Chapter Text
Imagine that the world is made out of love. Now imagine that it isn’t. Imagine a story where everything goes wrong, where everyone has their back against the wall, where everyone is in pain and acting selfishly because if they don’t, they’ll die. Imagine a story, not of good against evil, but of need against need against need, where everyone is at cross-purposes and everyone is to blame.
- Richard Siken
Year 1, Autumn term
01-09-71
The clock ticked slowly, Sirius's gaze fixed on the clock that he suspected was moving slower to spite him. Today was it, he supposed. It was just something every child in the wizarding world thought relentlessly about the second they find out about it. Your years at Hogwarts are the best of your entire life - you shall treasure these years more than anything else. A time you were meant to smile upon, when reminiscing in older ages, of the folly of youth. Or - that was what Aunt Druella had told him, before her untimely death. Andy solidified that thought, coming back every year grinning more that she ever did at home. At least, she'd be happy before she got back to Grimmauld Place. More like grim-old Place. He supposed it was an immature thought, but it was difficult to think of such a sorrowful place any other way.
“Get over here!” Mrs Black hissed. Most children claimed to hate their parents at some stage - Sirius took some pride in the fact that he'd never thought otherwise.
“I’m here already,” Sirius sneered, fist clenched in his pocket. A minute, he thought to himself. Another minute.
“Not you, fool. I meant your blithering idiot of a cousin,” Mother snapped. "Where is Andromeda?" Bellatrix frowned from behind her, hand on her wand, but even Sirius knew it was an empty gesture.
“She’s over there, talking to a first year,” Regulus replied. Mother wrinkled her nose in disgust.
“Not a mudblood I hope?” Mother said, sharply. Sirius winced. He hoped for her sake that it wasn't.
“No, half-blood. Mckinnon, I think,” Regulus said to her. Fuck. It hit Sirius with a pang, that Regulus would have to brave their home for a year, alone. His sweet, gentle brother. Sirius attempted to imagine himself in that situation - it was hardly long-lived at all, literally. Mrs Black sniffed.
“Blood traitor, her mother is. Andromeda will bring shame upon the Black family, mark my words. If not today, tomorrow.” Sirius glanced away, watching Andromeda's delicate face carefully - Bellatrix's softer mirror. It would be a relief to escape his mother, yet faced with the chance, it felt almost surreal. Something would hold him back - surely. He sat on the train, almost comatose, until he saw a boy with even messier hair than his own.
“Who are you?” Sirius asked, raising an eyebrow. The train hadn’t set off yet, and if this boy wasn’t pureblood, Mother would probably have Sirius’s head. Not even figuratively - she'd probably mount it on the wall. Perhaps even with that atrocious haircut she kept trying to force him into.
“Potter. James Potter. You?” He was grinning in the self-assured way only an eleven-year-old could, but his eyes looked calculating. Or perhaps mischievous. Or perhaps Sirius just didn’t know very well how to tell someone’s emotions by staring into their eyes. Really, if anyone could then it was a pretty weird thing to do. Sirius half expected him to have the traditional Black eyes, but when they made eye-contact, he saw they were hazel.
“Sirius Black.” He nodded, as if he’d already known.
“Is that woman screaming out there your mother?” Sirius scowled. If only she weren’t.
“Unfortunately. Your father’s a potioneer, right?” A profession considered so lowly, Sirius's mother hadn't spoken to Fleamont Potter since their Hogwarts days. A pureblood heir, becoming a mere potioneer? A businessman? When Walburga Black had found out that her dear friend was marrying him, she'd been distraught.
“Mhm. The potion can tame anyone’s hair except mine. I think that might be one of my greatest achievements.” Big talk. He was just a mistake, technically. Sirius shut his eyes, wondering if those were his mother's words or his own.
“Ah.” They sat in silence for a few moments, James looking outside the window. He did have brilliant hair though, Sirius thought begrudgingly.
“You’d better be in Slytherin, Lily, it’ll be epic,” a boy with greasy hair and a hooked nose said to the girl behind him. The girl, probably Lily, had slightly red-rimmed eyes, and Sirius assumed she was a muggleborn. At least Mother isn’t here to see her within five feet of me, Sirius thought privately.
“Slytherin?” James echoed, eyebrows raised. “Why would you want to go there?” The greasy-haired boy scowled.
“Oh? And where do you want to go?” James shook his head.
“Anywhere else,” he replied defiantly. There was an odd glint in his eyes, one Sirius was certain wasn’t a pleasant one. A small part of him thought James might do well in Slytherin.
“You’re a Potter, aren’t you? Isn’t your mother a Slytherin?” the boy sneered, Lily next to him, with a mildly displeased expression on her face, her eyes flicking between James and the boy.
“So?” he turned to Sirius, who was slightly intrigued himself. Euphemia Potter was a well-known Slytherin, for her wit and cunning, but also for the fact that, supposedly, she was single-handedly reviving the Potter legacy, after the failure that was Fleamont Potter. “Where do you expect to go?” Sirius shrugged.
“Probably Slytherin. My entire family’s gone there. Except my cousin Andromeda.” Choice had no place in the matter. Sirius knew that, no matter what, he had to be in Slytherin. Andromeda was walking a fragile line as a Ravenclaw, but he knew that he wouldn't end up there, or Hufflepuff. Which left Slytherin - or Gryffindor. And being disowned wasn't something he was looking forward to.
“My, and I thought you seemed alright.”
“Well, you never know. Maybe I’ll break tradition.” James smiled, as if giving approval. We have similar bone structure, Sirius noted. It was an odd thought, appearing seemingly out of nowhere, but it was true. He wondered if his mother would have preferred a son like James instead.
“Well, I think Ravenclaw seems perfectly admirable,” Lily said, passively. She didn’t strike Sirius as a passive person; her almost nonchalant attitude could hardly be all that was to her. He thought she might be a Ravenclaw.
“If you want to spend your time surrounded by individuals who care for little else than reading,” Sirius cut in. Lily rolled her eyes. “I don't dislike Ravenclaw, though, my only good cousin is in it.”
“Andromeda?” James asked. Sirius nodded. “She seems nice, she spoke to my mother at the platform. Quite brave of her, considering my mother is fair, but terrifying.” Sirius nodded, taking out two bottles of ginger beer. His mother didn’t know that he had them, a muggle drink, and if she did she’d probably have a heart attack. Sirius wasn’t sure if the thought of managing to undermine her authority or her suffering a painful death made him happier.
“Ah. Oh well, a toast to terrifying mothers,” Sirius said, passing one to James. James nodded sagaciously, but there was something he wasn't saying. Sirius was sure.
“Terrifying mothers indeed.”
***
The bus was anything but quiet, people pushing around, Remus’s bags rattling against the wall. It was the first day back at school for a great many children - buses were overflowing with people who had woken up late or had simply decided to take the bus due to the rain. Remus kept glancing outside, silently begging for the bus to somehow get to the station faster, considering he had a train to catch before he’d reach King’s Cross.
His mum was ill, again, meaning he had to take the train on his own, and he was bound to look odd with his suitcases and scruffy uniform. He had on the muggle parts of his uniform, but the slightly frayed cuffs and elbow patches made him feel like he stuck out like a sore thumb.
“Morden Station,” the automated voice stated, as emotionless as Remus felt, and he bolted out of the bus, bags cluttering behind him. He supposed it would have made more sense for him to have a trunk, but not only would it be incredibly odd on the bus: he couldn’t afford one. Inequality, especially of the monetary sort, was prevalent no matter where he was.
The Northern line would take him straight from Morden to King’s Cross St Pancreas, from where it was only minutes' walk to King’s Cross station. Yet, trains were always jam packed as well – it mattered little what time he got there. Scowling as he walked into the station, he paid the fare of 50 pence (fifty whole pence for one measly ticket, for the tube?) before seating himself in a corner of the train. A girl with a trunk sat opposite him, dark blonde hair hanging in her overly tan face, gold wire-rim glasses framing her hazel eyes.
“I’m Marlene,” she said, extending a hand forward, which he accepted hesitantly. “Are you a first year too?
“Yes. Are your parents with you?” Remus asked, fiddling awkwardly with the buttons on his shirt. It wasn’t often he met another person his age who was a part of the wizarding world. How did she know?
“No, my younger sister has a dentist appointment today at ten forty-five, so they dropped me off at Morden before taking my sister.”
“Oh. Does she not have school today then?”
“No, it’s an inset day. Lucky her. I get that we’re not exactly working, or anything, but ten hours in a train is tedious.”
“There is the welcome feast to look forward to as soon as we get there,” Remus offered.
“Before which we have to be thoroughly humiliated in front of the entire school, sitting on a dingy old stool and putting on a centuries old hat. I’m not very inclined to putting on a hat that probably hasn’t been washed in a long time,” Marlene said, looking incredibly nervous, her eyes wide.
“I see your point,” Remus agreed, suddenly almost as nervous as she was, eager to change the subject. “So, do you have any other family members that are going Hogwarts?” She grimaced.
“I have a cousin, he’s starting first year too, related to me through my mum’s side, but I don’t really want to go on the train with him. He’s too... loud. He’s so social sometimes, that it gets extremely awkward for me.”
“Oh, what’s his name?” Chances were, if they were in the same house, Remus would have to interact with him. And loud, social people were never the sort to particularly like Remus very much.
“James, Potter. His Dad was some hotshot potioneer. Honestly, his mum, Euphemia Maasi frightens me. She’s cool, but a little...” she shuddered. Oh. Euphemia Potter's son. Remus hadn't grown up in the wizarding world, but even he knew who Euphemia Potter was. James Potter was going to have to be someone he avoided like the plague.
“Sorry, what does ‘Maasi’ mean?” Remus asked, as a substitute for an anecdote of any of his own family members. Other than his mother, who had no siblings, he didn’t have any contact with the rest of the family, all because of his... condition.
“Mother’s sister. I’m not sure what language it is... probably Hindi.”
“The name Euphemia is Greek, isn’t it?” His attempts at conversation were truly pitiful, but it was better than nothing. Especially considering this girl was Euphemia Potter's niece.
“The Greeks did once settle in India, in fact a lot of people living in the north still have Greek ancestry,” she said, earnestly, talking with her hands now that she was comfortable. "Honestly, I think it's a big reason that the mythologies of both places can often seem so similar."
“Do you like mythology?” Remus asked, though this was more out of curiosity than anything else.
“Very much,” Marlene said, nodding sagaciously. “I believe that if it were possible, I’d get a PhD."She paused. "Uh, sorry, if you don’t mind me asking, why do you have uh... you know... those?” she said, gesturing to Remus’s face, to which his eyes widened, almost imperceptibly. His transformation in August had been horrific, and somehow, he’d ended up hurting himself without anyone else to hurt.
"I'm incredibly clumsy with a knife, honestly, someone needs to ban me from the kitchen," Remus said, shaking his head, trying to smile. Marlene gave him an odd look, before seemingly dropping the subject, yet Remus exhaled slowly. It was seven years, but he was sure he could hide it. Seven years, and then maybe he could travel, or even try to teach.
***
Peter knew he was average - it was a fact in the same way that the sky was normally grey, that enzymes broke down substrates, in the same way that murder was wrong. There wasn't much denying it, unless you were particularly argumentative. He knew his marks in Primary hadn't been fails, but certainly hadn't been anything spectacular. He knew that he was half-decent with a football, or even a Quaffle, but not particularly exceptional enough for the Quidditch team. It wasn't as if there were any issues with it - he knew he wasn't sub-par. So, really, why did he think about it so often?
"You have your coat? And you remembered to pack those jumpers I put by your bed?" Mrs Pettigrew fussed, fixing Peter's tie and fiddling with his hair. Peter had grown to ignore his mother's sudden bursts of care - they didn't make up for the rest of the time, when he was practically invisible.
"I have the jumpers, but I doubt I'll be outside much, so I don't have the coat," Peter said.
"But what if you want to watch a Quidditch game?" Mrs Pettigrew asked, her eyes wide.
"I'll layer a few jumpers with a scarf or something."
"But what if it rains?"
"Then I won't watch the game."
"But-"
"Mum, I'll be alright," Peter insisted, as steam started to come out of the train. He placed his trunk in the narrow alleyway between carriages. "I've got to get on now."
"Of course... Remember to write!" Peter nodded, stepping onto the train. "And don't start indulging on the Hogwarts food, its all incredibly unhealthy - Don't forget to socialise!" she shouted, as the train gained speed, exiting the platform.
Peter sighed, slumping against the door of the train, sitting on the floor. He wasn't particularly keen on writing home, yet he wasn't particularly keen on making friends either. He supposed he just wanted to somewhat succeed. Somewhat. Realising that sitting by the door wasn't the smartest idea, he got up, dragging his trunk awkwardly behind him, knocking on the first compartment he saw.
"Is there any space here?" he asked, only out of courtesy though, because there were only two people in the compartment anyway. A girl with dark blonde hair looked up from her book, her expression open.
"Sure, come in!" a girl said, smiling brightly. Peter nodded, sitting next to the boy, who was bundled up in a coat, almost gasping when he saw the boy's scar-covered face.
"Go on, let it all out. I might as well get it over with," the boy said, drily. Peter squirmed in his seat, trying not to make things any worse.
"No, I mean- I wasn't- it's just," Peter said, stuttering, unable to think of any polite way to articulate his thoughts.
"It's alright. Do try to not do it again though," the boy replied, taking out a muggle book and reading. Peter didn't know how to react to that: his mother had encouraged him to read muggle books, and him not reading any was more out of spite than anything else, but he didn't know what to say about that without coming off as a blood supremacist.
"So... what are your names?" Peter asked, feebly.
"I'm Marlene McKinnon, and this is Remus Lupin," Marlene said, noticeable more tense than before. Peter attempted a smile.
"I'm Peter Pettigrew. What are you reading?" Remus looked up from his book, appearing rather disgruntled, replying,
"The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. It's quite good."
"He lent me the first one, The Magician's Nephew. It's not bad so far," Marlene said. The conversation dissolved from there, Peter taking out a textbook, sorely hoping that these two wouldn't be his roommates.
***
After the almost catastrophe of the train ride, in which the only person he had remotely liked was Sirius Black of all people, James was actually looking forward to the sorting. It probably wouldn't be anything eventful, but at least he'd get out of the carriage, where his only solace was the view outside. The greasy-haired boy (James hadn't asked for his name) hadn't said anything about him outright, but James could hear his incessant, unreasonable thoughts about James' conversation's with Sirius - calling them shallow and privileged, to which James had scoffed and rolled his eyes.
In part, James had agreed - his conversations had consisted mainly of Quidditch and plants (it was a little pitiful), but it wasn't as if he was going to have deep and meaningful conversations with a stranger - it just wasn't normal to pour your soul out to someone who you had just met.
Still, he'd (attempted) to remain civil, all throughout the train journey and the following boat ride to the castle, where he'd been almost eagerly anticipating the sorting ceremony. Everything he had been told about Hogwarts his entire life was supposed to come to a point - the feast was supposed to be the spark that lit a flame of what were meant to be the best times of your life. So far, the intricately carved walls and aesthetically pleasing ivy framing the imposing, majestic door hadn't disappointed.
"There's the old tosser," Sirius snarked, gesturing to Dumbledore, while James snickered. His mother hadn't had many polite words to say about her old Transfiguration professor - supposedly his bias to the Gryffindor house had been the only notable thing about him. He'd also advised James' father against marrying his mother - that had really set off animosity.
"I bet the beard's fake," James muttered. He noticed a scarred boy looking at the two of them in a strangely irritated manner, making mental remarks about them, rolling his eyes. James scoffed. "Mind your own business." The boy shook his head lightly, still rolling his eyes, but now looking forward.
"When d'you think that hat was last washed?" Sirius asked, suddenly rather disgusted. James' eyes widened, as he grimaced at the hat.
"Probably when Merlin was alive or something." The stern looking woman who had brought them in started reading names. Sirius was flicking a bit of James' hair that was sticking up, while James attempted to swat his hand away, in what was all a kerfuffle of confusion and good fun (to them). The surrounding people were looking at them with a mixture of amusement or disbelief. The greasy-haired boy was standing as far away as possible from them, as though to make it abundantly clear that he was nothing like them. A girl was sorted into Hufflepuff, but James didn't pay much attention to that.
"Black, Sirius." Sirius froze, gulping, as he stepped forward to sit on the stool, staring blankly ahead of him as the hat was placed onto his head. Over on the Slytherin table, James noticed two girls that looked somewhat similar to Sirius, both looking at him pointedly, one with a little bit of anger, while the blonde looked almost anxious. James supposed it was a certain level of familial pressure to be a Black - or maybe it was just all the inbreeding that drove them crazy. Across the room, James saw another girl, this one on the Ravenclaw table, also watching Sirius carefully, which made sense, seeing as Sirius looked as if he would be blown away by a singular gust of wind.
"Slytherin," the hat declared, and James saw Sirius' gaze become hollow, as he walked steadily towards the Slytherin table, looking forward. To the rest of the hall, this was nothing unusual: a Black in Slytherin, as normal as the sunrise. Yet, James saw the blonde girl exhale slowly, her older counterpart appearing triumphant, the Ravenclaw girl looking almost disappointed. He supposed he felt slightly disappointed too - was this really how it was supposed to go? Brash, slightly obnoxious Sirius in Slytherin?
Perhaps family did have harsher holds on us than we wanted them too. The next few sortings were nothing to think too much about - the Evans girl went into Ravenclaw, nothing surprising there. Fortescue, Alice became a Gryffindor, followed by Longbottom, Frank. Leung, Safia became a Hufflepuff. Lin, Emi went into Ravenclaw, while Lees, David became a Hufflepuff. The scarred boy went into Slytherin, taking a seat next to a frowning Sirius. Macdonald, Mary went into Gryffindor, quite normal.
James saw his cousin, Marlene, become a Ravenclaw, taking a seat with Evans. His mother hadn't had an outright preference for him, but that didn't mean James didn't know where she wanted him to go. The rest of the sortings became slightly hazy, in the anticipation for the woman to say his name, only vaguely paying attention to some Pettigrew becoming a Slytherin, then -
"Potter, James." James attempted to keep a steady pace as he walked to the stool, so as not to run and bolt the hat onto his head.
"Well, there's a lot going on in here isn't there?" James jolted sharply, feeling the voice in his ear as if it were crawling around his eardrum. "Courage, loyalty, smart enough I suppose... oh you've got a lot of expectations from Hogwarts, don't you? Ambitious I suppose. Ah, you made friends with the Black boy, well isn't that surprise? There's potential in almost every direction... hm... better be..."
"Slytherin." James blinked twice, vaguely confused, sitting down feeling a little disconcerted. It wasn't completely unexpected. His mother had wanted things this way. James Potter, a do-over for her, except with the privilege that came with being in a far more prestigious family, half-white and a boy.
"Ah well. At least we're in the same house," Sirius said, brightly, putting his hand up in a high-five, which James accepted, still confused but far happier. "Really, if we think about this logically, there's not much of a downside to this. You're in house colours that bring out your eyes better, I haven't been disowned - which is always a great thing, we're going to be sharing a room - lucky you -"
"Please shut up," the scarred boy said, as the greasy-haired boy became a Slytherin.
"Oh Merlin I think being disowned would have been the better option," Sirius muttered, as Severus Snape sat at their table.
"I'm Remus, nice to meet you," the scarred boy said, turning to Snape, his hand extended. Snape shook it, not entirely present, watching the Ravenclaw table. James rolled his eyes.
"I'm sure she's alright, look, she's made friends with my cousin. I'm James, we met earlier," James said, trying to get a semi-decent reaction out of him. Snape shook his hand, but ignored him for the rest of it, striking up a conversation with a second-year.
"There we go, he thinks he's too good for us already," Sirius said, scoffing.
"Or, he thinks the two of you are incredibly immature and would rather talk to someone more dignified," Remus countered, pausing when the headmaster got up to give his speech.
"It's always a pleasure to be able to see so many faces every year. I won't bore you with an old man's musings though. Tuck in!" Most of the Slytherin table could be seen muttering or scoffing into their food, which truly was a spectacular selection (even if it all was native and flavourless).
"Bet that's just an act to get everyone to like him more," James said, viciously, as a fifth-year laughed. That was Lucius Malfoy, wasn't it? The heir to the Malfoy fortune, so sure that the world was his oyster and he had nothing to fear. Which, decidedly, was true. Remus glared at the bunch, starting a conversation with Pettigrew.
"Seems we've corrupted the Potter already." James narrowed his gaze. But, he wasn't in Gryffindor, where he'd be well-liked simply because he was funny when he wanted to be. In Slytherin, when Lucius Malfoy spoke, people would fall in line.
"My mother was a Slytherin," he said, as coldly as he could muster, to which a sixth-year burst into laughter.
"You weren't so keen to play that card earlier today," Sirius whispered, grinning slightly.
"Oh well. When in Rome..." James trailed off.
"Do as the Romans do," Remus finished, looking at James sceptically.