-à-tête with James had left me feeling restless and unable to lay thinking in bed as I normally would have done upon waking early on a Sunday morning, curled and comfortable in warm sheets. I burned to find James, to tell him that I wasn't sorry for his action, but at the same time, I was dreading meeting him-and why had he left so quickly? I wanted to scream. I kissed Potter. I kissed James Potter-no, he just kissed me. Looking back on it hours later, I still couldn't decide whether to be pleased or furious with myself, and decided that I had suffered from a complete lapse of judgment either way. Though I wouldn't have minded if he tried it again.
So, with these thoughts in my mind and after blinking into the rising sun for a few moments, its tendrils of light reaching through the windowpane to warm my face, I gathered the energy to roll myself out of bed.
Stifling a yawn with my hand and once again pushing all thoughts of James from my mind-rather, attempting to-I plodded heavily down the stairs and into the Common Room, stopping briefly to conjure a blanket to lay over a fifth year who had fallen asleep over her studies; no doubt she had worked into the night, worrying about her O.W.L.-year workload. Smiling, I crept out of the common room as quietly as possible. After apologizing to the Fat Lady for waking her, I slowly made my way to breakfast, reveling in the way the early morning sunbeams shone across the marble floors, and relishing the quiet solitude of the castle. It was times like this when nothing could bother me-it was a beautiful morning, and I could sense magic and greatness reverberating through me, could hear a steady thrumming in the back of my mind, the heartbeat of this revered place.
As I padded down the shifting staircases toward the Great Hall, passing through patches of morning light and dimness, I almost-almost-wanted to cry at the thought of leaving in June. Almost.
Lost in my own thoughts and memories from the past, I didn't notice what was happening in front of me until I was bearing down upon the scene, in high danger of stepping on Remus Lupin's head, which was poking out of the next-lowest stair. I furrowed my eyebrows at the sight, my brain momentarily at a loss for explanation. In the split-second my brain had no control over my faculties, my nervous system took control, and saved me from tripping into a headlong plummet to the foot of the stairs. Barely.
"Remus?" I asked in astonishment, trip-skipping over the exposed uppermost part of his body, still uncertain of what I was seeing. Steadying myself on the stair below, I turned to stare incredulously at him. "What are you doing?"
"Hello, Lily," he said, struggling to climb the rest of the way out of the trick step. "Looks like you found me out."
"I suppose," I said, smiling, taking hold of myself and reaching down to grab his robes and help him out. As I hauled him onto my own stair, I glanced down into the hole he was climbing out of and saw a few stone steps vanishing away into the darkness. "Interesting... I never knew these trick steps led to secret passages." I looked expectably at him, waiting for him to expand on the subject.
He shrugged, getting to his feet. "You'd be surprised. Not all of them are more than nuisances. This one only opens half the time I try it, but it is a nice shortcut when it works. Shall we?" he asked nonchalantly, gesturing for us to continue on our journeys to the Great Hall.
"Where does it go?" I asked curiously, ignoring a vague suspicion that Remus wanted me to change the subject. I glanced over my shoulder as we trouped down the stairs to find that the opening had sealed itself.
He grinned mischievously and I rolled my eyes at his air of "that's for me to know, and you to find out." If anything was the trademark of a Marauder, exhibiting that aura was it.
"Oh, come on," I nettled, trying not to smile; his grin was infectious. "It's going to be annoying, letting myself get stuck in every trick step just to see if it leads anywhere."
"A marauder does what he has to do," he said simply, pausing to hold the door to the Great Hall open for me.
Though I appreciated the chivalrous (and very un-marauder like) gesture, I crossed my arms, sulking. "Well, I'm not a marauder."
"Too right you aren't," Remus retorted, baiting me. "Then I guess you'll never know where it leads."
I glared at him, trying to keep up pretenses and not smile at the banter, but Remus snorted and shook his head amusedly-he knew me too well-as he followed me through the doorway.
4.4
Stomach rumbling, I intended on grabbing some toast and heading back to the common room to wake Emmeline and Alice, but to my surprise, when I arrived at the fairly empty Gryffindor table, Emmeline was already there.
She was sitting at the far end of the table, hunched over a letter, her bacon seemingly forgotten on the tabletop next to her. When Remus and I slid into the seats across from her, she didn't glance up at us, but only greeted us with a drawn "'G mornin'."
"Morning, sunshine," I said cheerfully, reaching down the table for a few pieces of toast. "I didn't expect you'd be awake so early..." I trailed off at her uncanny silence, and glanced up at her. Absently, I accepted the jar of jam that Remus had fetched from down the table, and began fixing my toast as I searched her face, pausing as I spotted the down-turned corners of her lips, her effort of hiding a frown. "What's wrong?"
Emmeline sighed and slid the rumpled letter across the table to me, face down. "They pushed it back."
"Who pushed what back?" I asked curiously, whipping the parchment from the table and reading it.
Dear Miss Vance,
Due to the increasing amount of court cases of late, we regret to inform you that your hearing, originally scheduled for Sunday, September 21, has been rescheduled for Saturday, November 19...
The letter ended with directions on where to go and at what time, and I furrowed my eyebrows as I folded the parchment up and gave it back to her.
"But they can't do that," I protested, glancing at Remus, expecting him to support my argument; unfortunately, judging by the blank expression on his face, he had no idea what Emmeline and I were talking about, and then it hit me-I was probably the only person that Emmeline had told about her situation.
Emmeline bit out a laugh. "But they have. Looks like some bigger cases have come along."
"What's bigger than-" I began, my voice rising dangerously. Realizing what I was about to say, I winced before adding, bracingly, "Well, at least that's more time for you here, if things go badly-"
"More time for me here?" Emmeline asked mildly, though there was the threat of tears in her eyes. She leaned across the table toward me, whispering quietly. "Don't you see that I want this off my plate? I want to know, one way or the other, so I can prepare for the effects. How long do you think it'll take, once I'm gone, for them to find me? It's not that I'm afraid of dying, it's just that I can't do anything if I'm dead."
Beside me, Remus crunched on his bacon loudly and appeared supremely interested in designing patterns in the scrambled eggs on his plate; poor bloke must have felt awkward, but he had the sense not to intrude upon this particular type of conversation. Emmeline didn't seem to care that he could hear, so, after a quick glance to my left and right-Remus was still absorbed with his food, and there was no one on my right-I leaned in toward Emmeline so that we were almost nose to nose, our eyes boring into one another's.
"Emmeline, Dumbledore won't let th-"
"Do you really think he can stop them-"
"Do you really think he won't try?" I countered, interjecting just as fiercely as she, and she bit her tongue. We stared at each other for a few moments more, a shadow of a smile touching my lips when I remembered the game we used to play, the one that proclaimed that the first person to look away had the weaker will of mind. Neither of us looked away, and suddenly Emmeline began to smile.
"Which `they' are we talking about, again?"
I grinned, leaning back in my seat. "Doesn't matter. You might have done something illegal, but it was nothing wrong. You're not leaving the school, end of story." Feeling triumphant and suddenly ravenous, I bit happily into my toast. I won't let anything happen to her.
"Dumbledore takes care of his people," concluded Remus quietly from my side, still poking at his plate. I smiled at his statement and sent Emmeline a knowing look; she contemplated him for a moment, biting her upper lip, and then, finally, nodded.
As the Hall filled slowly, we talked amiably of the first week of school, laughing, as usual, at the antics of the first years. When Alice, Sirius, and Peter joined the group (James, I was told, was off by the lake, writing his dad), the conversation became even more rambunctious.
"So I'm holding this first year by the scruff of his robes, trying to keep him from kicking me," Sirius said once we were done eating, finishing yet another story and holding up a clenched fist as he spoke, as if to illustrate his words, "Peter's got his mate cornered-the lad was so angry at being caught-and James is down the hall, dealing with the girl they hexed. Poor girl is hysterical-well, who wouldn't be, with worms for hair and boils springing up everywhere-and no matter what James tried, he couldn't set her straight."
"In James' defense," interrupted Peter quickly, laughter in his voice, "Who knows what hexes those boys used?"
"The spells were probably just made up," I agreed, crossing my arms, slightly put out that I had not been informed of this scenario right after it happened, yet surreptitiously amused as I pictured the scene in my mind.
"Yeah, but he still looked like an idiot," continued Sirius, and both Emmeline and Alice laughed as he glared at Peter and me for interrupting. "Anyway, then Peeves showed up and bollixed things up even more. He started pegging her with butterbeer bottle caps, and it must have been her first encounter with a poltergeist, because she went crazy. James ended up stunning her and taking her to the hospital wing."
"Poor thing," said Alice, glancing around the Great Hall as if hoping to find and comfort the particular first year.
"He stunned her?" I asked a split second later, horrified. "Stunned her, a first year..."
"And muggleborn to boot. I bet she never wants to come back..."
4.5
We continued in this fashion until the mail arrived. The situation felt very surreal, almost like a dream because it couldn't possibly be happening yet; yesterday, it seemed, I was only a first year-but now... now we were adults, about to be thrust out into a turbulent world, and nobody would let us forget it.
"Oh for Merlin's sake!" exclaimed Emmeline, bursting into the babble, spooking her owl half to death, and effectively chilling the mood at the table. She had just opened her copy of the Sunday Prophet, and I leaned forward to view a picture of the moon cycling through all its phases accompanied by the article "WEREWOLVES ON THE PROWL," by Rita Skeeter.
"What does it say?" asked Alice nervously, fearing, I assumed, a new danger to Frank. Emmeline's eyes scanned the article, quickly, and the others gave her their full attention.
"Listen to this: `Sources report that numerous victims of recent raids and attacks have been found with bites and gashes, one survivor identifying his neighbor, a registered werewolf, as his attacker, despite the waxing moon. Healers are still unsure what werewolf characterizes victims will exhibit.'"
"If they exhibit any at all," muttered Alice, a finger broodingly tapping against her lips, at the same time that Remus roughly pushed away his plate.
"That's horrible!" he exclaimed, looking very upset, his thin face wrinkled as he furrowed his eyebrows and frowned.
Emmeline ignored him, shaking her head as she continued reading. "`Some extremists argue that all werewolves, because of their temperaments, will inevitably enter the service of You-Know-Who, and are proposing more stringent anti-werewolf legislation-'"
"Rubbish," growled Sirius, who was glaring daggers at the paper as though he wanted to rip it apart and shove the pieces down the extremists' throats.
"I don't understand, Black, you can't believe the Ministry will just abide these attacks? It's awful," I gasped, siding with Remus' viewpoint. "Attacking people, not even as a full wolf-"
Sirius' mouth dropped open as though I'd said something utterly inane. "Werewolves are only wolves one night out of thirty, Evans, and many of them don't even-"
"That's what I just said, you pillock-" I interrupted, trying to explain that that was the reason these attacks were so horrible. But he didn't let me get that far.
"Don't be so close minded, dearest," he spat sarcastically. "Werewolves are normal people the rest of the time-"
"Black, normal people just don't go around attacking-"
"Blimey," muttered Sirius unbelievingly, crossing his arms and leaning forward as he spoke. "Are you insa-you're not serious, are you?"
I opened my mouth, searching for the words to justify myself. It was difficult, the way he took the conversation and leapt all over the place with it. "...what's wrong with me being afraid of a person who turns into a wolf, a person who might attack me and turn me into a wolf?"
He dropped a first to the tabletop, the motion expressing his dubious agitation. "Are you afraid of all animagi, then, Evans?" he countered. "Because they turn into animals too, and not all animals are friendly."
"But that's different, Black-"
He laughed. "Oh, really? How?"
"The control-"
"So you're basically saying that all werewolves should be discriminated against, because a few crazy ones have joined You-Know-Who's side?"
I clenched my fists, frustrated that Sirius wasn't listening to a word I said, yet telling myself that he wasn't attacking me, per se, just defending a position that he obviously felt strongly about. But that didn't help lower my heart rate or take the mocking sting out of his words. And it humiliated me to concede that he made a good point. I sighed, trying to explain myself coherently.
"No, will you listen? I-"
"Because then shouldn't all wizards be discriminated against, too? I seem to think that we do most of the damage-"
Peter coughed loudly. "Emmeline, can you go on to another article, please?" He was squirming in his chair, tossing anxious looks at Remus, who had his eyes closed and looked as if he was imagining something from a nightmare. Alice, for her part, was taking it in turns to stare at first me, and then at Sirius, who was still sitting with his arms stubbornly crossed, one eyebrow cocked dubiously at me, before glancing back to me again. I fervently hoped that I looked at least half as confident and unruffled as Sirius did.
Neither Alice nor Peter seemed sure of what to say, and I was thankful for the distraction when Emmeline grunted and tore her eyes to the next meandering column of writing on the front page.
"Oh, here's some good news..." she paused to absorb the information in the next article. "They sentenced the Death Eaters that killed the Auror couple: life in Azkaban."
Peter snorted at the sentence ("There's no way those dementor are going to keep the Death Eaters locked away,") but Alice leaned forward with interest.
Emmeline furrowed her eyebrows as she continued to summarize the article. "It says... the two aurors were tortured... one had the Imperious curse put on him, and he was made to torture and kill his wife," she said, her eyes widening with shock at every word. "He was then tortured by various curses-including Cruciatus-until he couldn't move, and was left to suffocate on his own blood." She swallowed, looking vaguely sick. "Who could do such a thing?"
"Those are the Death Eaters that attacked Frank and his partner, right?" I asked, feeling nauseous and throwing a look at Sirius. He nodded in conformation, our squabble seemingly forgotten in the wake of this more important news, and I turned my attention back to Emmeline. "I didn't know they had any suspects."
"The two aurors were dead before Frank and Samuel arrived," supplied Alice with a strained voice, before she compulsively began chewing on a fingernail. "Frank was the only witness to their identities. D-does it have their names? The ones who did it?"
"I'm sure it does," said Emmeline faintly, holding the paper up in front of her face and squinting at the very bottom. "Yes, there it is." She bit her lip before shooting a glance down the Slytherin table and continuing. "It was Misters Mulciber, Avery, and Rosier."
As soon as the names were out of Emmeline's mouth, Sirius seemed to prick up. He narrowed his eyes and looked past me, scanning the Slytherin table beyond, just as Emmeline had done.
Remus sent her a surprisingly stern look. "Did you say Avery and Rosier?"
"That little git!" Sirius growled before Emmeline could answer, springing over the table. I turned in time to see him dart across the aisle between tables and wrench a sixth year from his seat.
"Sirius!" yelled Peter, who was close on his heels, trying to get a grip on his robes and hold him back. "Don't!"
I shot a worried glance at Emmeline and Alice before jumping to my feet and pulling out my wand. Sirius had forced the sixth year against the wall and was pressing the tip of his wand into the poor lad's forehead.
"You!" Sirius spat, grinding his wand into the boy's skin, making him wince and jerk his head away so that it knocked against the window beside him. A few Slytherin jumped to their feet in surprise and reached for their wands. "You knew all along, didn't you," he pressed.
"Black, stop it," I demanded, directing my wand at Sirius' torso and trying to keep my hands from shaking. At this, the other Slytherin paused, wands pointing toward the floor. My heart was pounding in my throat, but at my words both boys stiffened, and, though neither of them looked at me, they wore the same looks of loathing, squared their shoulders the same way. And I realized, this was Regulus, Sirius' younger brother.
"You're going to regret this," snarled Regulus quietly, staring into his brother's eyes.
"No, I'm going to quite enjoy it," retorted Sirius, leaning in closer to Regulus' face.
"Sirius!" warned Remus sharply from where he was standing by the Gryffindor table. Sirius frowned, furrowing his eyebrows.
"Twenty points from Gryffindor for attacking a fellow student," I said, voice shaking, though it was with adrenaline, not fear. From the corner of my eyes I saw a stream of rubies flying upward out of the Gryffindor hourglass. "Keep going and it'll be fifty more and I'll have you cleaning the owelry, without magic."
Sirius paused for a moment, and considered his brother before stalking away, Remus and Peter right behind him. Cursing Sirius under my breath, I filled the vacancy before his brother. "Are you alright?" I asked Regulus, glancing at the black mark on his forehead, a remnant of Sirius' anger. He ignored it.
"Filthy mudblood and blood traitors," he muttered grimly before turning away. I stared agape for a moment, wondering what the boy was thinking, tempted to finish what Sirius had started despite the grinning Slytherins surrounding me. But then I froze, noticing, through the window, the scene that must have commanded Sirius' attention a moment earlier.
"Bloody hell," I cursed, turning away from the window and dashing after Sirius, motioning hastily for Emmeline and Alice not to follow.
4.6
The morning sunlight shone brightly upon me as I raced down the path toward the lake, wand out and hoping that the image of James-based on Sirius' reaction, it had to be him-standing utterly still, wandless, tensed before a crescent of four Slytherin seventh years, all poised to strike, had only been a trick of the light.
A sliver of the fathomless sage lake came into view as I neared Peter, Remus, and Sirius, who all had their wands out by this point. I followed the three of them as they turned off of the path to cut across the actual grounds, trusting that they knew of a short cut to the lakeshore. The knee-high grass I ran through grabbed at my ankles, threatening to trip me, before turning abruptly into leafy brambles as we entered the fringes of the Forbidden Forest. Surprisingly, I made no qualms at our entrance.
The wind picked up slightly, adding the chorus of innumerable rustling leaves to the cracking and snapping of undergrowth and twigs that pulled against, and inevitably yielded to, our footfalls. The trees here were young, their trunks thin, and I got the impression that I was moving faster than I really was as the tress flashed by so quickly that the movement opposite the trees seemed punctuated, as though the scene was a slideshow of pictures taken at quarter-second intervals.
The three Marauders closed in behind the four Slytherins-who I now identified as Severus Snape and his three friends, Rosier, Wilkes, and Avery-just as Snape fired a curse at James that caught him across the chest, forcing him a step backwards.
"Same bloody curse again, eh?" snarled James, through teeth clenched with pain. A second later, Sirius had disarmed Snape and barreled into him, both James and Rosier had dived toward James' wand, which was partially hidden in the grass several feet away, and Remus and Peter had entered some sort of disarming duel against Wilkes and Avery.
Staying out of sight behind the trees, I leveled my wand at Rosier, but paused a moment before firing a spell at him; it was a moment when my muggle upbringing collided with my newer sense of magical normalcy, and my thoughts on what I was witnessing-James, wrestling on the ground for control of the wand-went haywire. I was dumbfounded for a moment, wondering, on the one hand, why two grown men were fighting for a stupid stick, and on the other, why they were on the ground anyway-shouldn't Rosier be attacking James via magic?
The moment lasted only a heartbeat before I regained control of my senses, and, gritting my teeth, I concentrated as hard as I could on the incantation "Petrificus Totalus!" before aiming at the grappling pair and hoping that I'd just hit Rosier.
I cringed as they both froze, but didn't have time to worry about it; upon bursting from the trees, I took two steps before placing another full body bind on both Wilkes and Avery, neither of whom knew I was there, and turned, taking a final step before bearing down on Snape.
Snape was sporting a swelling eye but had regained his wand, and he and Sirius were dueling among the trees, flashes of light slicing through the air, tree bark blackening into smoke and ash where the curses ricocheted. Snape spotted me as I raised my wand, and, almost as an afterthought, flicked his wand in my direction. Reflexively I jerked behind the nearest tree and grimaced as the unspoken curse whizzed a hairsbreadth beside me to my right, its whine pitching from high to low as it passed. By the time I glanced back over at him, he was frozen, stilled in the process of bringing his wand back to bear on Sirius.
I exhaled, glancing through the soft green light of the grove to make sure that all every Slytherin had been taken care of. They looked ominous in their dark robes: like flesh-colored statues made of stone, which time would never weather down. I shivered at the image despite the summer heat. Sirius, Remus, and Peter were all lowering their wands, each with a determined scowl on his face.
"Evans?" asked Peter, turning toward me and wiping his brow. "Where the bloody hell did you come from?"
"Twenty points from Gryffindor," I said quietly, gripping my wand so tightly that I almost thought it would snap. I turned to look at the three of them, taking in the sweat dripping from their faces and the dirt plastered to them, though the fight-I refused to think of it as a battle-had only lasted a few seconds. "Each."
Remus stepped forward "But, Lily, we were only-"
"You still attacked a fellow student, Remus," I said, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "That's intolerable."
"But James-"
"I suggest you get back to the tower." I stood there, unmoving, as they glanced at each other. Perhaps it was the expression on my face, but eventually they set off back the way they had come, Sirius unable to resist tapping Avery as he passed, causing Avery to topple over into the grass. Once they were out of sight, I collected all four Slytherin wands, having to jerk Snape's from his rigid grasp.
As I released Avery, Snape, and Wilkes from the bind, the back of my neck tingled as though a horrible danger lie just around the corner. Ignoring it, I turned to face the three stiff men, each of whom was glaring at me.
I took a breath before speaking. "Fifty points from Slytherin, all four of you, for attacking a student four-on-one."
Avery spat. "Filthy mudblood."
I ignored it, pointing toward the castle with my fistful of wands. "You can collect your wands from Professor Slughorn later this evening. Doubtless he'll want a word."
None of them moved.
I sighed, pointing my wand at the knot of them. "Or would you prefer to stay out here all night in a body bind? I hear the werewolves are on the prowl."
At this, Snape's face contorted with anger, his face looking even more sallow than usual, despite his blackened eye. Without a word, both he and Wilkes set back off toward the castle, but paused as Avery did not follow.
"And what about Rosier, eh?" Avery said stubbornly, crossing his arms. "I'm not leaving him alone with the likes of you."
Gritting my teeth, I turned my back to the lot of them and headed over to where James and Rosier were still frozen in their tussle. Rosier had James on his back, one knee pressing onto James' injured chest, pinning him to the ground, the other pressing down on James' thighs, holding his legs down; a fist was pulled back, ready slam into James' face. As for James, his jaw was clenched shut, his lip was split, and his face was frozen as he winced in preparation for the blow, but James had one up on Rosier: in the struggle James had gotten hold of his wand, squeezed it between Rosier's body and his own, and aimed it at Rosier's gut.
"Rosier is fine," I said, poking him with the tip of my want and muttering the counter curse. Sighing and rubbing his back, he straightened, tensing once he noticed the position of James' wand. When he noticed that my wand was still trained on him, he spat, just as Avery had done, and glared.
"Now get back to the castle," I ordered, not even blinking until they were up the path and out of sight, and even then, waiting another two minutes more before lowering my wand.
I turned my attention back to James, who now looked quite ridiculous, and squatted beside him. I chewed the inside of my lip as I peered at his wounds, taking my time, knowing that every second of the bind was growing more and more uncomfortable and tiresome for him. It was the least he deserved.
After convincing myself that his wounds weren't life threatening, I stood, making sure that he could see me through his narrowed eyes.
"I thought you promised not to go do something stupid," I said simply, before turning my back on him and heading north toward the castle, my eyes staring straight ahead, my feet unconsciously negotiating the loose rock path heading upward along the edge of the cliffs that Hogwarts rested upon. After several steps, I flicked my wand casually, smiling with satisfaction at the curse I heard as James was released from the spell.
4.7
"Evans, wait," James called from behind me, his voice echoing among the numerous trunks of oak, yew, and pine.
"I'm not interested," I said shortly, tucking the captured wands into my robes and continuing my trek back up to the castle.
"Maybe not, but I bet you are interested in staying out of a full body bind yourself." He paused, before adding, "That was a good bit of magic, by the way."
I took a few more stubborn steps before sighing and stopping. I still refused to look at him, but I heard him jogging through the underbrush to catch up to me, and when he was close enough, I began walking again. He fell into step with me. "What, Potter?" I asked tiredly.
James glanced at me before cracking his neck and stretching his arms pointedly, working out the kinks in his muscles that my spell had put in, wincing as he stretched his wounded chest. "Look, Evans, I'm sorry if you disagree with my methods, but-"
"Your methods?" I choked, before rounding on him and jabbing my wand vehemently at his face. "You are single handedly tying to turn this place into a battleground. And it's not a war zone-at least, not yet."
"Their fathers-" he began, but I spun away, cutting his words short.
"They aren't their fathers," I said determinedly, picking my way back up the trail.
James scoffed. "They're of the same mold. Do you honestly believe that they won't grow up to be exactly like dear old dad?"
I hesitated. Noticing this, James bounded forward with a frown on his face, reaching out to grip my upper arm and hold me fast to the spot. "Do you know what they were talking about when I came across them?" He asked, coming to a stop facing me. We had passed high enough up the trail that it skirted under overhanging branches of the Dark Forest, and the dappled shadows of the trees played across his face, darkening his eyes.
His grip was like iron, and I didn't try to pull away. "No..." I said, uncertainly, frowning.
"Avery and Rosier were throwing around Frank's name," James said, "wishing they could have `silenced' him before he gave testimony against their fathers-like they'd be much of a match for Frank," he said grimly. "And Wilkes and Snape were sympathizing with them! They were talking about taking the Mark, all four of them! What would you have done? Let them walk away?"
I narrowed my eyes. "There is a certain line that-"
"What line?" He gave my arm an exasperated squeeze, shook it slightly as though trying to shake sense into me. "Lily, if we don't kill them now, they'll only try to kill us later."
My heart began beating fiercely at the thought, and nervousness clawed at my stomach as I remembered my narrow escape from the raid in Portsmouth. The midday heat was oppressive, lying heavily upon us, and I suddenly felt out of breath. "I..."
"So you see my point." He released my arm, and I clutched it with my free hand, trying to massage the pain away.
"You can't make that call, James-"
"And why can't I?" His eyes were fierce, almost enough to unnerve me, but not enough to still my tongue. He opened his mouth to say something, hesitated, and finished with a stubborn, "I guess we agree to disagree, then."
"You can't go around trying to kill students!" I said, throwing up my hands in agitation and beginning to pace.
"There is a bigger picture in motion than just `school', Lily."
"This is ridiculous," I said, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear in agitation. "I can't believe I'm even discussing this with you."
Again, James opened his mouth to speak before catching himself, apparently deciding that I didn't need to hear it. He shrugged, ran a hand through his hair, and set off again, veering off of the path to remain alongside the forest, heading in the general direction of the Quiddich pitch. I hesitated, biting my lower lip, tempted to follow him.
I didn't. Sagging against the nearest tree, I rubbed my temples weakly, trying both to catch my breath and settle my frayed nerves. I had never enjoyed confrontation, and I liked it less, now, in a time of war.
More questions and never the answers I seek, I thought resignedly as, world spinning, I headed back to the castle.
4.8
Later that night, Alice, Emmeline, and I shoved aside our homework, vowing to stay out of the library for as long as possible, and settled down next to the fire in the Common Room to enjoy the end of our Sunday. I curled up with a book in an armchair as close to the fire as I could tolerate, listening amusedly to Alice and Emmeline's repartee-they were playing a game that allowed them to speak only in non-rhetorical questions-as Alice thoroughly beat Emmeline at Wizard's Chess.
"Emmeline, how many games are we going to have to play for you to realize that I'm simply better than you are?" asked Alice, smiling as she closed in on Emmeline's king with a rook.
"Was that a rhetorical statement, Alice?" growled Emmeline, studying the board unblinkingly.
"May I offer a suggestion?" Alice shifted on the pillows that she was lying on so that she could reach out and signal to Emmeline's pieces where they should move.
Emmeline swatted Alice's hand away. "Do you want to loose those fingers?"
"Why are you such a horrid loser?"
"Rhetoric! I'm up one point!" Emmeline crowed triumphantly, and Alice sat back abruptly as she realized that she had walked straight into that abmush. Emmeline beamed. "So you thought you are the only one who can play at strategy, eh?"
I shook my head, laughing, and turned back to my novel just as a piece of parchment was slipped onto the pages. The script was small and cramped, but from the glistening ink I could make out a list of dates.
I glanced up, surprised to find James standing over me. "Those are my suggestions for the Hogsmeade dates," he said abruptly, scratching tensely at his temple. He was speaking quietly, hardly loud enough to be heard over the din the rest of Gryffindor was making, and I had to lean forward to hear him.
"Okay, thanks," I said slowly, irked that I had forgotten to write out the dates, and slightly touched that he had remembered. I folded the paper into quarters and closed the pages of my book onto it. "I guess I'll take a look at them, later, and turn this in to Dumbledore the next time I see him."
"Yeah, okay," he said, nodding and turning away. He froze halfway through the motion, looking over his shoulder at me to say, "but, erm, you might want to re-write it because my handwriting is somewhat..." he paused, searching for the right word. "Unreadable."
I smiled thinly at his awkwardness, hugging the book absentmindedly to my chest. "It looks legible enough to me."
He ran his tongue nervously over his split lip, and I had the mad desire to dash across the room and kiss him, to run my hands through his hair, to tread the dangerous frontier I knew he'd, unwittingly, take me to. He must have seen the change in my eyes, for he raised his eyebrows nearly imperceptibly, and froze, daring me to look away.
I blushed, taking a deep breath and clenching my book with my fingers so hard that they turned white with my attempt to appear impassive.
"Right." He nodded again, the shadow of a knowing smile upon his lips and the impression `forgiven' in his eyes, and turned away, heading back over to his friends.
"Right," I echoed faintly, furrowing my eyebrows and glancing back down at my book, where the rumpled edge of the timetable was poking from between the pages. Tapping it absently, I became highly conscious that both Alice and Emmeline were staring at me, mouths open.
"What the bloody hell was that about?" asked Emmeline, raising her eyebrows.
I turned to stare out of the window, not daring to let them see my face lest they notice the blush. "It's nothing," I said absently. "Head duties."
But if it is nothing, I thought vaguely, staring out over the lush peaks of the forest trees, losing myself in the mountains of purple clouds that stacked heavily down upon one another, hiding the sunset, then why do you feel like you just ran a marathon?
I shivered and sank back into the chair, reliving the way he had closed his eyes and seemed to smile when he had kissed me. Yet I still hadn't figured out... why had he run off, why was there pain in his eyes?
"It's much less complicated," I muttered to myself as the sunset faded to darkness and I was left staring at my own reflection in the windowpane, "to just be mad at him."
I tossed a look past Emmeline and Alice to watch James and Sirius coaching a third year who was facing off in a "championship" round of gobstones against his best mate, who was, in turn, being egged on by Remus and Peter. James was laughing, pounding the lad on the back for pulling off a particularly stunning gob. As expected, I hadn't been watching for long before James looked casually up at me and caught my eye, a smile lingering on his lips. Our eyes met for only a moment-one that spoke volumes, filled with meaning that I could not quite understand-before the third year was squirted in the face with a seemingly unending spray of foul-smelling liquid from this mate's gobstone set, his surprised shout nearly overwhelming his friend's victory whoop. The boy abruptly sat back in his chair, knocking into James with surprise and breaking our eye contact.
"Tough luck, Alban," consoled James, fighting a smile, as Sirius called for a rematch. A split second later James conjured a rag for the sputtering lad to wipe his face, and, beaming, young Alban accepted it, chattering the whole time of a strategy that he would use the next time, but James had to watch.
The corners of my mouth curled into an irresistible smile as I shook my head with amazement. Talk about a change of face...
James Bleeding Potter.
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