acidroses (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} acidroses) wrote in ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} marauder_files,@ 2006-08-23 19:35:00 |
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Part 1 - September 1971
Part One
September 1971
Landing on Sirius Black's toast at breakfast
* * * *
"What's up with your nose?" says a voice near Remus Lupin's ear. He looks from his book up at Sirius Black, the boy who had gotten a Howler that morning from his mother for being sorted into Gryffindor at the sorting ceremony last night.
"Excuse me?" asks Remus, a little confused about what the boy was talking about.
"'Excuse me?'" mimics Black and starts laughing. "What are you, 35? I'm asking about your nose. It's huge. Can I poke it?"
"Er... no, thanks," says Remus. He looks quizzically at the other boy for a moment before turning back to his book.
But Black, apparently, was not to be ignored. "Woss on your neck, mate?" he asks craning his neck around for a better look.
Remus shifts slightly so the other boy wouldn't see.
"Are those scars? They look like claw marks. Do you have a cat? I bloody hate cats. I love dogs though. Mum doesn't like them so she won't let us get one. She got me a horse instead. It's black like my last name. Ha ha, get it? Black! Bloody brilliant. I picked him. He's ace at jumping...."
Remus keeps his head down, looking at the aged pages of his Potions text, as the other boy rambles on. Finally, there is a brief bit of silence and hoping Black had left, Remus looks up. Alas, he is mistaken; the other boy is still kneeling by Remus's chair.
"Are you pure?" he asks suddenly.
"Sorry?"
"Are...you...pure? Do you have a hearing deficiency or something?" says Black, making the first part slower this time. When Remus’s puzzled look remains fixed, he continues, "I'm pure blood. My mother and father are both wizards."
"Oh, right, sorry," says Remus quickly catching on. "I'm half; my mum's a muggle."
Black's face wrinkles and starts gathering toward his nose in an expression of... disgust is the best word Remus can find for it. Remus isn’t sure why anyone would be disgusted at what he had just said.
"Is that why you don't have any friends?" asks Black.
"I have -"
"That Pettigrew bloke doesn't count," Black interrupts quickly. "I saw him in Transfiguration. He only wants to copy off your work because he thinks you're smart. Are you smart? Is that why you're reading your text on the second day of school? We haven't even gotten homework yet, man."
Remus has heard about characters like this Sirius Black. One is supposed to ignore them so that they realize they cannot get the attention they want. But it was a bit annoying listening to his high-pitched voice. When Remus doesn’t answer his question, he changes the subject and begins rambling on again about the fit girls that had been sorted into Slytherin and how his parents had wanted him to be sorted into Slytherin too. Remus moves his eyes over the page slowly, not reading the words. A vein twitches on his forehead warning of a massive oncoming headache if the other boy kept at it.
Finally, there is a long stretch of silence before Black says, "Merlin, you're boring."
Remus looks up in time to catch him striding across the common room to bother another scrawny looking boy with very untidy black hair. Remus breathes a sigh of relief that he would never have to talk to Black again, if he could help it.
* * * *
"Are you reading too? Why is everyone bloody reading tonight?" Sirius asks the black haired boy, helping himself to the arm of the sofa he is sitting in.
"I am not reading," James Potter retorts, edging away from the boy who is frankly invading his personal space. "I'm looking at this Quidditch periodical, actually." James is quite proud of his long word.
Sirius leans over to look at it over James's shoulder and wrinkles his nose. "Well, it's got words on it - Hey! Is that the Cannons vs. Magpies game?! Bloody awesome game," he says and decides to take James's edging away as a sign to join him on the sofa. He slides down next to James and begins raving wildly about the Magpies and the tickets his father had gotten them when he was three.
"Who are you?" James interrupts abruptly.
"Sirius Black. Anyway, do you play well?" And not waiting for an answer, he plunges on. "I've never played with other people. But I fly pretty well and I can throw things far."
James edges a bit away before answering, "I've played with the blokes from my primary. I think I'll try out for the team this year."
"You won't make it."
"Well, I'm sorry. Who died and made you Quidditch captain?" James asks haughtily, moving to the other edge of the sofa.
"I mean, you have arms like a girl's and they don't even allow first years on the team." James, of course, doesn’t know this but Sirius Black has never before ever justified what he said to anyone.
"Maybe I'm amazing and they'll accept me. Anyway, your nose is in my ear. Please move..."
"Merlin, I am so bored!" Sirius exclaims, promptly ignoring James, and slumping down to a more comfortable position. “Hey, let’s go somewhere.”
"I'm flattered, really. But I like the birds, sorry mate." James shifts slightly, scratchs his nose, and pushes his glasses up, sniffing.
"Come on!" Sirius catches hold of James's arm and tugs at it impatiently. "Unless you'd rather sit here and read."
"Mmaurgh," says James trying to push Sirius off him. "It's a magazine. With pictures. And you’re sitting on me. Can’t you go suffocate someone else? That kid over there’s reading…”
Remus ducks quickly behind his book, trying and failing to look insignificant.
“Sorry mate,” Sirius says grinning, “Already got to him. So what’ll it be? Death by suffocation, or - ?
“Alright!” James caves in, throwing his magazine down with unnecessary force. "Now please get off me before I proceed to introduce your jaw to my fist," he says with the standard threat intensity of an eleven year old. It did the trick though. Sirius jumps up and bounces slightly on his heels.
“Excellent,” Sirius says, throwing an arm around James's shoulders despite the threat. "So where'll it be? I hear the forbidden forest is ace.”
The fact that Dumbledore had explicitly forbid anyone from going in the forest meant that it was a definitely point of interest. James nods enthusiastically, a smile developing slowly as he stands up. He glances around the room and notices that Remus boy staring at the pair of them as they walk out. James gives him a wide grin, waves, pulling open the portrait hole door and stepping out.
Sirius is half out of the portrait hole when a high-pitched, squeaky voice speaks up from a nearby sofa. What Sirius had taken for an overstuffed cushion reveals itself to be, in fact, a mousy-looking boy by the name of Peter Pettigrew.
"We're not allowed to go out after dark, you know!" he pipes up.
"Who died and made you prefect?" Sirius asks, squinting to make sure he wasn't actually talking to a cushion.
"So where are you guys going?" Peter asks eagerly.
Obviously a conspiracy to hinder their fun, Sirius thinks darkly. "We're human sacrifices to Mrs. Norris, off to pay our dues. Care to join?"
Peter blanches and curls further into the sofa, looking more like a cushion than ever. "No thanks," he sniffs.
Sirius shrugs, grinning. “Your loss….”
"Are you going to move before I amputate your leg or not?" The Fat Lady demands from above. James's impatient face could be seen somewhere in the dark hall beyond.
"But fair lady," says Sirius, facing her now and stepping out of through the portrait hole. "I do long to see thy pretty face for just a few minutes longer. Indeed, I was hoping - "
But James, who is not in the mood for theatrics, grabs a handful of Sirius's robes and pulls him down the hall much to the dismay of one very flattered Fat Lady.
* * * *
"Uungh... you smell like piss," hisses Sirius Black to the mousy boy who stood next to him on the Quidditch Pitch.
Peter Pettigrew takes a moment from trying not to get lifted up by his hovering broom to shoot Sirius an offended look. "Shut up, it's not my fault. In Herbology we - "
"Mr. Pettigrew, Mr. Black, if you will please stop flirting for a few minutes..."
That Madam Hooch was quite a fiery character, thinks Sirius as he snickers with the rest of his class. Their first flying lesson was about to begin and Sirius cannot wait to show off his flying skills. Next to him, he can almost sense James itching to be in the air and he can emphasize. Though he would have liked very much to stay on the ground and be entranced by those yellow eyes of Hooch… well, one has to make these sacrifices once in a while.
"On my whistle, ladies and gentlemen. Remember, hovering ONLY. Three, two..." The whistle is blown and James is off, shooting up into the air with Sirius following suit.
James is a good flyer, without a doubt. He shows all the signs of having been born with a broomstick permanently stuck between his knees. Sirius hovers nearby with leisure, looking proud and glaring at those around them for good measure.
The blur that is Peter Pettigrew flies by in its attempt to hover next to Sirius. He misses by several feet and comes to a screeching stop inches from a goal post. On his second attempt, he manages to pull in a few feet behind Sirius, but in his proximity, nonetheless.
"He's really good, huh?" asks Peter staring at James fly. He shifts slightly on his broom and almost loses his balance.
Sirius snickers openly and Peter joins in with a nervous laugh.
"I've never been on a broom. Mum wouldn't let me have one 'cause she thought I'd fly off. And the one we had at home would only fly up to five feet off the ground and then plummet down like a -" He doesn't finish his sentence as a boy comes streaking by and nearly knocks him off his broom. "What the...?"
A wild scream is heard as the rider comes streaking back. Peter and Sirius are forced to employ evasive techniques to avoid being mashed by the human bludger, much to Peter's despair. It’s obvious that this boy has less practice on a broom than even Pettigrew did. He is racing at wild speed and bucking in a manner reminiscent of an American bronco machine. Half of his dark stringy hair is plastered to his pale face with sweat and the rest seems to have mind of its own, waving in odd manners about his head. This - was Severus Snape.
Madame Hooch's whistle rings out with a vengeance. "I said HOVER!" she bellows at the lot of them.
James zooms back, gliding to a stop with skill. He grins at Sirius who is floating next to a blond boy. He hasn't been on a broom for over a week and the absence had been taking its toll. Being in the air is such a relief and James wants to fly a million times around the pitch. Compared to the pitch at home – otherwise known as the backyard – this was heaven. James veers a little to join Sirius.
"Who's that? And what in the name of Merlin is he doing?"
"Our resident slimy Slytherin, that is," Sirius says, following Snape's back and forth maneuver with his eyes. "And those wonky broom actions are a new type of aerial dance, I reckon." Sirius cocks his head, observing for a few more minutes before he shuts his eyes and rubs at his temple. "I think I'm being hypnotized. Shall we give him a hand?" He gives James a sidelong look. Its intentions are perfectly clear to James, despite the short time in which they've been acquainted.
James smirks and runs a hand through his hair. He looks around for Hooch who is on the ground now, helping a poor girl who had landed prematurely. Looking back up, he catches sight of a group of girls watching James and Sirius intently. James waved to them and they break into giggles. The smile now a full grin, he motions to Sirius to follow him as he flies behind the Slytherin boy.
"Need some help there?" Sirius says, cutting in front of the boy. He moves out of the way just in time to avoid being mowed over. Snape, on the other hand, is not nearly so quick and does a complete three-sixty in the air.
"Whoa there, mate," says James moving to the right of the Snape. His face is wrought with concentration and drenched with sweat. Without warning, he swerves, almost running the end of his broom right into James's abdomen.
Almost off balance, James's eyes were wide with fury. "What the fuck are you doing?! You just almost skewered me! We're not at a bloody barbeque, you know."
Snape's eyes narrow dangerously on James for a few seconds before he tries to speed off, which only results in him being almost thrown off his broom. James and Sirius reach out simultaneously to grab the Slytherin's robes to steady the boy. A mistake, judging by the manner in which Snape reacts. He pushes the other two boys off him hissing, "I don't need your fucking help."
Sirius raises an eyebrow at the Slytherin. He seriously does not like this boy. Perhaps it was worth getting into Gryffindor to avoid the smell of grease hanging in a cloud around Snape. "Well then," he says backing away. "Carry on." He gave the end of Snape's broom a good shove forward, sending the boy careening towards a goal post.
"SCORE!" says James as Snape is pelted through the middle hoop.
Peter, several feet away, wets himself with laughter.
Remus Lupin, however, is not amused.
* * * *
Landing on Sirius Black's toast at breakfast
"What's up with your nose?" says a voice near Remus Lupin's ear. He looks from his book up at Sirius Black, the boy who had gotten a Howler that morning from his mother for being sorted into Gryffindor at the sorting ceremony last night.
"Excuse me?" asks Remus, a little confused about what the boy was talking about.
"'Excuse me?'" mimics Black and starts laughing. "What are you, 35? I'm asking about your nose. It's huge. Can I poke it?"
"Er... no, thanks," says Remus. He looks quizzically at the other boy for a moment before turning back to his book.
But Black, apparently, was not to be ignored. "Woss on your neck, mate?" he asks craning his neck around for a better look.
Remus shifts slightly so the other boy wouldn't see.
"Are those scars? They look like claw marks. Do you have a cat? I bloody hate cats. I love dogs though. Mum doesn't like them so she won't let us get one. She got me a horse instead. It's black like my last name. Ha ha, get it? Black! Bloody brilliant. I picked him. He's ace at jumping...."
Remus keeps his head down, looking at the aged pages of his Potions text, as the other boy rambles on. Finally, there is a brief bit of silence and hoping Black had left, Remus looks up. Alas, he is mistaken; the other boy is still kneeling by Remus's chair.
"Are you pure?" he asks suddenly.
"Sorry?"
"Are...you...pure? Do you have a hearing deficiency or something?" says Black, making the first part slower this time. When Remus’s puzzled look remains fixed, he continues, "I'm pure blood. My mother and father are both wizards."
"Oh, right, sorry," says Remus quickly catching on. "I'm half; my mum's a muggle."
Black's face wrinkles and starts gathering toward his nose in an expression of... disgust is the best word Remus can find for it. Remus isn’t sure why anyone would be disgusted at what he had just said.
"Is that why you don't have any friends?" asks Black.
"I have -"
"That Pettigrew bloke doesn't count," Black interrupts quickly. "I saw him in Transfiguration. He only wants to copy off your work because he thinks you're smart. Are you smart? Is that why you're reading your text on the second day of school? We haven't even gotten homework yet, man."
Remus has heard about characters like this Sirius Black. One is supposed to ignore them so that they realize they cannot get the attention they want. But it was a bit annoying listening to his high-pitched voice. When Remus doesn’t answer his question, he changes the subject and begins rambling on again about the fit girls that had been sorted into Slytherin and how his parents had wanted him to be sorted into Slytherin too. Remus moves his eyes over the page slowly, not reading the words. A vein twitches on his forehead warning of a massive oncoming headache if the other boy kept at it.
Finally, there is a long stretch of silence before Black says, "Merlin, you're boring."
Remus looks up in time to catch him striding across the common room to bother another scrawny looking boy with very untidy black hair. Remus breathes a sigh of relief that he would never have to talk to Black again, if he could help it.
"Are you reading too? Why is everyone bloody reading tonight?" Sirius asks the black haired boy, helping himself to the arm of the sofa he is sitting in.
"I am not reading," James Potter retorts, edging away from the boy who is frankly invading his personal space. "I'm looking at this Quidditch periodical, actually." James is quite proud of his long word.
Sirius leans over to look at it over James's shoulder and wrinkles his nose. "Well, it's got words on it - Hey! Is that the Cannons vs. Magpies game?! Bloody awesome game," he says and decides to take James's edging away as a sign to join him on the sofa. He slides down next to James and begins raving wildly about the Magpies and the tickets his father had gotten them when he was three.
"Who are you?" James interrupts abruptly.
"Sirius Black. Anyway, do you play well?" And not waiting for an answer, he plunges on. "I've never played with other people. But I fly pretty well and I can throw things far."
James edges a bit away before answering, "I've played with the blokes from my primary. I think I'll try out for the team this year."
"You won't make it."
"Well, I'm sorry. Who died and made you Quidditch captain?" James asks haughtily, moving to the other edge of the sofa.
"I mean, you have arms like a girl's and they don't even allow first years on the team." James, of course, doesn’t know this but Sirius Black has never before ever justified what he said to anyone.
"Maybe I'm amazing and they'll accept me. Anyway, your nose is in my ear. Please move..."
"Merlin, I am so bored!" Sirius exclaims, promptly ignoring James, and slumping down to a more comfortable position. “Hey, let’s go somewhere.”
"I'm flattered, really. But I like the birds, sorry mate." James shifts slightly, scratchs his nose, and pushes his glasses up, sniffing.
"Come on!" Sirius catches hold of James's arm and tugs at it impatiently. "Unless you'd rather sit here and read."
"Mmaurgh," says James trying to push Sirius off him. "It's a magazine. With pictures. And you’re sitting on me. Can’t you go suffocate someone else? That kid over there’s reading…”
Remus ducks quickly behind his book, trying and failing to look insignificant.
“Sorry mate,” Sirius says grinning, “Already got to him. So what’ll it be? Death by suffocation, or - ?
“Alright!” James caves in, throwing his magazine down with unnecessary force. "Now please get off me before I proceed to introduce your jaw to my fist," he says with the standard threat intensity of an eleven year old. It did the trick though. Sirius jumps up and bounces slightly on his heels.
“Excellent,” Sirius says, throwing an arm around James's shoulders despite the threat. "So where'll it be? I hear the forbidden forest is ace.”
The fact that Dumbledore had explicitly forbid anyone from going in the forest meant that it was a definitely point of interest. James nods enthusiastically, a smile developing slowly as he stands up. He glances around the room and notices that Remus boy staring at the pair of them as they walk out. James gives him a wide grin, waves, pulling open the portrait hole door and stepping out.
Sirius is half out of the portrait hole when a high-pitched, squeaky voice speaks up from a nearby sofa. What Sirius had taken for an overstuffed cushion reveals itself to be, in fact, a mousy-looking boy by the name of Peter Pettigrew.
"We're not allowed to go out after dark, you know!" he pipes up.
"Who died and made you prefect?" Sirius asks, squinting to make sure he wasn't actually talking to a cushion.
"So where are you guys going?" Peter asks eagerly.
Obviously a conspiracy to hinder their fun, Sirius thinks darkly. "We're human sacrifices to Mrs. Norris, off to pay our dues. Care to join?"
Peter blanches and curls further into the sofa, looking more like a cushion than ever. "No thanks," he sniffs.
Sirius shrugs, grinning. “Your loss….”
"Are you going to move before I amputate your leg or not?" The Fat Lady demands from above. James's impatient face could be seen somewhere in the dark hall beyond.
"But fair lady," says Sirius, facing her now and stepping out of through the portrait hole. "I do long to see thy pretty face for just a few minutes longer. Indeed, I was hoping - "
But James, who is not in the mood for theatrics, grabs a handful of Sirius's robes and pulls him down the hall much to the dismay of one very flattered Fat Lady.
"Uungh... you smell like piss," hisses Sirius Black to the mousy boy who stood next to him on the Quidditch Pitch.
Peter Pettigrew takes a moment from trying not to get lifted up by his hovering broom to shoot Sirius an offended look. "Shut up, it's not my fault. In Herbology we - "
"Mr. Pettigrew, Mr. Black, if you will please stop flirting for a few minutes..."
That Madam Hooch was quite a fiery character, thinks Sirius as he snickers with the rest of his class. Their first flying lesson was about to begin and Sirius cannot wait to show off his flying skills. Next to him, he can almost sense James itching to be in the air and he can emphasize. Though he would have liked very much to stay on the ground and be entranced by those yellow eyes of Hooch… well, one has to make these sacrifices once in a while.
"On my whistle, ladies and gentlemen. Remember, hovering ONLY. Three, two..." The whistle is blown and James is off, shooting up into the air with Sirius following suit.
James is a good flyer, without a doubt. He shows all the signs of having been born with a broomstick permanently stuck between his knees. Sirius hovers nearby with leisure, looking proud and glaring at those around them for good measure.
The blur that is Peter Pettigrew flies by in its attempt to hover next to Sirius. He misses by several feet and comes to a screeching stop inches from a goal post. On his second attempt, he manages to pull in a few feet behind Sirius, but in his proximity, nonetheless.
"He's really good, huh?" asks Peter staring at James fly. He shifts slightly on his broom and almost loses his balance.
Sirius snickers openly and Peter joins in with a nervous laugh.
"I've never been on a broom. Mum wouldn't let me have one 'cause she thought I'd fly off. And the one we had at home would only fly up to five feet off the ground and then plummet down like a -" He doesn't finish his sentence as a boy comes streaking by and nearly knocks him off his broom. "What the...?"
A wild scream is heard as the rider comes streaking back. Peter and Sirius are forced to employ evasive techniques to avoid being mashed by the human bludger, much to Peter's despair. It’s obvious that this boy has less practice on a broom than even Pettigrew did. He is racing at wild speed and bucking in a manner reminiscent of an American bronco machine. Half of his dark stringy hair is plastered to his pale face with sweat and the rest seems to have mind of its own, waving in odd manners about his head. This - was Severus Snape.
Madame Hooch's whistle rings out with a vengeance. "I said HOVER!" she bellows at the lot of them.
James zooms back, gliding to a stop with skill. He grins at Sirius who is floating next to a blond boy. He hasn't been on a broom for over a week and the absence had been taking its toll. Being in the air is such a relief and James wants to fly a million times around the pitch. Compared to the pitch at home – otherwise known as the backyard – this was heaven. James veers a little to join Sirius.
"Who's that? And what in the name of Merlin is he doing?"
"Our resident slimy Slytherin, that is," Sirius says, following Snape's back and forth maneuver with his eyes. "And those wonky broom actions are a new type of aerial dance, I reckon." Sirius cocks his head, observing for a few more minutes before he shuts his eyes and rubs at his temple. "I think I'm being hypnotized. Shall we give him a hand?" He gives James a sidelong look. Its intentions are perfectly clear to James, despite the short time in which they've been acquainted.
James smirks and runs a hand through his hair. He looks around for Hooch who is on the ground now, helping a poor girl who had landed prematurely. Looking back up, he catches sight of a group of girls watching James and Sirius intently. James waved to them and they break into giggles. The smile now a full grin, he motions to Sirius to follow him as he flies behind the Slytherin boy.
"Need some help there?" Sirius says, cutting in front of the boy. He moves out of the way just in time to avoid being mowed over. Snape, on the other hand, is not nearly so quick and does a complete three-sixty in the air.
"Whoa there, mate," says James moving to the right of the Snape. His face is wrought with concentration and drenched with sweat. Without warning, he swerves, almost running the end of his broom right into James's abdomen.
Almost off balance, James's eyes were wide with fury. "What the fuck are you doing?! You just almost skewered me! We're not at a bloody barbeque, you know."
Snape's eyes narrow dangerously on James for a few seconds before he tries to speed off, which only results in him being almost thrown off his broom. James and Sirius reach out simultaneously to grab the Slytherin's robes to steady the boy. A mistake, judging by the manner in which Snape reacts. He pushes the other two boys off him hissing, "I don't need your fucking help."
Sirius raises an eyebrow at the Slytherin. He seriously does not like this boy. Perhaps it was worth getting into Gryffindor to avoid the smell of grease hanging in a cloud around Snape. "Well then," he says backing away. "Carry on." He gave the end of Snape's broom a good shove forward, sending the boy careening towards a goal post.
"SCORE!" says James as Snape is pelted through the middle hoop.
Peter, several feet away, wets himself with laughter.
Remus Lupin, however, is not amused.
