Chapter One

Welcome Back



Bathed in the last remnants of a late summer sun, the massive stone castle and rich lush grounds of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry loomed majestically, overlooking the mirror-grey lock. Groups of school students milled about the grounds taking full advantage of the glorious weather on the first Saturday back from the summer holiday, chatting with friends not seen for a couple of months, or sitting in the grass doing homework, books and parchment sprawled around.

Fidgeting with his mousy-brown hair and shivering from the damp chill of the stone walls, Peter Pettigrew gazed longingly through the library window at the tempting spectacle outside. The toes of his shoes scuffed nonchalantly over the stone flooring. With a sigh, he turned his attention back to the dusty tome lying open on the study table.

“I can’t believe Professor Merrythought has us researching old Muggle stories,” he grumbled. “What good is it? What are we supposed to get out of it, besides being bored?”

“Magic is magic, Wormtail,” whispered Remus Lupin, as he gently rubbed his darkly shadowed eyes. The beginning of the sixth year for him and his friends had had a rough start, and it showed plainly in his peaky appearance. “And if you haven’t noticed, there have been a few Muggles with enough insight to recognize it for what it is. They’ve even written some knowledgeable works about it.” He tapped the open book in front of him. “Like this bloke, Erastus Trigg, claims to have met Nicholas Flamel, the wizard who is supposed to have actually created a Philosopher’s Stone. He wrote down their entire dinner conversation about the theoretical possibilities of the Stone. It’s really quite interesting how well this Muggle seems to have understood magical concepts.”

Scoffing and completely underwhelmed by Remus’s enthusiasm concerning a Muggle’s grasp of magic, Peter twitched his nose. “I still don’t see what we’re supposed to get…” He broke off and suddenly lit up with a smile.

Remus shook his head and then glanced over when a body slid into the empty chair beside him. He smiled, whispering, “Well?”

“Mischief managed,” the dark-haired, grey-eyed handsome teenager, Sirius Black, winked slyly.

Remus leaned close, eyes darting quickly around for any sign of eavesdropping. “So, where is he?”

“Under that cloak somewhere. He said something about taking a detour down to Slytherin Hall.”

Sirius abruptly sat up, grabbed the nearest book and opened it close to his face just as the librarian approached. Remus returned to his own book, glancing toward Sirius out of the corner of his eye. She halted by their table and glowered at Sirius, arching an eyebrow sternly, her expression as cold as the stone walls of the library. He peered up at her over the edge of the book, flashed a grin, and then turned the book upright. Remus buried his nose deeper into his book, attempting to stifle a laugh. The librarian cleared her throat and resumed patrol of the library. Remus leaned back toward Sirius, keeping his voice low.

“What is he doing down there? He doesn’t know their password; he’ll be caught, which means detention before the first week ends.”

“He’s leaving a welcome package. I tried to talk him into letting me place it, but you know Prongs, once he’s set his mind to something, it can’t be changed.” Sirius sniggered. “Well, most of the time it can’t. Besides, there’s no need worry, he’s planning to slip in behind one of them and then back out.”

“He has the map?”

Sirius nodded.

Noticing the librarian’s renewed attention toward their direction, Remus feigned interest to an article written in the book Sirius was reading, whispering in a barely audible level, “What is in the package?”

“Best you don’t know, but keep your eyes and ears open, the next few hours could get really exciting.” An impish twinkle sparkled in Sirius’s eyes. “He’s been plotting this most of the summer.”

With an expression of unmasked awe, Peter stared at him. The wild thoughts racing through Peter’s head abruptly erupted into questions concerning what manner of welcome could possibly be concealed within the package. Ignoring Peter, Sirius shifted his attention to their surroundings, surveying the vast room.

Huge wooden cases, stacked from floor to ceiling and overflowing with books and scrolls on every subject imaginable, leaned hazardously against each other and the stone walls. The Hogwarts library held a more extensive collection of literature than any private library in the known wizarding community. However, what intrigued Sirius most was the amount of students inside the library instead of outside enjoying the fresh air and sunshine. At least a couple of Fifth-, Sixth- or Seventh Year students occupied every study table.

“How long has he been here?” Sirius nodded toward a pale, slightly built young man of about the same age, sitting two tables away. The lank black hair of the youth fell in a greasy curtain, obscuring his face from view.

“Snape arrived a few minutes after Peter and I did. He’s been poring over that book ever since he sat down. Somehow he managed permission to pull it from the Restricted Section,” Remus whispered out the corner of his mouth.

“Restricted Section, eh?” Sirius glared at Snape above the top of the book. “That couldn’t mean anything good.” He continued watching Snape with keen interest. A few minutes had passed before he felt a prodding in his side.

“Mischief managed,” was whispered in his ear, although there was no one to be seen. “See you in the common room.”

Sirius tapped Remus on the arm, tilting his head off to the side. Together they quietly stood, books in hand, followed by Peter, who hastily crammed his books and parchment inside a canvas satchel.

“Where are we going?” he called after them, eliciting a chorus of shushes.

“Common room,” Remus whispered as they passed through the library’s heavy oak doors.

Once in the corridor the trio sped up their pace, racing along the hallways, ignoring admonishments from some of the paintings lining the walls to heed caution and stop running, making a few turns and finally up the staircase to the fifth floor and the tunnel entrance to Gryffindor common room. The portrait of a corpulent woman wearing a fancy pink dress guarded the entrance.

“Password,” she commanded.

“Calluna Vulgaris.”

The portrait swept open and the trio emerged into the Gryffindor common room just in time to witness someone materialize seemingly from thin air. His black hair was tussled and appeared extremely unkempt. His hazel eyes lit with laughter.

“It’s going to be a blast! I can hardly wait to see their faces when it goes off.” James Potter flopped down into a comfortable chair in front of the fireplace, draping a cloak across his lap and pushing a pair of oval glasses back up the bridge of his nose. A friendly fire blazed warmly in the hearth in an effort to stem an encroaching chill in the room. “It’ll be spectacular!”

Sirius let out a bark-like laugh. “Well, I wouldn’t say spectacular…”

James frowned.

“… more like tremendous…”

The frown vanished as James grinned at his best friend.

“… and definitely memorable,” Sirius concluded.

“Oh yeah,” James eagerly nodded in agreement.

“I still say you should have let me set it, though, or at the very least allowed me to go with you.” Sirius vaulted over the other chair to settle in and lazily stretch out, warming his feet by the fire.

“Yeah,” piped up Peter. “What if you were caught? You haven’t even had Quidditch try-outs yet. The team wouldn’t have had a captain for who knows how long.” He pulled a stool to the opposite side of James’s chair, looking up at him with round watery eyes.

“What, and miss out on the best part of the plan? Not on your life.” The grin on James’s face broadened. “Besides, I’d need you out here troubleshooting if I did get caught.” He winked at Sirius, who chuckled.

“You know, it would be nice if you two would let me in on the joke.” Remus stood between the chairs, feeling unusually excluded. Tiny frown lines creased his brow. James shook his head vigorously.

“Sorry, Moony, not this time, mate. This time we need to keep the Prefect in the dark. It wouldn’t be seemly if you knew what was going on and not report it.”

“Obviously you haven’t noticed, but I do know something is going on; it may not be detailed, but I should still report it.”

“You know, he’s got a point there, Prongs. I guess we could put a Freezing Charm on him and hide him under the bed till it’s over,” Sirius suggested with an edge of mock seriousness to his tone. “That way he’ll have a legitimate excuse for not reporting us.”

Peter’s jaw dropped, appalled by the suggestion, but Remus appeared indifferent.

“Or we could cast a Body-Bind,” James replied in like tone, forcing himself not to laugh. “Erm, or better yet, doesn’t Filch have some shackles lying around his office? We could leave him hanging from the rafters in the Owlery.”

Argus Filch, the crotchety caretaker of Hogwarts who would rather see children stewed then running through the halls of his school, longed for the days when unruly students were chained in the dungeon for their misdeeds, thus keeping a set or two of shackles for just a time when needed.

Peter’s face paled, horror-stricken that either of his friends would even remotely consider treating another friend in such a manner.

“No, wait, I do believe you’re right. I do recall seeing at least one pair of rusty old shackles lying about his office, near the filing cabinet - last time we did detention for him, matter of fact.” Sirius winked, his sides fit to burst.

“Nooo…” Peter finally cried out in a high-pitched squeak, tears streaming down his face as visions swam through his brain of Remus, bruised and bleeding, and hanging upside down with owls pecking at him. James and Sirius exploded into uproarious laughter, nearly rolling out of their chairs.

“Very funny,” Remus eyed his friends with a disapproving nod.

“Oh come on, Moony, you know we wouldn’t do that to you,” gasped James, clutching his sides.

“We won’t?” Sirius feigned disappointment. Peter squeaked again, causing Sirius to break into another barking laugh.

“I know you wouldn’t, but it’s cruel to take the mickey out of Peter.”

Peter blushed and shrank as Remus admonished the pair.

James cleared his throat, sitting up straight in the chair. Sirius peered at him, raising an eyebrow with a sobering expression that silently asked, what just happened? James shrugged a shoulder and then addressed the small mousy teen.

“Sorry there, Wormtail; just having a bit of fun.”

“I, it’s all right,” squeaked Peter, glancing awkwardly up at Remus, then back at James and Sirius with a quick jerky smile. “Funny joke, that.” A nervous ‘ha’ escaped him.

A group of chattering female students came pouring in through the tunnel entrance, erupting into a fit of giggles and whispers that broke the uncomfortable silence in the room as they passed the silent quartet situated by the fireplace. Impulsively James’s hand rose to ruffle his already tussled hair, hoping to impress a particular young lady.

“Since it looks as though I’m not going to be included in on this joke, I think I’ll visit Hagrid. There are some questions on the magical creatures essay he might be able to help with.” Remus turned to leave. “See you at dinner.”

Peter glanced from Remus’s retreating form to the pair by the fireplace before hastily picking himself up to follow Remus to Hagrid’s hut.

The afternoon sun sunk low in the sky, casting a shaft of golden orange light through the western window that glowed around the bewildered pair. The room was beginning to buzz with conversation as it filled with students returning from having spent a glorious day outdoors.

James inhaled deeply, staring at the burning embers. “So, you think he’s, er… upset with us?”

Slouched low in the chair, stretched out legs crossed at the ankles, Sirius sat brooding with his gaze also fixed on the fire. After a moment’s pause, he cleared his throat, answering gruffly, “Yeah, mate, I’d say he is.”

Shooting a glance toward the door and then back to the fire, James mumbled. “Doesn’t say very much, but when he does…”

Sirius shifted uneasily in the chair. “Yeah, when he does…” He pressed a weary hand against an eye, then looked over at James.

“This one better well be worth the detention we’re going to get.”

James wiggled his eyebrows, making his glasses bounce. “It will be,” he grinned.

It was evening and the Great Hall bustled with activity and the din of conversation, benches scraping on flagstone, and the clattering of plates and forks. The four long tables draped in the house colours for Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Slytherin and Gryffindor, and the head table where the teachers sat were piled high with a sumptuous fare of pies and roasts, bowls of fruits, vegetables, bread, and pitchers of pumpkin juice. Ignoring the usual jeers emanating from the Slytherin table, Remus and Peter quietly passed by and slid onto a bench a third of the way along the Gryffindor table. Hushed conversation immediately ceased around them. Peter’s nose twitched nervously when he noticed people were diverting their attention elsewhere.

“Er, what’s going on?” he whispered to Remus. Remus shrugged as he sat and then leaned across the table to address the couple opposite him.

“What is going on?”

Sirius lowered his head, tucking his nose behind his arm, which rested along the edge of the table. He fidgeted with a goblet of pumpkin juice, guilty looks darting furtively between James and Remus. James shot him an accusatory glance.

“Coward.”

Sirius whimpered playfully, grinning behind the arm.

James coughed into a fist while giving the wand held there the slightest flick before leaning toward Remus.

“There’s a rumour flying about that our friendship has broken.”

Eyebrows raised Remus silently mouthed, “oh.”

“We’re sorry, Moony,” James continued, not bothering to lower his voice, though his lips barely moved. “We just thought it best to keep you out of this one, being the start of term and, well,” he sighed, “we also thought it wouldn’t reflect well on you.” A remorseful expression covered his face. Remus reached across the table for a plate of roasted chicken to draw attention from the silent conversation, thanks to the Muffilato spell James had cast.

“For all your thinking, didn’t it ever occur to either of you geniuses that I wouldn’t be kept from incrimination just because I don’t know the details?” Head cocked to the side, he impassively scrutinized them.

James quizzically turned to Sirius, who gave a shrug, before offering an awkward grin. “Well, actually, it didn’t.”

“That much is obvious.” Remus sat back to enjoy the dinner.

Despite the jovial conversation and camaraderie within the Great Hall, the four friends spent the remainder of the evening meal in uneasy silence. Finally, when the tables cleared and the hall gradually emptied of students and teachers, the uneasy silence ceased.

“Look, Moony, what we’re doing,” James thrust a thumb toward Sirius, “is testing out the Timer Charm, and we thought - instead of wasting a good charm, why not test it properly on the Slytherin?”

Sirius nodded.

At first Remus’s expression was indecipherable, but gradually a faint smile grew. “You worked out the kinks?”

Sirius gave James a playful shove, a broad grin beaming. “Yeah, about three weeks ago. I noticed one of the lesser runes was wrong, and Prongs then picked up on an incorrectly worded juncture phrase. So…” He made a flip-flop gesture.

“Great,” Remus exclaimed and then quickly twisted around to grab Peter’s hands, silencing the sharp report that exploded next to his ear from Peter’s excited applause. Peter shrank back a bit, enthusiasm curbed. With renewed curiosity, Remus leaned across the table toward James.

“So what’s in the package?”

James was just opening his mouth to reply when a scream reverberated from the depths of the castle, soon followed by a contingent of Slytherin students running up from the dungeons below. The disturbance drew an inquisitive crowd to the Entrance Hall eager to discover the reason for the outburst.

Professor Horace Slughorn, Potions teacher and Head of Slytherin House, had finished his evening repast and was walking his ample form into the hallway when the students swarmed around him, shouting loudly and yanking him toward the dark stone stairwell leading to the Slytherin dormitory. Shouted phrases of ‘disgusting’, ‘smells like vomit’, and ‘totally repulsive’ echoed into the Great Hall sending the few remaining occupants into raucous laughter. Peter fell backward on the bench, joining in the humour. Remus looked over at his friends, who had their heads locked together in hurried whispers.

“Er, Padfoot old chappy, didn’t you say the package wouldn’t go off for a few hours? Granted, that was almost two hours ago, but I was under the impression - did it go off at the right time?”

“No, it didn’t,” Sirius growled shortly. “It wasn’t supposed to go off for another hour.” He glared at James, who returned the look.

“The package was properly set. There must have been a miscalculation somewhere.”

“No fooling,” Sirius muttered darkly.

Remus solicitously smiled at his friends. “Look, you did say this was only a test. At least you know the charm works within an hour of…”

“It might as well be a century, but that’s not the point.” James shook his head with a most disappointed attitude. Before frustration could wear him any further, he caught himself, and forced a calming sigh and softer tone of voice. “The point is the charm should have worked successfully the first time, test or no. Sirius and I went over this formula with a fine-toothed comb a dozen times or better. It should have worked.”

“Exactly,” Sirius solemnly agreed, appearing just as disappointed and frustrated.

“Time is a tricky thing, you know that, James. We have all year to work out the formula; no need to fuss.” From a pants pocket Remus pulled out a thick circular disc shaped object, dangling it from a long gold chain in front of James’ face.

Curious, Peter moved closer, watching with great fascination. He had only ever seen Remus pull the object out once before, back after they had learned Remus was a werewolf.

James snatched the disc, and opened the cover to reveal an odd sort of watch. The majority of the watch face burned a radiant silvery white except for a black crescent on the right side. Along the edge of the face, instead of twelve places to mark the hours there were thirteen, represented by silver dots. In addition, the face was divided into sixths, each sixth labelled with minute yet legible script: First Term Start, First Term End, Holiday, Second Term Start, Second Term End, Holiday. James pulled out four of the six pins protruding from the outside rim of the watch that corresponded with the First Term Start through Second Term Start sections. The writing in those sections began to glow a vibrantly serene green. Sirius stared over his shoulder, watching carefully.

“You’re not setting the final quarter?”

“No,” James looked at him from the corner of his eye. “If we haven’t solved the problem by Easter holiday, we might as well forget about it till next year.” Then he handed the curious watch back to Remus, who quickly pocketed it.

“Can I help?” Peter asked eagerly.

Sirius pulled back, hiding behind James. James could feel him shaking with a stifled laugh.

“We’ll see, Peter.” James struggled to keep a straight face. “I’m not, er, sure yet what you could do, but, er, who knows.” He wiped a hand across his mouth, covering up a broad grin. “You might have some good idea we haven’t thought of.”

Sirius suddenly popped up, eyebrows creased. James looked at him with a quiet retort. “You never know.”

Sirius stood, shaking his head. “Fine, well,” he cleared his throat. “I’m going out for a swim. Want to come?”

“It’s dark out,” Peter gasped.

Remus quickly stood, grateful for the change of topic. “Sure, a swim sounds fabulous.”

“But -” stammered Peter.

Sirius reached across the table to pat him on the arm. “Since when did it being dark out ever stop us? You don’t have to come, Wormtail. I’m sure there’s a rousing dry game of Gobstones being played somewhere. We probably won’t be outside long anyway, so, be seeing you up in the commons.” He and Remus moved toward the end of the table.

James surveyed the Great Hall, making absolutely certain there were no stragglers before pulling the Invisibility Cloak from a pocket inside his robes. The upheaval of half an hour ago had drawn everyone away, leaving the hall unusually deserted. Even Peeves the Poltergeist had followed Professor Slughorn and the Slytherin students down to their dungeon common room to revel in the catastrophe.

Jumping to his feet, Peter scrambled close. “No, I want to go. It’ll be fun, right?”

“Right, Wormtail, it’ll be a blast.” Sirius clapped him on the shoulder with a slight squeeze. “Ever let the giant squid wrap his tentacles around you and take you deep lake diving? It’s a right real thrill,” and he wiggled his eyebrows.

Remus rolled his eyes, muttering, “Mickey.”

Sirius gave Remus a glaring glance in return while heading off to a shadowy corner, followed by James, who tossed the cloak over their heads. Instantly the pair vanished from sight. Remus walked to the corner, slipping from view under the cloak as well. Peter shifted his weight from one foot to the other, undecided about joining the trio before darting for the dark corner.

“No, wait for me,” he exclaimed, but no one was there. Nervously he began feeling through the shadows hoping to bump into his friends.

“Remus? Sirius? Mates, where are you? Ja…”

In the shadow of a large column, a hand clamped over his mouth as suddenly he was yanked under the cloak. Carefully the invisible quartet made their way through the entrance hall, out the unlocked front doors and outside for a moonlit swim in the lake.

From an unseen vantage point at the top of the marble stairway in the Entrance Hall, a solitary figure had watched as Peter Pettigrew disappeared from view into the dark side of a column. The troubling aspect of this event for Severus Snape was that Peter was not seen emerging from behind the column, or who it was that had yanked him there.

Speculations began to formulate in his mind, each as unlikely as the last, but none outside the realm of possibility. His curiosity concerning a certain foursome grew as a fire in the pit of his stomach, his mind aching to discover why these particular people appeared privileged enough to flout the rules without ever suffering severe consequences. Snape had certainly known them to report for detentions for various offences, of course, yet they were never expelled when others would have been. This was an oversight that Snape vowed would be corrected, even if he personally saw to it. He had had enough of James Potter and his gang of petty thugs.

Snape descended the stairs and took up quiet sentry in an alcove in the Entrance Hall, hoping to catch one of the Potter gang breaking some Hogwarts rule. He opened a book, The Dark Arts in Muggle Literature, and passed the time studying.




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Feedback link: The Marauders: Year 6

Chapter Two

Challenges




“You are all to be commended for your diligent efforts. Your control of nonverbal transfigurations is coming along nicely.” Such an unaccustomed compliment from Professor Minerva McGonagal was high praise indeed. A stern woman with slim features and hair wound in a tight bun, Minerva McGonagal was a strict yet fair teacher. The Advanced Transfiguration class collectively sat straighter, each student puffed up and beaming proudly. Circling overhead with much twittering was a flock of new transfigured bright yellow canaries.

“As you may have observed, class, once you have correctly mastered the proper wand technique along with the nonverbal spell you will not only be able to dictate the object’s physical attributes, such as size, color, and so forth, but also control its actions to some degree.” With a slight sweeping motion of her wand another bird appeared, as large as a peacock with rainbow colored plumage, which flew in whatever direction the wand pointed before lighting on an indicated perch. There were gasps among the students accompanied by a staggered applause. Professor McGonagal smiled at the appreciative gesture.

“Now, since you have all had the past month and a… Mr. Potter! Mr. Black! If you please!”

All eyes turned toward the rear of the classroom. Posture immediately stiffened, Professor McGonagal glowered, the tips of her ears turning a vivid scarlet. In unison James and Sirius shouted with feigned innocence.

“What?”

Above their heads flew two pigeon sized dragons locked in full aerial combat, bellowing fire. Excited exclamations rippled through the room as all eyes watched the amazing display in fascinated awe. A few of the girls giggled, but Lily Evans swung her attention back toward the front of the classroom, arms folded across her chest and long red hair whipping over her shoulders. As disgusted as she tried to appear about his behavior she couldn’t help but reluctantly admire James Potter’s skill.

“Gentlemen, we do not engage our projects in such a manner!” Professor McGonagal gave a forceful jab and flick with her wand. There was an audible pop, and the dragons disappeared in a puff of black smoke.

“The two of you shall remain after the conclusion of this class.” She stoically smoothed the front of her robes then proceeded to resume instruction for the remainder of the class period.

The parade of exiting students cast thoughtful glances at the two offenders while filing past James and Sirius at the end of lesson. Reflexively James raised a hand to ruffle his hair, hoping Lily Evans would take notice of him, but as she walked past she purposefully turned away to speak with her friend, completely ignoring him.

“She wants me,” James whispered to Sirius, wiggling his eyebrows.

Sirius sniggered softly, “Dreaming, mate.”

Remus stood, the last to leave.

“See you in the commons,” he winked. Peter followed, wide-eyed with concern for his foolish friends.

A gentle hush rested softly in the vacated classroom, the only sounds being the beating of flapping wings and the rustling of Professor McGonagal’s deep green robes as she sat behind the large ancient oak teacher’s desk. Long minutes passed as James and Sirius watched the professor shuffle through scrolls of homework. Bored, Sirius cautiously pulled a deck of playing cards from a pants pocket, being careful to keep it safely hidden. James gave a nod and just as cautiously flicked his wand toward the front of the room. Sirius smirked and then dealt the cards for a round of Exploding Snap, keeping a wary eye on the professor. Had this been any other pair of students the atmosphere within the room would have been tense with nervous anticipation, but James and Sirius had sat detention so often while at Hogwarts being detained after class had long ago lost its fear inducing control. In fact, for them it was part of the game.

An entire round had been played out uninterrupted and James was shuffling the deck for another round when they heard a throaty cough. Sirius hastily waved his wand over the cards, clearing them away with a silent Evanesco. Professor McGonagal sat ridge with hands folded on the desk’s smooth dark surface. She raised a hand, fingers waving indicating for them to step forward. James gave his wand a sly flick, lifting the Muffilato spell just as he and Sirius halted in front of the oak desk, prepared for the inevitable lecture.

“Gentlemen, I would be among the first to wholeheartedly expound upon your extraordinary talents,” the professor’s expression was uncompromising. “However, this is a classroom for instruction, not entertainment. If you cannot conduct yourselves in a manner befitting NEWT students then as head of your house I would suggest you resign, thus allowing other students who are serious about their education the opportunity to receive the unhampered instruction they require. Have I made myself plainly understood?”

Swallowing an unexpected hard lump, James spoke up. “Yes, professor, very plain. But we…” James was cut off by an imperceptible elbow in his side.

Sirius nodded, “Yes, ma’am, we understand,” and shot James a warning glance.

James fell silent.

Professor McGonagal raised an eyebrow, studying the pair carefully.

“I see we are in complete agreement then,” the tone of her voice softened yet remained uncompromising. Her hands unfolded to lay flat on the desktop as she stood to directly address the young men.

“You will both report to Professor Slughorn after dinner. He will then escort you to Slytherin Hall.” Her hands clasped tightly across her emerald green robes.

“You are undoubtedly aware that someone sent a package to the Slytherins at the beginning of term, a package labeled ‘Welcome Back’ that released a jinx causing slime to ooze from the walls and ceiling; while the perpetrator obviously thought this merely to be a prank, considerable damage has been done to their common room.” She stared intently at them. James and Sirius glanced uncomfortable at each other, heads low, and then James looked directly at the professor.

“Yes, professor, we heard the stories.”

She tilted her head back slightly, viewing them with an intimidating expression. “Would either of you gentlemen happen to know the details as to how that package arrived in the Slytherin common room, or the identity of the perpetrator?”

Sirius quickly spoke up before James could answer. James glanced sideways at him, grateful for the opportunity to break eye contact with her.

“No, professor, only rumors.”

She considered him for a moment, a crease between her brows deepening then she curtly nodded.

“Very well, Mr. Potter, Mr. Black, report to Professor Slughorn as discussed. I will inform him of your arrival. You shall report to him every evening after dinner until he no longer requires your assistance.”

Upon being dismissed James and Sirius turned and walked briskly out of the classroom. The castle hallways were deserted; classes were still in session thus allowing them to speak freely.

“You really had me going back there. With the way she was staring us down I thought for sure we were going to be discovered. But she actually believed…” James caught sight of Sirius’ face, lips pursed tight and a light sheen of perspiration blotched across his forehead. The moment’s elation was gone, he stopped dead. It was a few paces beyond before Sirius rousted himself enough to realize James was no longer by his side. Head bowed he gave his friend a sideways glance, breathing as though he’d run a great distance. James slowly approached, voice dropped to a whisper.

“Did she…” he asked without completing the question. In their fourth year James and Sirius had caught onto the fact that the majority of teachers employed a skill known as Legilimency in order to differentiate when a student was telling the truth or not. Knowing this they began practicing the counter skill with some extent of success, although James would grudgingly admit Sirius was much better at it than he.

“She tried. She knew I was using Occlumency. I don’t know if she’ll take it as an admission of guilt or not.”

James drew close to Sirius.

“All right, so we’ll lay low for a bit, do the detention for old Sluggy, and at the same time get a good first hand look inside the Slytherin commons,” a mischievous smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Sirius broke into a faint smile.

“Prongs, you do have a knack for finding the bright side of a poor situation.”

Slipping a consoling arm around his best friend’s shoulders, James’ smile widened. “Not a problem, Padfoot, glad to help.”

The Gryffindor common room was occupied by sixth and seventh years deep in study when the pair climbed through the tunnel. Remus and Peter didn’t appear anywhere around, so they went upstairs to their dormitory. Stretched out on the floor between the beds, Remus and Peter were found bent over a quantity of parchment, quills scratching away across its surface. At first glance the parchment appeared to be covered with scribble, but upon closer examination the scribble revealed itself to be neatly ordered runes arranged to invoke some sort of incantation. Smaller scraps of parchment lay strewn about covered with sketches of floor plans. Periodically Remus or Peter would reference a sketch then continue writing on the larger parchment, changing the course of the runes to reflect the floor plan. Remus glanced toward the scuffing of footsteps on the stone stairs, quill poised in midair.

“We were beginning to wonder if she decided to have you serve detention now,” he mumbled as he resumed writing.

“No, she didn’t.” James dropped to the floor beside Remus, closely watching the progress on the parchment. “We’ll be doing it after dinner.”

Quill hesitating, Peter looked miserably up at James and Sirius.

“Don’t look so glum,” Sirius chuckled. “As James pointed out on our way here, he and I will experience the rare opportunity of a first hand eyeball inside Slytherin Hall.”

Remus sat up, astonished by this news. “You’re what?”

Rushing over to the stairwell, Sirius glanced down making certain no one was coming to investigate the cause for the outburst. James pressed a finger to his lips, and spoke quietly.

“Yeah, Slytherin commons; seems the jinx did a bit more damage than intended.”

“Like we’re fussed about that,” Sirius interjected, strolling back and sitting beside Peter satisfied that no one was coming.

“And our detention is to help clean things up a bit. We’re supposed to report to old Sluggy after dinner.” James finished.

“Wow,” Peter’s face screwed up in concentration. “James, that was over a month ago. How powerful was that jinx?”

“It wasn’t supposed to be powerful, and it certainly wasn’t supposed to cause that much damage, I can tell you.” Until now neither James nor Sirius had given the aftermath of the jinx’s discharge a second thought. Inquires into the incident had not been openly conducted and any mention of it was hushed, relegating the whole incident to rumors. The anticipated repercussions never materialized, so James and Sirius had directed their attention to the mistiming of the jinx.

James peered over at Sirius. “So, what do you think?”

“As little as possible,” Sirius replied with a smirk.

“No, really, could the mistiming have affected the magnitude?” James retorted.

“It’s possible,” Sirius shrugged. “Anything’s possible. The magnitude of the effect was set to correspond with a particular time. Since the discharge timing was off, sure, I don’t see any reason why the magnitude couldn’t have been affected as a result.”

The scratching of quills abruptly ceased. Sirius looked over and saw Peter staring apprehensively at the parchment.

“Get a grip, Peter,” he snorted. “The map’s not going to explode.”

“But, the runes, Sirius…”

Annoyed, Sirius snatched the quill from Peter’s hand and stretched out on the floor, continuing to inscribe the parchment.

“Why don’t you keep watch for a while,” he growled.

Peter scurried to the stairwell, one eye fixed on the stairs and the other on the progressing map. Remus bent low over the map and resumed writing.

“Being somewhat harsh with him, aren’t you,” he whispered.

“He needs to grow a backbone,” Sirius’ eyes narrowed.

“Look who’s talking,” James chimed in, settling down to join the work. The quill fell limp in Sirius’ hand.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, mate,” James smiled serenely, voice low. “Just an observation is all.”

“How about some enlightenment into this observation.”

Remus glanced between the pair, and then calmly stood and packed his school bag. “Peter, come on, there’s some odd thing about the seventh floor near Barnabas the Barmy’s tapestry and we need to have a look see. It’s having some affect on the map.”

Peter reached out and picked the canvas satchel up off his bed. “Affecting the map? Is it safe? Don’t you think we should leave whatever it is alone?” His voice trailed away as he and Remus left the dormitory.

James lowered his quill and along with Sirius watched the pair leave. Exhaling heavily, reluctant to address what was a potentially volatile subject, he faced Sirius.

“Are you sure you want to hear it?”

“I wouldn’t have asked, now would I?” Sirius leaned casually on an elbow.

“Well, given the circumstances…”

“What circumstances,” Sirius interrupted, lip curling.

“Circumstances this past summer resulting in you showing up on Dad and Mum’s doorstep. And don’t go getting all sullen on me.” Sirius’ expression drastically darkened. His attention directed back toward the map, the quill attacking it as if the map had caused the quill some great offense.

“Sirius, you can’t ignore it. You can’t act as though nothing’s happened. Granted, the situation between you and your parents wasn’t the best…”

“You have no idea about the situation, you and your perfect life,” he suddenly growled, the map forgotten, and glared at James. The statement, bitter and malicious, completely caught James off guard, there was never a clue his best friend harbored such thoughts about his family life.

“So why don’t you tell me. We’ve always been there for each other; this time’s no different.”

Sirius sat upright and leaned against the bed frame, pensively running his fingers through his thick black hair. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” There was a pained expression in his eyes as he stared at nothing in particular; a tense breath gradually escaped.

“I just had enough, especially mum’s pure blood tripe; how being pure blood means you’re the best, the strongest; their falling for every lie this git Voldemort is spouting, like every word that drips from his mouth is gold - ignoring the mysterious killings.” Sirius pulled out his wand and began to absentmindedly play with it.

Sparks flew into the air erupting into a small colorful fireworks display. A miniature dragon materialized, swooping around the bursts of light. James watched mesmerized by his friend’s incredible wand control even in the midst of conflict.

“That’s not all of it,” he prompted.

A second winged creature, a wyvern, materialized and flew in heated pursuit of the dragon, attacking viciously with talons and sharp teeth as the pair locked in mortal combat.

“No, that’s not all.”

“So?”

The wand jabbed and flicked, and the midair battle disappeared just as the wyvern was in position to rip open the dragon’s throat. Sirius sighed heavily.

“I was called a blood traitor.”

“You, what? Who said that?” James was dumbfounded.

“Mum.”

Silence engulfed the room for many minutes before either of them spoke.

“Well,” ventured James, chuckling half-heartedly. “She’s right, you know, and so is Dad, Mum, and me,” a reassuring smile graced his face. “Blood traitors that is.”

Sirius smiled weakly.

“You, though, haven’t been compared to a younger brother. Mum kept throwing it in my face how Regulus shows pride in being a Black, how he’s smart enough to recognize that pure blood wizards are superior to half-bloods and muggle-borne, and even over other races.” Sirius drew up his legs, clutching his knees. “It’s revolting how she’s planted him on some pedestal. And he goes right along with it like some obedient little pet. Hasn’t a genuinely individual thought in his head,” each word was spat out in disgust.

“It couldn’t have been easy living under those conditions, but,” James hesitated, uncertain if he should really ask the big question.

“Why did you run away? Aside from being called a blood traitor, there’s nothing you’ve told me concerning how they treated you that I didn’t already figure out. Dad and Mum thought if you wanted to talk you’d eventually say something, that’s why they never asked. But, mate, you’ve been down right surly lately, especially to Peter. Sometimes I think you’d do better making the change to a dog permanent. At least your disposition would be sweeter.” James’s smile broadened, coaxing Sirius into a lighter mood.

Sirius snorted. “Yeah it would be, wouldn’t it.”

“Yeah; so how about it, what gave?” James relaxed against the bed, pleased that Sirius was finally talking about the events of the past summer. On rare occasions during the past six years of their friendship Sirius would grumble about family, but never went into detail. The only solid information James knew about the Black family was that they were thoroughly steeped in the Dark Arts for many generations and, according to James’ father, were considered by many to be the core of pure blood wizardry; the latter of which appeared upheld by Mrs. Black’s admonishment of her son.

“They decided to host a reception.”

“I don’t see…” James shook his head.

“A reception for Voldemort.”

James was shocked, his gaze riveted on Sirius. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, Sirius glimpsed Peter’s cat clock on the bedside table.

“We’re going to be late for potions.”

James slowly shook his head. “No, we’re not. Class isn’t for another half hour or so, don’t change the subject. Why, why’d they do that?”

Sirius shrugged. “To appear in support of him? I don’t know. We got into a really heated row, the worst yet. My father wanted me there beside him, I said no; mum said it was my duty as a Black, my duty mind you, so I agreed on one condition.”

“And that was?”

Sirius shifted uneasily. “I invite a guest.”

“A guest?” James leaned forward in piqued curiosity, “who?”

“Lily Evans.”

Although they had had quite a few conversations concerning the female gender, James had no idea Sirius was entertaining thoughts about a girlfriend, least of all the same girl he had his sights set on. A sinister writhing inside the pit of his stomach began to churn and grow.

“Er, I didn’t…” Swallowing hard, James fought back the urge to angrily lash out at Sirius.

Sirius snorted. “Before you get your dander up, Prongs, it’s not what you think. Lily came to mind only because she’s the only girl I know, aside from my cousin, Andromeda, who’d have enough nerve and sense to stand up to my parents and their friends, and be able to hold her own in the process. As far as I’m concerned, you’re interested in her so that means she’s off limits.”

James pondered this, the writhing knot calming, and then pressed on before Sirius decided to completely change the subject. “So, what did your parents say?”

“Well, my father asked who her parents are, I told him I’d never met them, then he asked if they were from an acceptable family line, and I knew what that meant, so I told him straight away the Evans are muggles. Well, mum went off screaming with that one, shouting that I was a blood traitor and how dare I even consider inviting a mud-blood into her house, I was a disgrace to the name Black and no son of hers… that if she’d had her way, I would never have been born.” Sirius paused, obviously agitated in the retelling of such unsettling events.

“She was,” the tone of his voice dropped to a trembling whisper tainted with loathing, “a right royal banshee.”

At a temporary loss for words, James silently observed the wretched form seated opposite him, and leaned back against the bed frame feeling as if every ounce of strength had been siphoned from him.

“I’m sure she didn’t mean…” he whispered consolingly but unable to find the right words to finish the sentence. Laughter from the common room below floated into the dormitory.

“No, mate, she meant every word.” Misty-eyed with an expression of deep anger and hurt, Sirius felt weary in body and spirit. Just then a head tentatively rose up out of the stairwell.

“Sorry to interrupt, but we’re going to be late for double potions,” Remus smiled sheepishly before going back down stairs. Reluctantly Sirius stood and gathered up a knapsack containing potions supplies. James reached over to fold up the parchment and hid it safely inside the trunk situated at the foot of his bed, then without further words escorted his best friend down to the common room. Dodging a Fanged Frisbee duel the pair made their way through to the tunnel guarded by the Fat Lady’s portrait to find Remus and Peter waiting patiently in the hallway beyond. Sirius trod mechanically ahead, Peter trotting along beside him, oblivious to the bustling activity of students crowding the halls between classes. James fell a few paces behind with Remus, exchanging glances and answering his silent inquiry with a slight nod.

The quartet arrived down in the dungeons for advanced double potions just as the other students were setting out their cauldrons. Amelia Bones, a sixth year Hufflepuff girl with a chestnut brown ponytail, beamed hopefully in their direction, nearly knocking over her scales as the four young men sat at a table near the rear of the classroom. Taking casual notice of her, James offered a friendly smile then nudged Remus with an elbow, who glanced up while opening his book bag, smiled and nudged Sirius as he walked past to the other side of the table.

“What,” Sirius asked dropping the knapsack onto the table to remove two cauldrons and looked over, following the direction of Remus’ nod. Amelia had just glanced away as Sirius sniggered, nudging Peter’s arm and also nodding to the girl. Peter quickly looked back to the desk, blushing.

Although the dark stone walls gave the classroom a gloomy appearance, illuminated only by the orange glow of candles and torches, the room was electrified with anticipation. At the conclusion of Monday’s class Professor Slughorn had hinted about something unusual for their end of week lesson, and for the past four days speculations concerning what that something could be were running rampant. James scanned the room and found Lily Evans seated at the front table in an animated conversation with her girl friends, and then noticed Severus Snape, potions supplies neatly arranged on the table, sneering at him.

“Gentlemen, ladies, settle down, settle down please; we have much ground to cover and little time in which to do it.” Professor Slughorn’s pudgy fingers patted the air. The classroom became silent.

“As you may recall, when last we parted I mentioned that you should expect an unusual occurrence today. Now, now,” the excited murmuring renewed then died as Slughorn patted the air again.

“Given the level of talent among our NEWT students this year, I have permission from the headmaster to hold a potions competition.” Loud applause erupted in the room. Professor Slughorn chuckled with glee at the students’ enthusiasm, his round belly shaking.

“All right, all right, if I may continue,” he tapped the blackboard with his wand and writing appeared.

“You have until Friday next, that’s one week, to decide the goal effect of your potion and inform me what that effect should be along with what category you will be competing in. Please copy down the regulations for the competition as listed on the board. The list will remain only until next Friday. The guidelines are clearly stated, however, if at any point you should have any questions on what is expected of your entry you have only to ask, otherwise you are on your own. The research and development of your potions is to be solely your own work.”

Peter groaned and slumped in his chair.

A Ravenclaw student raised his hand.

“Yes, Mister Maris.”

“Sir, according to the regulations there are two categories for the competition: Beyond NEWT Levels, and Original Concept.”

“Yes, Mister Maris, there are,” Slughorn smiled cheerfully.

“But, sir, does that, I mean - Original Concept, isn’t it dangerous to develop your own potions? It could, it could backfire, or something,” Logan Maris squirmed.

“Quite right, my boy, quite right it could, which is why you are expected to thoroughly research the background of each ingredient you plan on using before actually combining them, and submit regular reports on your progress before reaching the final product; and that is also why there are two categories for the competition. We don’t expect everyone to feel confident enough to develop a potion from scratch, ergo the Beyond NEWT Level. These potions will be extremely advanced, already developed potions that only the most careful and skilled individuals could recreate. You have a choice of what category in which to compete.”

Snape’s hand instantly shot up.

“Mister Snape,” Slughorn pointed toward the far wall.

“Professor, since you say we have a choice, does that mean we can not submit an entry in both categories?”

Slughorn chuckled. “Mister Snape, I admire your pluck, however, we must keep the competition fair for all participants; so yes, you cannot submit an entry in both categories – one category and one category only.”

Snape’s pallid features screwed up into a brooding frown.

“Poor Snivelly doesn’t seem very happy with that regulation,” James chortled softly to Sirius.

Sirius shrugged a shoulder and smirked. “Since his three days detentions from Filch for hanging out in the entrance hall after hours at beginning of term, he’s not been happy with any regulation.”

“Any other questions? No? Very well then, let us get to business,” Slughorn maniacally wrung his hands together. “Today’s lesson shall cover the Calming Draught. In addition, I would like a twenty-four-inch report on the potion’s main ingredients and what other uses, if any, those ingredients possess, completed by class on Monday. Books open, flames on, let’s begin.”




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Feedback link: The Marauders: Year 6

Chapter Three

Treat or Trick (part 1)



Posters announcing the first Hogsmeade trip of the school year, scheduled for Halloween, had gone up two weeks into the beginning of first term, and as the term progressed no one was anticipating the trip more than the sixth year students – not even the third years who had never before visited the village. While the advanced class work was difficult, for the most part it was manageable, but the homework load was nearly staggering, exasperated by the extra burden of preparation for the potions competition. Every student participating in the competition was fiercely guarding the characteristics of their potions; each convinced they were brewing the competition winner. For various reasons a few of the NEWT level potions students were able to opt out of the competition, Peter Pettigrew being one of them. The task fell to these students to render any assistance needed in order to facilitate the smooth administration of the event: constant inventory updates of the components storeroom, restocking of potions equipment, and even acting as messenger.

The morning of the trip was dawning and for the first time in three days James had a solid night’s sleep, awaking refreshed before the sun began to color the sky in shades of gray and lavender. From three of the four beds in the dormitory the dull music of tranquil snoring drifted through the air. James tiptoed to the bed next to his and tapped the lump occupying the center of the mattress. A deep growl emanated from the lump as it twisted under the bed covers, thrusting out a foot from where a head should have been resting. A small goblet of water on the nightstand knocked over spilling its contents in a cascade resembling a miniature waterfall down the front of the table.

“Sirius, come on,” whispered James, “time to wake up.” A hand reached out at the foot of the bed, groping for the bed curtains to draw them closed.

“No way, mate, come on.” James took hold of the foot and began to drag the sleepy lump out of bed. Bedcovers went flying and Sirius lurched forward, catching James off guard. A ripping noise sounded as the two fell to the hard wood floor, wrestling, tangled in sheets and torn fabric. Arms and legs twisted wildly as each grappled for a hold on the other. Sirius locked James’ arms behind his back, forcing him to his knees, head bent toward the floor. James meanwhile, struggling for freedom with all the strength he could muster, kept wiggling a foot attempting to catch hold of Sirius’ left leg, but Sirius would move before he’d even have a toe within reach. Then James noticed an almost imperceptible shift in Sirius’ balance. With a mighty effort James wiggled an arm free and strained into an upright position. Firmly grasping Sirius by the scruff of the neck, James twisted, tossing Sirius over his shoulder.

Free of the torn fabric and panting heavily, James and Sirius parted, staring at each other, their eyes sparkling with wild glee. Sirius leapt into the air. Antlers caught the great black dog behind its front legs and sent it hurtling, connecting with a thud against a patch of stone wall beside Remus’ bed. The dog crumbled into a dazed heap.

Rousted by the scuffle, Remus peeked out from under the blankets, eyeing the black dog on the floor.

“Whatdya think you two are doing,” he asked as quietly as possible without waking Peter. The small mousy teen sighed and then rolled over, burrowing deeper into his bedcovers.

The large stag blinked at him with sparkling hazel eyes. Remus crawled out of bed and walked over to the animal. A shadow passed across the stag’s gaze. Eyes wide, Remus dropped just as the great dog soared overhead. The force of impact from the dog’s leap knocked over the stag sending the two animals crashing into James’ bed. There was a snorting sound followed by mumbling coming from Peter’s direction and then he lay quietly still. Remus scowled at the two combatants.

“Quiet, will you,” he hissed softly. “Professor Slughorn had Peter up half the night running errands again.”

Sirius rolled over as James pushed him off, the two of them in tears trying not to laugh out loud.

“What was that all about anyway?”

“Just pulling Padfoot out of bed is all,” James chuckled.

Sweeping the dark hair out of his eyes with a casual flair Sirius reached out summoning his wand with a nonverbal Accio. With a swish and wave the torn bed curtains became whole again and hung themselves onto their rings, both beds slid back into place and the bedcovers stretched out smoothly over the mattresses.

James smiled. “Nice job.”

“Child’s play,” winked Sirius.

Remus knelt by the pair, voice low. “So why are you up this early? Breakfast isn’t for another hour.” The gray dawn twilight washed his pale, peaky features with a luminescent glow, emphasizing the dark hollows of his eyes.

“Sirius and I are going up to seventh floor and check out the area around the barmy’s tapestry,” whispered James. “You were right, some thing up in that corridor is affecting the map, and we need to know exactly why before we finish it.”

“Right,” Remus nodded. “I’ll grab a nosh for you if you don’t make breakfast, but don’t forget, Filch opens the gate at ten.”

James shook his head. “You’re going back to bed. You need the rest; no argument.” Remus closed his mouth and frowned.

“Yeah, we’ll smuggle a nosh to you before Hogsmeade,” Sirius added firmly with a grin.

“Fine, then let me know what you discover. When Peter and I were there we couldn’t make heads or tails of that corridor. Hope you have better luck,” Remus mumbled as he crawled back into bed and sunk gratefully into its cozy depths.

Quickly dressing, James and Sirius hid under the invisibility cloak and traversed undetected through the relatively deserted corridors of Hogwarts. On the sixth floor the pair froze in their tracks near a large stained glass window of a tawny centaur holding a star in one hand and a red sphere in the other. A steady clanking noise reverberated off the walls and was growing louder. James and Sirius looked around but saw nothing in the gloomy morning twilight, then Sirius felt a nudge in his side. James pointed toward a form moving closer. It was Peeves, lazily drifting overhead, banging two lengths of metal rod together and laughing devilishly to himself. Sirius tipped his head to the side and James nodded, following.

On the seventh floor they stopped briefly in front of the tapestry depicting Barnabas the Barmy’s fateful attempt to teach ballet to a group of trolls. The trolls were sneering as Barnabas was demonstrating a plié. The pair turned to face the opposite wall.

There was nothing extraordinary about the wall other than being a rare stretch not displaying some sort of hanging, nor having a window or door. Remaining under cover of the cloak, James and Sirius attentively studied it. James cautiously caressed the smooth cold surface.

“Some thing’s definitely here,” he quietly commented.

For a long time they scrutinized the unmistakable signature of magic sensed when touching the wall until a perplexing hour had passed and they were ready to give up for the day. All at once a scuffing noise caught their attention. Turning the corner at the end of the corridor was Filch the caretaker, carrying an empty bucket. He was walking straight toward them. Could he actually see them? Filch never gave any indication before that he could when they were under the cloak. Alarmed, James and Sirius backed away, pressing as flat as they could against the stone; but Filch continued advancing upon them. James and Sirius held their breath. Stretching out his hand, coming within inches of grasping the cloak, Filch leaned heavily against the wall where only a few seconds ago the concealed pair had stood.

“Never rely on a house elf for a proper inventory of cleaning supplies,” he grumbled, lips curled at the corners. Filch then did something very odd, even for him; he paced three times in front of the very section of wall James and Sirius had been studying. The pair grinned broadly at each other as a door materialized in the wall. Filch glanced around, eyes narrowed, before entering through the door into an unseen room beyond, leaving James and Sirius the opportunity to quietly slip away to the Great Hall for breakfast.

Platters of sausages and meats, omelets and hard-boiled eggs, tureens of hot porridge, bowls of apples and pears, and pitchers of pumpkin juice and milk were stacked high upon the house tables, offering a very hearty breakfast before a long day’s outing. Neither Peter nor Remus was at the Gryffindor table when James and Sirius arrived, so they sat quietly by themselves discussing the revelation of the concealed door on the seventh floor while enjoying the morning repast. A dark interruption to their conversation walked up behind and stood silently waiting for some acknowledgement. James and Sirius looked up, smiling, but Sirius quickly turned away, the smile fading to an ominous scowl.

“Hi, Regulus, how are you,” James cordially greeted the slender, dark haired third year student. By the emblem emblazoned on his robes Regulus was obviously a member of Slytherin House.

The youth hesitantly held out a small parchment scroll. “Professor Dumbledore asked me to give this to Sirius.” Regulus looked nervously at his older brother while Sirius stabbed a sausage with a fork. James reached out gently taking the scroll.

“If the professor asks, you can tell him that you saw Sirius and the scroll was delivered.”

Regulus nodded, glancing at Sirius. His mouth opened as if wanting to say something but closed it and walked away, crestfallen.

James held the small scroll a few inches from Sirius’ face. “He was only making a delivery for Professor Dumbledore.”

Sirius dropped the fork and snatched the scroll from James’ hand, still scowling. “Dumbledore should have sent it by owl instead.” James shrugged and leaned an elbow on the table.

“So open it.”

Mister Black,
Would you be kind enough to join me in my office for a brief meeting in approximately half an hour? Mister Potter may accompany if you wish.

Cordially yours,
Professor Albus Dumbledore

P.S. These days I’m rather fond of chocolate frogs.

James stared over Sirius’ shoulder reading the letter. “What did you do this time?”

Raising an eyebrow, Sirius gave him a sideways glare. “And just what makes you think Dumbledore wants to see me because of something I’ve done?”

Chuckling, James sat back to finish breakfast. “Could it be because that’s practically the only time you or I are ever summoned by him?” Twenty minutes later James and Sirius were climbing the spiral stairs to the headmaster’s office, having given the password ‘chocolate frogs’ to the griffin statue standing guard at the entrance. At the top of the stairs they knocked on the heavy oak door.

“Come in,” a muffled voice called out from the other side.

With some apprehension Sirius opened the door, James following close behind. The walls of the large circular room were covered to the ceiling with portraits of past Hogwarts headmasters and mistresses, some still dozing but most wide awake and curious about the early morning proceedings. Along the base of the walls was one long continuous bookcase stacked to overflowing with books, gadgets, gizmos and whirligigs; and situated just to the side of the door was a stand upon which perched a fiery red plumed bird with gold beak and piercing eyes. Seated at a large desk facing them was Hogwarts’ current headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. He was a wizard of advancing years, his silver gray hair and beard long enough to tuck into the top of the belt wrapped around his sapphire robes, and while his expression and manner was always kindly, Sirius and James knew this was a wizard of immense power and not a person to cross. Albus Dumbledore was one of the few authoritative figures for whom the pair held great respect. Four wooden high-backed chairs were situated facing the desk, two of them already occupied.

“Mum, Dad,” James exclaimed, hastily smoothing down the slight bulge under his robes where the cloak was hidden. The couple turned around and the man stood, his aging face beaming as he reached out to clasp his son in a fatherly greeting. Standing off to the side Sirius smiled at the family reunion, then without warning he found himself surrounded in a tight warm hug from Mrs. Potter. She released him and laid a gentle hand on his cheek.

“How are you, dear? Has the term been going well,” she thoughtfully inquired.

“Yes, ma’am,” replied Sirius. “It’s been going very well.” He shot a glance over at James, who appeared just as bewildered as to why the senior Potters were at Hogwarts.

Mr. Potter walked over to shake Sirius’ hand. “It’s good to see you again, my boy. Professor Dumbledore has been telling us how the two of you seem to have finally calmed down by staying out of mischief this year.”

“Er, well, yes we have, I mean, er, been staying out of mischief that is,” Sirius was completely perplexed about the whole situation. Dumbledore, on the other hand, sat smiling genially at the scene.

“Please, shall we attend to the business at hand? I’m sure these two young gentlemen would like to join their classmates for the trip into Hogsmeade today.” Dumbledore gestured toward the two remaining chairs, and everyone sat down. In spite of the bright rays of golden sunshine streaming through the study windows a solemn shadow covered Dumbledore’s normally placid features as he turned toward Sirius.

“Mr. and Mrs. Potter have brought some tricky news.”

Sirius waited, ill at ease, while Dumbledore paused.

“Your mother’s brother, Alphard Black, passed on a week ago. Yesterday his will was read, and in it he has left an inheritance of sizable amount to you.”

Slack-jawed, Sirius could only stare at Dumbledore for many minutes before turning to the Potters. They looked at him with loving concern.

“I, er, I don’t understand, Uncle Alphard hasn’t seen me since I was about nine. Why’d he leave me an inheritance?” The question was no sooner out of his mouth than Sirius’ eyes widened; a thought had just occurred to him and he was burning to know the answer.

“What did mum say about that?”

Mrs. Potter fidgeted with her purse, pulling out a handkerchief to cover a cough while Mr. Potter glanced up at Dumbledore. Eyebrows raised Dumbledore peered over the rim of his half-moon glasses, his gaze shifting toward Sirius and then back again. Mr. Potter cleared his throat.

“Well my boy, Sirius, according to the information we were given,” Mr. Potter took a deep breath and held it for a moment, “your mother, putting it politely, burst into a fit of apoplexy. Your father had to carry her home and summon a healer. We understand she’s still under the weather from the event.”

“Under the weather,” Sirius muttered, smirking. “Who told you all this? I mean, is it really true?”

Mr. Potter gave a slight nod. “Let’s just say the information comes from a mutual relative and leave it at that.”

“Yes, it is quite true,” Professor Dumbledore spoke up. “I received an owl from your uncle’s solicitor early this morning, before Mr. and Mrs. Potter contacted me, which is why I thought it best we should discuss the matter before your trip into Hogsmeade; afterward you might feel too taxed to discuss the matter clearly.”

Sirius nodded, “So, what now?” He glanced from the Potters to the headmaster.

“For now, you continue with your education,” Dumbledore gazed over his glasses at Sirius. “Due to certain legalities, your parents have given Mr. and Mrs. Potter guardianship of you until your seventeenth birthday, at which time you will then formally receive the inheritance your uncle has bequeathed you. You will have the financial wherewithal to support yourself until your education is complete and you have secured employment.”

An increasing number of thoughts, some at once dreadful and others comforting, drifted through Sirius’ mind as his gaze slowly dropped down the front of the desk. A hand gently rested on his arm. When he looked up misty tears were clouding Mrs. Potter’s aged hazel eyes.

“It’ll be alright, my dear. You’ll see,” she smiled at him in a motherly fashion, the same way she had smiled when he showed up unannounced on the Potter’s doorstep early this past summer. She dabbed her eyes with a corner of the handkerchief. “You and James will come home for Christmas holiday just as we arranged. We’ll talk about any future plans then. Does that sound fine with you, dear?”

Sirius nodded in agreement, softly sighing. Plans for the future - at this point he was happy just to make it through each day.



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Feedback link: The Marauders: Year 6

Chapter Three

Treat or Trick (Part Two)



“So what were you able to smuggle from breakfast?”

“What? Oh, yeah,” Sirius rummaged through the inside pockets of his robes as he, James, Remus and Peter strolled along the dirt road leading into Hogsmeade. Packages of sausages, bread, and cheese wrapped in cloth napkins were pulled out one at a time and passed to Remus. He then tossed an apple to Peter.

“There you are, that should take the edge off for a bit,” he chuckled half-heartedly. Thoughts concerning the unexpected excellent fortune presented that morning were still sifting through his mind. Anything to aggravate his mother to him was an excellent fortune, a fine treat.

“Where were you? Peter and I were beginning to wonder if Filch held you up,” Remus handed hunks of cheese and bread to Peter.

James and Sirius grinned at each other.

“Funny you should mention Filch,” James replied.

“How so,” mumbled Peter around a mouthful of cheese.

“Padfoot, do you have another apple in those pockets?”

Sirius searched through the pockets and smirked, tossing a pear to James. “Sorry, Prongs, that’s all that’s left.”

A pair of third years suddenly shoved between James and Sirius, running full tilt in the direction of the village. James quickly pulled out his wand and aimed it at the boys; there were two rapid flashes of light. The first boy tripped and then the other, both stumbling face first into the damp earth. James smiled, rubbing the fruit against his chest before taking a large bite. The pear’s sweet juice trickled down his chin.

Remus shook his head and frowned. “Will you stop discussing fruit and tell me about Filch?”

“Filch? Oh yeah, Filch,” Sirius winked at James as James gave him an elbow in the ribs. “Well, we stared at that ruddy wall for nearly an hour until Filch showed up.”

“Yeah, we were ready to forget it and call it a loss,” James chimed in.

“What happened when he got there,” Peter excitedly inquired. “Did he see you?”

“No, although at one point it looked as though he did.”

Sirius gave a nod to James’ assessment of the situation while walking past one of the fallen third year students struggling against invisible bonds. Stepping gingerly over the body of the other third year boy laying on the ground, James smiled broadly.

“Filch showed us the answer to the problem, or at least part of the answer.”

The crease deepened on Remus’ brow, “How?” Pulling his wand from his robes, Remus gave it a flick in the direction of the fallen boys. They quickly stood, brushed the dirt from their clothes, and timidly skirted around the quartet to continue toward Hogsmeade. James sniggered.

“He walked three times in front of the wall and then a door appeared.”

Remus stopped, staring at him. “A door appeared, just like that, in the wall?” The other three stopped as well.

James nodded, “Just like that.”

“Wow,” Peter’s watery eyes widened. “Who would have known?”

“Obviously Filch does. But now the question is, what’s on the other side of the door? Filch was mumbling about cleaning supplies, so my guess is it’s a storage closet of a sort,” James resumed the walk into the village. Sirius shook his head, following along side.

“I don’t think so, not an ordinary storage closet anyway. That signature is too strong for some thing as mundane as a closet.”

Remus and Peter fell in close behind. “Yeah, it’s making the map all wonky like. You don’t suppose…” Peter squeaked.

“Suppose what? That the map’s going to explode,” Sirius was really becoming annoyed with Peter’s paranoia.

“No,” Remus quickly cut in. “No, I’m sure he didn’t mean that at all, Sirius, however, I am concerned that it might destabilize the map’s incantation enough to render it ineffective. And if that’s the case…”

“If that’s the case,” James interjected bleakly. “Then all the work we’ve put into this project, all the time solving the riddles to the hidden passageways and the mirrors, the solutions to the space and time anomalies will have been wasted.”

The four trudged along in silence for a while, each contemplating the significance of this latest discovery. Then, just before they passed through the gate onto High Street, Sirius coughed and spoke hoarsely.

“You don’t want to know then that I came across another glitch on the first floor, around the girls’ lavatory, do you.”

The group stopped, clustered in a tight circle with all eyes fixed on him.

“What? When were you going to tell us about it,” James queried.

“After we solved this bit. I found it last night. I couldn’t sleep so I decided to work on the map. But, well, there’s that and another also down on the first floor, near the empty room where all the first years gather before the sorting.” Sirius glanced around. James and Remus appeared stunned by this news.

“How is it we haven’t noticed them before,” Remus whispered. A group of Hufflepuff girls was walking by, quickly shying away.

Sirius shrugged, keeping his voice low. “Haven’t a clue. Only thing I can think of is the affects of these places may be starting to conflict with the map as the map’s incantation grows stronger.”

Peter squeaked again. “It’s going to explode,” he mumbled to himself.

“All right,” James leaned closer into the center of the circle, speaking softly. The others followed suit. “We make this trip short, Zonk’s and Honeydukes, then we head back to the dormitory straight away and take a closer look at the map, find out what areas need concentration. If we can’t integrate them into the map, then we’ll just have to, to…”

“Seal them off, make them dead zones,” Remus concluded the thought.

Sirius nodded, “Precisely.”

The quartet stayed only an hour and a half in Hogsmeade, with a quick stop into The Three Broomsticks tavern to pick up a few bottles of butterbeer and say hello to Madam Rosmerta, the owner, before heading back to Hogwarts.

Once in the Gryffindor dormitory James pulled the map out of the trunk at the foot of his bed. Opening it warily, he placed it on the floor and all four young men sat down around it, examining it carefully.

“Here, this is the first area on the first floor,” Sirius pointed out. The writing on the parchment had a strange wiggle pattern to it. “And here's the second,” he pointed to a different first floor area of the map, and again the writing exhibited the strange wiggle pattern.

Peter began to slowly back away from the map, furtive glances darting toward his friends.

James nodded. “Right – we’ll split up. Peter, you go… you come with me. Remus, go with Sirius, and we’ll meet back here before tonight’s feast. We need to find out all we can about those areas, what’s causing the glitches.”

“We’ll take the empty room,” nodded Sirius. James tilted his head and raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve got the cloak, if you need to enter the girls’ loo you both will be able to go about unseen better than Remus and I would.”

Slowly nodding his head, shoulders drooped, James reluctantly conceded. “You have a point there. All right, let’s go,” and James quickly stowed the map back in the trunk before he and Peter invisibly followed their two friends out of the common room.

The dark secluded alcove in the main entrance hall had become a favorite location in which Severus Snape would tarry. Not only was it quiet and overlooked but also it afforded him the best location for watching the comings and goings of the Hogwarts student body, particularly a certain foursome. Declining to make the trip into the village Snape elected to curl up in the alcove to read a book and get in some uninterrupted study. It hit him as odd when James Potter and company returned so soon after leaving for Hogsmeade, and so decided to investigate. Following cautiously behind the quartet, he watched as they entered the Gryffindor commons up on the fifth floor; however, not too long afterwards the portrait door reopened. Quickly darting around Snape hid behind a suit of armour. Sirius Black and Remus Lupin walked by, whispering. Snape watched the door a few moments more before concluding that no one else was going to emerge, so he chanced to follow after Black and Lupin. On the second floor the pair were about to turn the corner into the main corridor when they abruptly halted. Panicked, Snape glanced around, found an unlocked door and ducked inside the room, straining to listen through the cracked opening. There were more whispers and then silence. With great caution Snape opened the door to poke his head out and scan the hallway. A trio of Ravenclaws, two girls and a boy draped in warm woolen cloaks, sneered at him as they walked toward their common room. Snape returned the sneer but it quickly faded when the trio was out of sight. Snape bowed his head, brooding, and then continued the pursuit of Black and Lupin.

At the top of the marble staircase he caught himself and hung back because at the base of the stairs the pair was engaged in a heavy discussion. Black glanced around before waving Lupin on to follow. The pair moved from sight below the overhanging second floor balcony into the hallway beyond. Try as he might Snape couldn’t fathom what of any great importance would entice the pair down that direction; the hall led to classrooms, nothing more. Warily he peered around the banister post at the bottom of the stairs. Through torchlight that bathed the hallway with a faint orange glow two dark shadows appeared to dance wildly against the wall and then slip quietly into nothingness.

All sound of Snape's footsteps was swallowed by an eerie silence engulfing the hallway while the torchlight twitched to the mute staccato music. He halted by a plain wood door. Giving the door a heave it reluctantly opened revealing a vast darkness that lay beyond. Snape slipped through the doorway into the darkness. With a deep rumbling boom the door closed seemingly of its own volition. Ahead a pinpoint of light could be seen bobbing away. Suddenly, without warning, Snape felt himself jerked into midair hanging upside down and dangling by one foot. His wand fell clattering to the floor and his arms flailed wildly in attempt to grab hold of whomever or whatever may be close by. A second light burst into life, momentarily blinding him.

"Snivelly, fancy meeting you down here. Why on earth are you hanging about like that? Decided to take up life as a bat, have you?" Laughter filled with cold mirth echoed through the darkness. The first light stopped, turned and was progressing toward him.

"Sirius, was that really necessary? You could have simply locked the door," a familiar voice inquired in admonishment. The second light swung around, casting grotesque shadows upon the peaky features of Remus Lupin, the bearer of the first light source.

"Quite; if he'd learn to keep his abnormally large nose out of other people's business he wouldn't find himself in his current predicament," Sirius laughed some more.

Remus shook his head, amused only by Sirius' description of Snape.

Snape, meanwhile, stretched out a hand. There was a flash of white light quickly accompanied by a flash of red light. The wand had risen but then flew further into the darkness. Sirius rounded on Snape.

"You're not getting it back that easily, Accio or no," Sirius growled, taking a threatening step forward. Remus grabbed hold of his sleeve.

"No, Sirius, don't. He's not worth it. Come on, let's just complete the task we've come to do and leave."

Snape viciously swore a stream of incomprehensible curses at the pair.

Sirius glowered at Remus and then turned back to Snape. "You're lucky I'm in a generous mood. You can hang there for a bit or all eternity, I'm easy. Either way we'll be seeing you later, I'm sure," and then he opened the door.

Remus looked stymied. "But what about," he stuttered.

Sirius frowned shaking his head. "We'll come another time. At the moment, it's a bit too crowded around here." He glanced over at Snape with a disgusted look and then followed Remus out into the hallway. The door closed behind them with a heavy thud, and a muffled cry for help was heard, fading as they walked away.


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Feedback link: The Marauders: Year 6

Chapter Three

Treat or Trick (Part Three)



Peter sighed as he passed a hand slowly over the cold stone wall. “James, are you sure it’s here? I don’t feel anything.”

Biting his lower lip, James nodded. “Yes, Peter, it’s here. It’s strong but it’s only a radiant signature.” He looked off to the side at a simple wood door displaying a sign that read ‘GIRLS’.

“We’re going to have to go in.”

Peter’s eyes grew round. “Inside? In there?” His voice cracked with a squeak.

James nodded solemnly while at the same instant fighting the urge to mercilessly tease Peter.

“Just, stay quiet.” He held a finger to his lips. Peter gave a short jerky nod. Under the cover of the cloak the pair silently crept into the room.

Gloomy was the only impression that came to mind as James surveyed the interior of the girls’ first floor lavatory. The dingy gray flagstone floor and a fair quantity of faded green ceramic wall tiles were fractured, as well as a couple of the diamond patterned window panes. The sound of running water echoed dully through the room. James and Peter glanced down the row of wooden toilet stalls and breathed a sigh of relief. They were the only people inside the lavatory.

Emboldened, the pair withdrew the cloak to walk freely around the room. James silently gestured to Peter, who instantly moved to stand guard by the door, ear pressed to the wood. Then James slowly walked through the room, his hands skimming over every surface. When he finally arrived at the washbasins he tested every tap. A few of the spigots steadily dripped, and one didn’t work at all. In fact, James found himself oddly drawn to and at once repelled when he touched that particular spigot. He bent down to examine it closer.

Suddenly he straightened and spun around, shouting, “Peter, look at…” but his words were drowned out by a shriek that ripped through the room, reverberating viciously off the broken tiled walls.

“Boys! Get out! Boys in the girls’ bathroom!”

Peter dropped to his knees, eyes squeezed closed and hands clamped tightly over his ears. James, with hands also covering his ears, squinted at the source of the noise. Circling overhead was the ghost of a young girl wearing Hogwarts robes. She couldn’t have been more than twelve of thirteen years old when she died.

“Shh, please,” he gently appealed. “We’re sorry; we didn’t mean to bother you.”

The ghost swooped down and glared defiantly at James. “Well you did, and you don’t belong here,” she shouted.

“We are sorry,” James reiterated. “Truly.”

The ghost momentarily ceased her shrieking and stared at him, and in that moment it appeared to him as if she were…

“Were you crying,” He quietly asked. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Do for me?” Her sorrowful pout twisted into an angry leer. “Do for me? Haven’t you done enough, coming in here, uninvited? You don’t belong here. Boys, boys in the girls’ bathroom!” The ghost’s voice swelled into a shriek once more as she rose into the air to swoop down on top of James and Peter. Peter knelt, cowering by the door, his hands clamped tighter than ever over his ears.

“Please,” James continued his gentle appeal. “We’re only trying to decipher the magic signature in this room. We know it’s here, but we can’t…” He stopped, a thought had just occurred to him.

“Did the magic in this room kill you? Is that why you’re trapped here?” The tone of his voice was kind.

The ghost dropped and stared at him. “What do you care,” she finally scowled.

“I care very much. If my friend and I can decipher the magic signature we might be able to release you.”

“James?” Peter queried while watching the conversation, still huddled by the door. James waved a hand behind his back with a shush. The ghost moaned.

“You don’t really care, no one cares. You only came here to make fun of me, like everyone else.”

“Like everyone else,” James defensively retorted. “We don’t even, er, hold on, what’s your name?”

The ghost’s face twisted back into the sorrowful pout. “See, you don’t even know who I am. You don’t really care.”

James shook his head. “All it proves is that we didn’t purposefully come here to make fun of you.”

The small ghost looked at him reproachfully, considering his argument, and then stuck out a hand. “Myrtle,” she sniffled.

Smiling, James made the best appearance possible at clasping the offered hand; a chill ran through him. “Hello, Myrtle, I’m James.” He withdrew the hand and pointed a thumb backward. “And the lump by the door is my friend, Peter.”

Peter awkwardly stood, waving timidly.

The small ghost giggled. “Hello.”

The giggle was an encouraging sign; James pressed on.

“Forgive me if the question seems, er, insensitive, but how did you, you know, die? What happened?”

Myrtle lowered her head and smiled wickedly.

“It was awful. Olive Hornby had been calling me names again so I came in here. I was sitting over there,” she pointed down the row of stalls, “when it happened.”

“When it happened?” James listened intently.

“Yes; I heard a boy, in here, speaking a strange language, so I looked out – and then I died.”

“You died,” Peter slowly walked closer, joining the conversation. He wasn’t much taller than she. The small ghost nodded.

“Myrtle, people don’t just die when someone speaks,” a frown creased James’ brow. “Unless… did you see anything before it happened, a flash of light - anything?”

Myrtle frowned and pursed her lips tightly together looking as if she was about ready to shriek again, but then her expression calmed.

“There was a pair of eyes, yellow evil eyes,” she said quietly. James and Peter glanced at each other and then back at Myrtle.

“That’s all you saw,” James asked.

The small ghost nodded. “Right where you’re standing.”

James looked down at his feet and then his eyes gradually trailed over to the basin beside him – the basin with the useless spigot. He placed a hand firmly in the center of Peter’s chest and pushed the mousy teen back toward the door, stepping backward himself.

“Well, thank you very much for your help, Myrtle. That’s exactly the information we need to know.”

“You’re leaving now? Why?” The ghost pouted and rose back up into the air, glaring down at James and Peter. “Fine, go then, and don’t bother coming back! Boys are all alike, every one of them!” and she flew off, diving headlong into a toilet with a splash.

“James,” Peter whispered.

“Just back up to the door, Peter, I’ll tell you later.”

Tossing the cloak over their heads, the pair passed through the door and out into the hallway, winding their way back to Gryffindor commons. In the dormitory they found Sirius and Remus already there, sitting on Sirius’ bed and watching the map.

“Back so soon,” queried James, pulling off the cloak.

Sniggering, Sirius grinned at him. “I could ask you the same. What happened?”

James sat down at the foot of the bed and leaned against a bedpost. “Remus, you remember reading a book about the school?”

“Yeah, Hogwarts, A History. Why?”

“There was something mentioned about the Slytherin founder having a secret chamber or some thing like that, right?”

“Right, but no wizard’s ever been able to discover its location” Remus frowned with a quizzically expression. “What’s this all about, James?”

“I think," James announced slowly, relishing the impact of every syllable, "I think we found the entrance to the chamber."

Remus and Peter appeared shocked. Sirius leaned forward, grinning madly.

“Where?”

“The girls’ loo.”

Sirius straightened up, his grey eyes narrowing. “You’re joking, right, you’re taking the mickey? It’s in the girls’ loo?”

“No joke, mate, I think it’s actually there.” James’ hazel eyes sparkled wildly as he pushed his glassed back up his nose.

Sirius jumped off the bed giving James a shove. “So don’t leave me hanging here, show me!”

“Wait, Sirius, we can’t just go traipsing into the girls’ lavatory,” Remus’ gaze shifted from Sirius to James. “We need to speak with Dumbledore.”

James shrugged. “What, you think he doesn’t already know where it is? Remus, for goodness’ sake, it’s his school. If I could read that signature you can bet your last knut he knows where the chamber’s located. Granted, it’s just speculation, I couldn’t pinpoint the source… exactly. It was fairly distributed.” His voice trailed off.

“Right, so come on then,” Sirius bounded with excitement.

For a few minutes Remus intently watched James, for it became very obvious that James was mulling things over in his mind. James frowned and turned to his best friend.

“Moony’s right this time, we can’t go back into the girls’ lavatory, at least not at the moment.”

Sirius stood motionless, glaring. “And just why the bloody hell not? Pretty much everyone’s off in Hogsmeade still. No one will see us.”

“No one but Myrtle,” Peter mumbled.

“Myrtle, who is Myrtle?” Sirius’ forehead wrinkled.

Remus sighed. “According to rumor, speculation, what have you, she’s quite probably the student who was killed the last time the chamber was supposedly opened.” He turned to James, barely able to restrain his excitement. “She is a ghost, right? Did she tell you the location of the chamber?”

“No, I found,” James lowered his voice, forcing the others to lean close to hear. “I found a broken spigot engraved with a snake near what I think is the center of the signature. And that’s not all; when you’re touching it and trying to read the signature, well, let’s just say some rather interesting thoughts fill your head.”

Remus’ eyes went wide, “Really?”

James gave a knowledgeable nod. “Very dark thoughts.”

“Oh,” Remus leaned back while Sirius sat heavily on the bed, brooding.

The steady ticking of Peter’s cat clock filled the dormitory room as the quartet sat on Sirius’ bed, each one silently evaluating the outcome of the day’s adventure, casting furtive glances to one another or at the map, until the last orange rays of sunlight sunk below the forrest covered hills and all that could be seen from the window was a jagged purple ridge backdropped with a sky in shades of mauve and lavender. The increasing noise drifting up from the common room below heralded the return of students from their trip into Hogsmeade village. Sirius slowly stood and smoothed out his robes.

“Going somewhere,” queried James.

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “The feast. You’re quite welcome to join me if you like.” No one moved. Glaring at the group, Sirius pulled out his wand and pointed it at them.

“All right, clear off you lot, or I’ll hex you with a Cheering Charm the likes of which you’ve never experience before.”

James burst out laughing and Remus sniggered.

Peter’s jaw dropped. “You, you wouldn’t, would you?”

James and Remus laughed harder, and Sirius doubled over, grabbing his knees and shaking his head.

“Oh Wormtail.” Sirius straightened, tucking the wand back inside the robe pocket.

James gathered up the map and stowed it in the trunk while Remus coaxed Peter off the other side of the bed.

“I wonder what tonight’s entertainment will be,” Remus wondered aloud.

“Whatever it is, I hope it’s better than last year,” grumbled Sirius, heading down the stairwell.

“Yeah, a person can handle only so much of ghosts flying in formation,” James nodded in agreement, with Remus and Peter following close behind.

Unmistakable strands of music produced by harpsichord and strings issued from the Great Hall as the quartet descended the marble staircase in the entrance foyer. Crowds of students were coming or going or milling about in the entryways to the dining hall and regaling their friends with tales of their excursions into the village. The hall itself was decorated with cornstalks and scarecrows, jack-o-lanterns hung in the air lighting the room with an eerie humor, and off to the side of the teachers high table played a ghostly orchestra bedecked in Elizabethan attire. The enchanted ceiling mirrored the clear, crisp star filled skies outside the castle. All four of the house tables were piled with a staggering variety of fare: pies (both meat and fruit), joints and sausages, bowls of apples and pears, vegetables, breads, and pitchers of pumpkin and apple cider. No one would be walking away from this feast hungry or disagreeable.

“So did Snape follow you into the room,” asked Peter.

“Yeah. Did you know he does a right fine imitation of a bat?” Sirius chuckled. James and Peter also laughed as the quartet entered the Great Hall.

“Looks as though the feast has already begun,” Remus chortled.

“Yeah, looks that way,” James nodded. A shadowy figure darting among the other students near the Slytherin table caught his eye.

“Snivellus, didn’t see you in Hogsmeade,” he smiled.

Snape quickly turned, pulling out his wand from inside his robes. With a flash of red light the wand went soaring from the hall toward the dark corridor Sirius and Remus had earlier explored. Snape gritted his teeth, but stood his ground.

“Will you never learn,” Sirius clucked his tongue, wand clutched tightly in hand, and grinned coldly at the thin pale teen.

“Learn what? He’s too busy tracking people and hiding behind suits of armour these days to learn anything,” James winked at Sirius. Sirius smirked.

Remus leaned forward, whispering over James shoulder. “Not here.”

Turning toward Remus, James reluctantly conceded. “You’re right.”

At the moment James looked away, Snape drew back his arm, hurtling an object toward him.

“Happy haunting, Potter!” he shouted and quickly skirted down the length of the table, away from James Potter and company.

Just inches from James’ head, Sirius reached out and caught the object. In the palm of his hand rested a perfectly shaped, beautifully deep red apple. Sirius tossed it into the air, smiling, and then pocketed it. James looked over at him, eyebrows knit together.

Sirius shrugged. “He’s going to have to do better than that.”

“Yeah,” James smiled. “Well, shall we?” and giving a bow, waved his friends toward the Gryffindor table with a haughty flourish.

A few hours, many courses and enjoyable entertainment later the quartet trudged lazily into their dormitory, each one plopping down upon their beds.

“That was the best Halloween feast ever,” Peter rubbed his round little stomach. “I couldn’t possibly eat another mouthful.” He looked over at Sirius with a wispy grin.

“Do you by chance have a pear about you?”

A heavy crease formed between Sirius’ brows. “I thought you just said, oh, never mind,” and he rummaged through the pockets of his robes, pulling out two pieces of fruit.

“Here.” He tossed over a pear, and Peter greedily bit into it. “And don’t forget to Incendio the core. Don’t need the room smelling like old fruit.”

Peter grimaced, “Of course not. I’m not a twit, you know.”

Sirius smiled, and then examined the apple, rubbing it against his chest before taking a large bite. It was crisp and snapped as he bit into the firm snowy white flesh. Nectar trickled down his chin, and he wiped away it with the back of his hand. After changing into bedclothes, Remus stretched out on his own bed to read his Ancient Runes textbook while James settled onto the foot of Sirius’ bed, spreading the map between them. He bent close to the parchment, pushing his slipping glasses up the bridge of his nose and studying it carefully, extending a finger.

“We know, or rather we think we know what this room’s all about now. So, it’s just a matter of solving the problem of the other room.” His finger traveled over the surface of the parchment and stopped, pointing at another spot on the map, “the one across from the Great Hall where the first years gather before the sorting.” James looked up at Sirius.

“Wee kwud ta a wuk tuwawwo.”

James sniggered. “Come again?”

Sirius swallowed and smiled. “Sowree,” and he swallowed some more.

“I said, we could take a look tomorrow, before potions. We’ll have an hour.” He took another large bite of apple, the snap resonating loudly. James nodded, looking back down at the map.

“I won’t be able to go along,” Peter interjected sadly.

Remus scowled. “Why not?”

“Professor Slughorn wants me to assist him with some project or such,” the mousy teen mumbled, nibbling the pear core.

“This competition’s turning into a right bother,” Sirius frowned, glancing over at Peter. Granted, the small teen was a nuisance at times, but still he was a friend and it annoyed Sirius when it appeared to him that his friends were being taken advantage of. Raising an eyebrow, James looked up at him.

“Well it is,” Sirius continued. “Old Sluggy doesn’t seem to care that there are students outside of his classroom who have a life.”

Peter smiled wistfully. It had been quite a while since Sirius last spoke encouraging words about him. Even Remus looked over the top of his book at Sirius, wondering if it were truly him or a changeling imitating their Sirius.

“Really, we could use another pair of eyes in that room. It’s difficult enough, searching through that pitch darkness,” he set the apple core ablaze with a tap of his wand. “Peter makes a right fine lookout.”

The smile on Peter’s face drooped. Remus wistfully returned to the runes book and James looked back down at the map, sniggering. Sirius leaned forward to join James in examining the parchment when suddenly everything went black.

“James,” he called out, his voice barely a whisper. He felt himself falling. Through the black tunnel he heard his name being called, a muffled shout, and still he fell, spiraling downward through the impenetrable darkness until even sound and consciousness were gone.


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Feedback link: The Marauders: Year 6

Chapter Four

A Very Unmerry Birthday (Part One)



The runes book landed with a rustled clatter on the stone floor when Remus threw it aside, shouting as he jumped from his bed.

“Peter, quick, fetch McGonagal!”

The mousy teen hesitated for a moment, wide-eyed with fear, but then gave a jerky nod and dived down the stairwell. James firmly clutched the convulsing form of his best friend by the shoulders.

“Sirius! Sirius!” He looked up at Remus with burning misty eyes, his features contorted by urgency and the same fear. “We’ve got to do something, fast!”

His mind momentarily paralyzed, Remus felt powerless, all thought about what precisely to do escaped him. Then it came to him like a bolt of lightening.

“Bezoar,” both he and James shouted at once as Remus leapt to their school bags and rummaged through the potions supplies.

“Come on, come on,” Remus muttered, heart racing, until a shriveled grey stone found its way into his grasp. He fought back the panic that was so strongly attempting to overtake him as he hastened to shove the stone down the back of Sirius’ throat. James massaged Sirius’ neck, forcing the stone down into his stomach; then, as suddenly as it had begun, the convulsions ceased and Sirius lay unconscious.

It was close to midnight, the third floor corridor was silent and dimly lit by sporadic torchlight while gentle snoring emanated from the sleeping portraits covering the walls. James, Remus and Peter, his nose twitching nervously, waited on a bench outside of the infirmary door. From the far end of the corridor, the trio could see three figures walking toward them. When the figures approached and clearly seen in the light…

“Mum! Dad!” James jumped to his feet and rushed over to his parents. The senior Potter clasped his son tightly.

“It’s all right. Everything is going to be fine.” He guardedly glanced at Dumbledore and then released his son, forcing a smile.

“I’m proud of you James, and of your friends. You kept your wits about you when faced with an emergency. The bezoar was a fine bit of thinking.”

James frowned and shook his head. “But it wasn’t enough.”

Potter senior straightened and turned a concerned eye to Dumbledore.

Professor Dumbledore crooked a finger at the trio, peering over the rim of his half-moon spectacles, “You three come with us,” and then led the solemn group into the infirmary.

The infirmary was a large long room covered in white tile from floor to ceiling. Hospital cots with white linen sheets and separated by privacy screens lined the walls for the length of the room, and at the far back Madam Pomfrey, Hogwarts’ resident healer, hovered next to one of the beds. It was a curiosity to James that aside from Professor McGonagal, Professors Slughorn and Merrythought were also standing by the bed, both appearing as though recently dragged from slumber.

His satin paisley dressing gown pulled tightly around his middle, Slughorn nodded gravely as the group approached. “Albus.”

“Horace.” Dumbledore cast a glance toward the prone form lying in the bed. “Has there been any change?”

Madam Pomfrey straightened, her hands clasped together. She was still dressed in her day clothes of red with a long white bib apron. “None, headmaster, although this could be a good sign, given the circumstances. The administration of the bezoar has bought some time.”

Dumbledore briefly nodded, turning to Slughorn. “Have you been able to identify the offender?”

“Between Madam Pomfrey, Galatea, and myself,” Slughorn smiled warily, “I’m sorry to say… no.” Slughorn moved closer to Dumbledore, dropping his voice to a whisper. James and Remus strained to hear the conversation while Peter’s worried gaze remained riveted on their fallen friend.

“Albus, the bezoar only negated one aspect of whatever assaulted young Sirius. It is a remarkably complex poison and while its progress has slowed, well, if we can’t uncover the nature of the poison soon,” Slughorn’s round belly swelled then dropped as he heaved a heavy sigh. “I’m afraid young Sirius…”

Dumbledore raised a finger, halting Slughorn from further voicing his concerns. He lowered the finger, turning his attention to James and Remus who immediately ceased their whispering.

“Madam Pomfrey and I are hoping that you three gentlemen, since you are in constant attendance of one another, could shed some light upon the day’s proceedings. We are particularly curious about some strange bruises and cuts on the underside of Sirius’ upper arms.”

Smiling guiltily James spoke up. “We were skylarking a bit this morning, professor.”

Remus sniggered.

“Skylarking,” questioned Dumbledore, looking around to the other adults for an explanation.

Potter senior quietly leaned forward. “Gallivanting, Albus. It is a term American chaps from their muggle navy would use to describe horseplay. I heard it quite a bit when I was younger and working in the naval department for the King’s ministry.”

Eyebrows raised, Dumbledore silently mouthed “oh,” and smiled genially. “I understand; and after this ‘skylarking’ you had breakfast before coming to my office.”

A deep crease etched itself between Remus’ eyebrows as he gazed at James.

“Yes, professor,” James smiled confidently at Dumbledore. At this point, he was not worried about the headmaster using Legilimency; after pulling Sirius out of bed, they did have breakfast, just not directly after.

“And then you traveled into Hogsmeade. Did you do anything out of the ordinary while there?”

“No, professor.”

Dumbledore continued to stare over his glasses at the trio. “What did you do when you returned to the castle? Were you separated at any point in time?”

“No, sir,” Remus spoke up. “Sirius and I went for a leisurely walk about the castle, but neither of us did anything or went anywhere the other didn’t.”

Dumbledore gazed thoughtfully at him. “I see. While in Hogsmeade, then, did you stop somewhere for refreshments?”

“We bought butterbeer, at the Three Broomsticks,” Peter piped up, “Professor Sir, but that’s all.”

The headmaster smiled kindly at him, “Thank you.” Peter smiled back and then looked down at the tops of his shoes.

Dumbledore resumed the conversation with Madam Pomfrey. “Since there are no other students in your care, Poppy, I believe we can safely assume the feast was in order. However,” he turned to Galatea Merrythought, “it being wise to err on the side of caution, please ask the other heads of houses to inspect the dormitories. Professors Slughorn and McGonagal shall see to their own students when we have concluded our business here.”

“Of course, Albus,” Slughorn agreed.

Professor Merrythought nodded and walked out of the room.

“Recommendations,” Dumbledore turned back to the healer.

“The student should be transferred immediately to St. Mungo’s for more extensive treatment, headmaster. I’m afraid nothing further can be done for him here.”

“Very well,” Dumbledore agreed. “Madam Pomfrey, would you be so kind as to accompany Mr. and Mrs. Potter with their charge to St. Mungo’s. I shall arrive shortly afterward.”

“Yes, headmaster.” She bustled past the Potters, indicating for them to follow her. Meanwhile, the professor looked over at the trepidatious trio with a consoling smile.

“It’s late and I do believe you have classes in the morning. Go back to your dormitory and rest. Sirius shall be well cared for.” He gently placed a hand on James and Remus shoulders, and smiled at Peter.

“The three of you behaved admirably and in doing so have quite probably saved your friend’s life. Now I want you to go and rest.” He glanced over at Slughorn. “Is there anything you would like to add, professor?”

Slughorn nodded, “Yes, headmaster,” and turned to address the trio. “In spite of it being unusual for students to have something as rare as a bezoar at hand, I’m quite happy you did.” He smiled approvingly.

“Peter, take leave of the morning. I’ll find someone else to assist me.”

Peter gratefully acknowledged the reprieve.

Nodding briefly to Dumbledore, Professor McGonagal then ushered the trio out of the infirmary back to the Gryffindor dormitory.


Two weeks passed, and while the Potters sent an owl every day to James concerning Sirius’ condition, the daily messages stated only that Sirius was resting comfortably. James, Remus and Peter quietly sat at the Gryffindor table somberly partaking of a fine Saturday morning repast when the owls arrived, swooping down to deliver the post. Having just unfastened the note tied to the leg of the family owl, James looked up as Peter let out a sharp squeal.

“Oi, Remus! You’ve got a letter!”

With a disdainful expression, the tawny owl fluttered quickly away after Remus removed the envelope from its leg. The soft fragrance of lilac and lavender wafted from the parchment. James grinned impishly.

“Why, Moony, if I didn’t know better I’d say you were hiding a secret romance from us.”

Remus sheepishly blushed, stuffing the envelope inside his robes. “No, no romance, just a letter from a friend at Durmstrang.”

“Durmstrang?” Peter’s eyes widened with curiosity.

James sniggered. “You’re quite the wolf, aren’t you? You never said anything about ‘a friend’ before. What’s her name? When did you meet her - last summer?”

“Her name is Elora, if you must know, and I met her Halloween morning while waiting for you and, and Sirius. At the time she was looking for Severus.” Remus frowned and leaned forward, having recognized the writing on the folded parchment in James’ hand.

“So what have your parents got to say? Is Sirius any better?”

“You’re changing the subject,” James smirked and broke the wax seal of the letter.

“Yes, I am,” retorted Remus, “so what do they say?” Peter eagerly leaned forward with anticipation while James silently read the letter.

All at once, James burst out shouting, “We’re going to see him!”

“What? When?” the two countered.

James grinned, “Today, mum and dad are coming by for us.”

“That’s wonderful,” commented a soft voice from behind. The trio turned around to see who spoke. Standing there behind James was Lily Evans and Amelia Bones, one of her friends. Lily boldly held out a piece of neatly folded and sealed floral patterned parchment, smiling genially at Remus. He smiled wistfully back and lowered his head, gazing off to the side at James.

“It’s just a short note from some of us wishing him well and hoping he gets better soon.” Her smooth radiant features transformed into a scowl. “It’s despicable whatever coward did that to him; he could have died. Have they discovered who it is?”

Stunned, James sat staring into Lily’s emerald green eyes. Rumors of what had happened to Sirius abound through the school by afternoon of the day following the incident, and while there wasn’t any love lost from the Slytherins James hadn’t expected Lily to display any indication for concern. A kick to the leg brought James back to his senses and his hand instinctively moved to ruffle the back of his hair.

“Evans, er, no, they haven’t found who did it yet or why. Thanks for asking though.” Remus whispered in James ear, and then James smiled awkwardly and reached out for the folded parchment.

“We’ll see he gets this.”

She nodded and briskly walked away, followed by her friend who gave James a knowing smile. Turning toward Remus, a deep crease furrowed James’ brow.

“Did, did Evans just talk to me?”

A toothy grin stretched across Remus’ face. “Yeah, Prongs, she did.” Peter’s head bobbed wildly in agreement.

Euphoria wafted over James like the perfume of Remus’ letter, leaving him light-headed and grinning madly. Lily Evans had spoken with him, though not an extended conversation it was still a complete conversation without her reiterating how disgusting and arrogant she thought him to be. He couldn’t wait to tell Sirius.

The euphoria however was short lived. After breakfast, Regulus cautiously cornered James, Remus and Peter near the bottom of the marble stairs. Anxiously glancing at the other students passing through the entrance hall, the thirteen-year-old Slytherin held out a small parchment scroll to James.

“This is from Professor Dumbledore.” He then slyly pulled a small package wrapped in colorful paper from inside his robes, thrusting it quickly into James’ hands and whispering viciously.

“I overheard you say you’re going to see Sirius. Give that to him for me, will you? And if you tell anyone where it came from, I’ll flatly tell them you are lying.” Then glancing around again, Regulus stalked away.

Perplexed, James looked down at the package in his hands. A note was attached and written on the cover in color changing ink were the words Happy Birthday.

“Seems Regulus isn’t as bitter toward Sirius as Sirius is toward him.”

Remus gazed at the small colorful package. “I would say Sirius’ feelings where Regulus is concerned are quite probably driven by his loathing of his mother.”

“What about the note from Professor Dumbledore,” Peter asked anxiously.

“Oh, yeah,” James stuffed the small package under his arm and opened the scroll. “We’re supposed to meet my parents in his office at eleven.”

Remus pulled out his watch to read the time. “We better hurry, it’s quarter to ten.”
The trio hastily traversed the hallways up to their dormitory where they retrieved gifts for Sirius. James grabbed the invisibility cloak as well, stuffing it into the bottom of Peter’s canvas satchel and piling the gifts on top.

“What are you taking that for? Planning on smuggling him out of the hospital,” Remus queried.

James only smirked. “You never know.”

They arrived at Dumbledore’s office to find Mr. and Mrs. Potter already there and having tea with the headmaster. Dumbledore genially beckoned the trio inside.

“Come, come,” he stood and walked over to a shelf to retrieve an unsightly little black teapot. This he placed upon his desk. The small teapot shook violently when he tapped it with his wand, turned a brilliant blue and then settled quietly on the cluttered yet orderly surface. “I have taken the liberty of arranging transportation for you via a portkey. The trip will be considerably shorter.”

Dumbledore smiled at James. “Give Sirius my regards.”

“I shall, professor,” James smiled in return.

“Right then, come along boys,” Mr. Potter called, standing by the teapot. “Thank you, Albus.”

“Anytime, Richard.”

Everyone gathered around the corner of Dumbledore’s desk that held the portkey: the Potters, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew. The moment all five people touched the teapot there was a swirling sensation and a yanking into the air until they came to rest within the reception hall of St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.



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Feedback link:The Marauders: Year 6

Warning: While the story may seem to be going the way of Alternate Reality, I assure you, it is not.



Chapter Four

A Very Unmerry Birthday (Part Two)




St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries – what more could be said about this institution? The name said it all. On the whole, it was not the ordinary muggle medical facility; although on rare occasions a muggle who had the most unfortunate opportunity to come in contact with a particularly nasty bit of magic would find him or herself under constant vigilance by the St. Mungo’s staff of healers (immediately followed by a memory modification, of course). This day, however, there were no muggles to speak of in the entire building, but there was one sixth-year student from Hogwarts.

Mr. Potter the elder queued up for the reception desk behind five other witches and wizards while Mrs. Potter stood discreetly off to the side with her son and his friends. The three teens were quite anxious to see their fallen friend, Sirius, and were barely able to contain their excitement. Mr. Potter spoke briefly with the young blonde witch behind the desk before joining them again, motioning toward a flight of stairs.

“All’s well, dear,” Mrs. Potter gently inquired, guiding the trio forward.

Mr. Potter briefly nodded with a grave countenance. “He’s been moved to a private room.”

At the third floor landing, a sign posted by a set of double doors read Potions and Plant Poisoning. The dimly lit hall of the third floor ward was oddly quiet, filled with a silence the Hogwarts librarian would even find unnerving. An occasional moaning was the only sound that broke the silence. The hall ended at an intersection with another hall where the group turned the corner to the right. There, on the wall beside a plain blue door was a placard – Sirius Black, Poisoning: Origin Unknown, Healer-in-Charge: Hippocrates Smethwyck, Healer Trainee: Philippa Znakharka. Mr. Potter opened the door allowing the others to enter first.

The room was sparse and lit only by a single lamp placed on the bedside table. James, Remus and Peter walked over to the prone form lying in the bed and stared into the ashen face that had just two weeks prior been so vibrant with life.

Peter blinked back the tears in his watery eyes. “He’s only sleeping, right?” He looked hopefully at Mrs. Potter, who smiled consolingly.

James carefully placed the canvas satchel at the foot of the bed. One by one the trio withdrew their gifts and placed them along side of Sirius’ still body with whispered birthday wishes for him. The atmosphere in the room gave a sigh and all heads turned to the door; a wizard in his early forties and dressed in lime green robes had entered.

“Mr. Potter,” he held out his hand in greeting. “I was just alerted you arrived.” His eyes darted quickly at the teens surrounding the bed, and then back again to the elder Potter. “May I have a word with you and the missus outside?” Potter senior nodded and took hold of his wife’s arm, leading her out of the room.

As the door shut, James quickly reached into the satchel and drew out the cloak, wrapping himself in it.

Surprised by his actions, Remus whispered, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m going to find out what’s happening with Sirius,” then James’ head disappeared from view. The door of the hospital room opened a crack and then wider before closing again. Trotting up lightly from behind, James stopped just within hearing distance of his parents and the healer.

“… and that’s the long and short of it,” the healer stated firmly. “We’ve exhausted all known avenues, save one.”

“And that avenue is,” Mr. Potter asked. The expression of concern on his already aging face gave him an ancient, almost haggard appearance.

“Well,” the healer lowered his voice. “Because it would take more time than what is available to conduct a properly thorough research on this poison, we decided to channel our efforts into locating someone who would have a greater understanding of this sort of poison. We believe we have located her, but we won’t contact her without your approval.”

Mr. Potter frowned. “Who is this person? How do we know if she’ll even consent to helping?”

As the Potters and the healer strolled into the empty glass-walled atrium at the end of the hall, the healer stopped, scanning for eavesdroppers before answering the question. James moved against the wall to hide behind a large potted tree for additional camouflage.

“Her name is Grosmutter Dunklehexe. She is a hag and she lives in the Black Forrest of Rheinland.”

Mrs. Potter inhaled sharply, her hand resting upon her chest, and wide eyes registering sheer dread. Wrapping a consoling arm around his wife’s shoulders, Mr. Potter stared disbelievingly at the wizard.

“Healer Smethwyck, am I to understand that you expect us to give consent for a hag to cure Sirius? Are you daft man?”

The healer gazed confidently at the senior Potter. “As of this morning when I awoke, no, I am not daft.” He shifted restlessly. “I realize this is an unusual procedure, but this is an unusual case. Unfortunately there are no other options, Mr. Potter.”

His chest muscles tightening, James stared blankly, listening to the conversation from under the cloak.

Tears welled in Mrs. Potter’s aging hazel eyes, streaking her cheeks. She placed a hand on her husband’s chest, gazing up at him. “We need to speak with Orion and Walburga.”

Potter senior vigorously shook his head. “I refuse to speak with people who have treated their own son with such contempt as to…”

“Richard, he is after all their son,” she wiped away the streak of tears. Scowling for a moment, Mr. Potter looked at the healer.

“We need time to think about this and,” he sighed, “contact his birth parents.”

James wanted to shout at his parents ‘think about what!’ As if sensing his thoughts Healer Smethwyck quickly retorted.

“With respect, sir, there is no time to think. If the boy is to live than we must contact the hag now. Even an hour’s delay could cost him his life.”

“I understand,” Mr. Potter replied, becoming agitated with increasing frustration. Subconsciously, he patted his vest pocket. “All I’m asking is twelve hours. Will he be able to hang on for another twelve hours?”

The healer appeared beleaguered. “I cannot guarantee it. We will certainly do what we can, but please, do contact us sooner than later.”

“Of course,” both Mr. and Mrs. Potter sullenly agreed.

Anger swelled inside of James, numbing his mind. How could his parents, who claimed to love Sirius like a son, gamble so heartlessly with his life? Was letting him die better than allowing a hag to heal him? His parents and the healer turned and began walking back to Sirius’ room. James quickly darted ahead of them, slipping from under the cloak and stuffing it into the satchel just as his parents opened the door. Remus and Peter stared at him quizzically but all he gave his friends was an imperceptible shake of the head and a wink.

“Are you ready to leave, boys,” Mr. Potter solemnly asked.

Remus and Peter nodded, moving to stand by the elder Potters. Reaching out, James took hold of Sirius’ hand. It was ice cold. A tear trickled down his cheek.

“See you soon, Padfoot,” he whispered, and then turned to leave the bleakly silent hospital room.

The next day whispers rippled through the Great Hall during Sunday Brunch as the entire Hogwarts student body noticed certain fellows missing from their house tables, namely James Potter, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew from Gryffindor, and Regulus Black from Slytherin. There were many glances toward Professor Dumbledore, who coolly sat between Professors McGonagal and Slughorn at the teachers’ head table. His placid demeanor gave nothing away to fuel the fire of the whispers. As the meal concluded, Dumbledore stood and raised a hand, indicating the need for silence. The hall fell quiet.

“It is with a heavy heart that I announce the passing of one of our own students, Sirius Black.”

The hall erupted into shouts of astonishment and grief. Stunned speechless, Lily Evans and Amelia Bones stared at each other. Dumbledore raised his hand again and a reluctant silence fell across the hall once more.

“Sirius was a young wizard who exhibited great promise with talents beyond question. And to those who knew him best, he was a good and loyal friend.” His voice cracking from holding back the sorrow he was feeling, Dumbledore paused to clear his throat.

“To say that this student’s passing is a shock is an understatement. At this time I shall stem the rumors by emphatically informing you that Sirius Black was murdered. The Ministry of Magic is conducting an investigation, and it is only a matter of time before the culprit is apprehended.”

Sobbing, angry mutterings began to rise. The students gathered around the Slytherin table were the only people not voicing indignation or sorrow. A sly smirk tugged at the corners of Snape’s mouth as he glanced around the room.

“Tomorrow morning,” the headmaster continued, “the first and second classes are postponed for a memorial service to Mister Black. All students wishing to pay their respects shall please gather in the chapel directly after breakfast. If you chose not to attend, I request that you remain in your house common room until it is time to report for third class. Thank you.” Dumbledore gazed across the sea of young saddened faces and fought the temptation to remove their confusion and sorrow. While he felt as if each student were his own child, as a teacher he knew that not all lessons in life were learned from scrolls and books; some of the most important lessons were learned in how each person deals with each moment, great or small, of each individual day.


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Feedback link: The Marauders: Year 6

Warning: While the story may seem to be going the way of Alternate Reality, I assure you, it is not.



Chapter Five

Miss Understandings




The autumn air turned crisp with the chilling promise of the encroaching winter. The grass crunched under foot with the early morning frost while trees in the Forbidden Forrest, that only a few short weeks ago boasted a colourful array of crimson, orange and gold leaves, now stood stark against a cloudy grey backdrop. Few students ventured outside these days and none lingered longer than necessary. Even Professor Kettleburn had moved his Care of Magical Creatures class indoors in favour of the comfortable warmth. Lily Evans and Amelia Bones wandered into the study hall. Scanning the room for an empty table, Lily’s eyes twinkled when she saw Remus and Peter sitting alone in the far corner of the room. She motioned to Amelia, who nodded in agreement, and the pair weaved their way through the maze of tables, ignoring offers of seating from other students.

“Is this seat taken,” Lily quietly asked. Startled, Remus looked up, his book slipping off the table to land with a clatter on the floor at her feet. He bent over to pick it up and mumbled.

“No, it - it’s not taken.” He smiled sheepishly at her. Lily and Amelia made themselves comfortable and opened up parchments of class notes. Remus went back to reading his Advanced Transfiguration text, glancing occasionally toward the two young women. The same teasing passage swam before his eyes, his mind incomprehensively unable to digest the instructions.

“Imitating the maestro composing an exceptional piece of orchestration, begin the final phase by brandishing a treble clef in midair…”

“Remus, did you hear me?” a voice whispered.

“… followed by a t…” Startled into recognition by a gentle hand upon his forearm, Remus looked up into a pair of emerald green eyes full of concern. His stomach did a nervous little flip at her touch.

“Are you all right, Remus? You’re not looking well,” Lily breathed softly. Withdrawing her hand, her fingers began fumbling with a finely wrought gold chain around her neck. A double ring with what appeared to be an hourglass hung from the chain. “Maybe you should see Madam Pomfrey.”

Remus nodded. “I will, after dinner.” He briefly looked over at Peter.

“Shall I go with you tonight,” Peter quietly inquired.

Shaking his head, a frown furrowed Remus’ brow. “Not this time. Someone needs to stay with James.”

“How is he,” a genuine concern lay in Lily’s question. A chorus of shushes rose around them. Squinting, Remus tilted his head to the side and stood from the table, gathering his books and parchment into a schoolbag. The others stood as well and followed him from the study hall.

“So, how is he,” Lily reiterated, entwining arms with Remus while they strolled through the halls to the fifth floor. Amelia and Peter silently walked a few paced behind. “He hasn’t attended one class since the memorial, and that was nearly two weeks ago. Why’s he even here if he won’t go to class?”

“He promised his parents he would at least finish out the term,” Remus tensely inhaled. “James has taken Sirius’ passing deeply to heart. Neither Peter nor I have been able to roust him from bed. Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagal have had no success either. It’s almost as though he’s given up,” he commented sadly. “He’s extremely angry with his parents and will not say why. And when he does talk he mutters on about there not being enough time.”

“Not enough time, time for what?” Lily’s radiantly smooth features darkened with a scowl.

“I don’t know. I truly do not know.”

The foursome solemnly entered the Gryffindor common room. Its occupants, who normally would be bubbling with excitement and incessant chatter, spoke only in hushed tones and wary glances. Since Sirius’ passing there had been another attempted poisoning against a Gryffindor student with the incident ending in failure and a Slytherin student being permanently expelled. Teachers and students alike were becoming understandably nervous.

As the group drew close to the stairwell leading to the boys’ dormitory Lily clutched Remus’ arm tighter, hindering him from pulling away. “What if I speak with him?”

He raised an eyebrow with surprise. “You, speak with him? He would go mental, not that he isn’t mental already. James has been infatuated with you since second term of fourth year.”

Lily slyly smiled, “I know,” and boldly ascended the stairs to the dormitory marked Sixth Years. Cautiously she poked her head above the stairwell to view the room before entering.

Though obviously lived in, to the right of the dormitory all was orderly and well kept. To the far left of the room was a bed from which the curtains had been removed and the mattress rolled up, waiting to be placed in storage. In the centre of the dormitory, however, a fourth bed was surrounded by chaos; scattered piles of books, parchments and scrolls lay everywhere. Among the chaos sat James in his under breeches, huddled over a large quantity of parchment and feverishly scratching a quill across the surface while muttering to himself. His hair was even more dishevelled than usual. Lily slowly moved over to the bed.

“Hello.”

James jumped like a startled deer, knocking over the inkwell. Black ink splashed across the parchment and the bedcovers. Quickly Lily pulled out her wand and pointed it at the mess, siphoning off the spill.

“Er, Evans, er, hi, wha… watcha doing up here,” James panted and looked around as if expecting someone to jump out and yell ‘Mickey!’ He reached behind and snatched a pillow to stuff onto his lap, blushing, and then slid his slipping glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

Lily shoved aside a pile of scrolls and settled down on the end of his bed. “Why aren’t you attending your classes?”

“That’s frankly none of your business,” James sneered and returned to work on the parchment.

Her chin jutted out. “As a Gryffindor prefect it is my business. Especially when people look up to a particular person for leadership and he’s too self-absorbed with his own pity to notice what’s happening around him.”

“Someone else was poisoned, yeah, I know,” he muttered at the parchment. “The wolf and rat were talking about it.”

“What,” Lily was flabbergasted.

James looked up, his gaze canvassing the room and then darting to her. “Are you still here? What are you shouting about?”

“You just called someone a wolf and rat. Were you referring to Remus and Peter?” Lily studied him with intensely mounting worry.

Scowling, James merely shook his head. “Rubbish. Why would I call Remus and Peter a wolf and rat?” His gaze fell onto the bauble hanging from the gold chain around her neck. A light deflating breath escaped him as he stared intently at it.

“Not enough time,” he smirked, tears welling in his bloodshot eyes. James blinked, swallowed hard, and then resumed writing.

She wanted to reach out, grab hold of him and shake him into reality. It was clear to her that James’ mind had snapped. Instead, Lily stood and fighting back the tears, yanked the chain from her neck and tossed it onto the bed by the parchment.

“There, there’s your precious time, Potter, you, you self-absorbed toe-rag…” she choked and then ran down the stairs to the common room. Lily continued running past Remus and Peter up into the girls’ dormitory. Amelia shot a worried glance at the two young men and then followed Lily up the stairs. Curious murmurs rippled through the common room from witnesses of Lily’s unexpected and emotional flight. Remus turned to Peter with a satisfied grin, wiggling the fingers of an outstretched hand. Grudgingly, Peter shoved a hand into his pants pocket, pulled out a sickle and pressed it into Remus’ palm.


Leaning against a bedpost with his arms folded, Remus attentively addressed the hunched form sitting cross-legged in the centre of the paper and book chaos. “What did you say to Lily to cause her to leave in haste this time?” No sooner had the T-word escaped him than Remus regretted voicing it. He bit his lower lip, hoping James would not notice the turn of phrase.

Perplexed, James raised his head and stared off at nothing specific. “This time; has she been here more than once?” His misty bloodshot gaze shifted toward Remus.

Quietly Peter tiptoed to his own bed and eased onto the mattress, gazing with sorrowful watery eyes across the room at the conversation.

“No, James,” Remus replied softly, sitting down at the foot of James’ bed. He wondered aloud, “What are you designing?”

James returned to writing. “Time charm,” he bluntly replied.

“The one you and Sirius began last spring, the one that backfired at beginning of term,” Remus cautiously inquired.

James grunted.

“Would you, would you like some assistance?”

There was no reply from James. Remus shifted uncomfortably, uncertain whether to stay.

“If you’re leaving then do it; the only assistance I need is quiet!” snarled James, and then lowered his head again to the parchment.

Peter cowered against the headboard where he sat as Remus scrambled to his feet, swallowing hard and stuttering, “I, I’m sorry, I only meant…”

“No, wait,” James reached over and grabbed a stack of parchment heavily scribbled with notes and calculations in different coloured inks. “Please,” he looked up at Remus with pleading eyes and held out the stack to him. “I’m having difficulty deciphering some of his notes. They’re not… not making much sense to me.” His breathing became laboured and his eyes were tearing. “I’ve never not been able to understand…”

Remus gently took the notes and sat again on the end of the bed. “Sure, I’ll read through them for you,” he whispered and smiled at his friend. “We can work on this together. I’m certain he wrote out everything, knowing him. He was… rather meticulous that way.” Remus chuckled softly, “even if he didn’t like to study.”

James gave a contemplative smile and turned back to writing.

The late afternoon sun shone weakly across the dormitory room falling on the empty bed and then lazily traversing the distance to illuminate the pair huddled among the chaos. While James and Remus discussed properties and affects of different, sometimes seriously conflicting spells and charms, Peter scrambled over and began organizing the piles of notes. Suddenly a golden glitter caught his attention.

“Oi, James, where did this come from,” he picked up the gold chain with the odd bauble.

Remus looked up and recognized it immediately. “Here, I’ll have that,” he reached out and eased the chain from Peter’s grasp, examining it closely.

“Why did Lily give you this necklace, James,” he inquired. “Did you ask her for it?”

James uncomprehendingly gazed at Remus. “Ask who for what?” His gaze fell onto the object lying in Remus’ outstretched hand. “Where’d that come from?” Then James shook his head, “No, wait, Evans made an off-hand remark about time, and then tossed something at me. I didn’t see what; my guess is that’s it.” His attention returned to the parchment sprawled before him.

Remus nodded. “Shall I return it to her for you?”

Inhaling sharply, James stared in deep consideration at the stairwell. “Yeah… yea - no… no, hang it on Sirius’ bed. He’ll…” he paused with a painfully distraught frown. The words came slowly. “He would have enjoyed the irony of the gift.”

Remus and Peter exchanged worried glances.

“Certainly, James,” Remus quietly replied, laid down the notes they had been discussing, and then rose to tie the necklace around a post of the bed Sirius had occupied since the four of them began attending Hogwarts together.

A meow emanated from Peter’s bedside clock. “We’d better hurry down to dinner,” Peter glanced at the cat and then to his friends.

“Of course,” Remus responded, but James continued writing. “James, come on, you need some refreshment.”

James made no reply.

“What kind of proper service can you possibly do Sirius’ memory if you cannot think clearly enough to solve this problem?” Instantly Remus sensed he had gone too far but stood his ground. Electricity tingled through the room, dense and threatening. Fire smouldered in his hazel eyes as James glared at Remus from under his eyebrows, his head still tilted toward the parchment. Peter quickly scurried across the room and stooped low beside his nightstand. Gradually the electricity dissipated and the atmosphere of the room lightened. The fire in James’ eyes died.

“You, you’re right, maybe I should take a break… get some food and fresh air,” James slumped, appearing suddenly drawn and thin. “And by the looks of you, Moony, tonight’s full moon.”

Remus smirked and nodded.

“Well,” James stood and stretched, “we’re just going to have the make the best of things, being down one player.”

The simple routine of meeting Madam Pomfrey after dinner in the kitchen was as comforting to Remus as the familiar large woollen cloak she threw over his head. The gentle fragrance of Lavender imbued within the fabric wafted from of the cloak, calming his growing anxiety while the healer escorted him from the castle. A brisk late autumn night greeted them as they crossed the castle grounds and drew near to the Whomping Willow. The tree began wildly waving its branches to fend off the encroaching intruders. Madam Pomfrey pointed her wand at its base and immediately the branches ceased their thrashing. Down the hole concealed by the tree’s roots they went, following the underground tunnel until they arrived at a narrow stairway leading up into a small cottage. This was the place Remus called home for three days and nights of every month while he attended Hogwarts. Professor Dumbledore himself had provided it for Remus, and while Remus was grateful for the opportunity to attend the school, he loathed the conditions. To him the cottage was little more than a glorified prison. The only way in or out of the cottage was through the tunnel; there were no doors or windows. This precaution was for the protection of the Hogsmeade villagers as well as for Remus. Because of the unsettling and sometimes frightening noises that emanated from the structure, the villagers dubbed it the Shrieking Shack, purporting that violent spirits resided on the premises. Remus and his friends found this to be a great source of amusement, never letting an opportunity slip by to somehow actively contribute to the cottage’s expanding notoriety.

Madam Pomfrey removed the cloak and once she was satisfied Remus was appropriately comfortable, she departed. While resting on a settee in the parlour, Remus reviewed his class notes. A few minutes had barely gone by when James and Peter then appeared. James chuckled as he stuffed the Invisibility Cloak into Peter’s canvas satchel.

“I thought she was never going to leave.” He sat down beside Remus and leaned over to peek at the notes.

Without warning he snatched the notes away, locked intently upon them. Remus tried to snatch the notes back, but James successfully blocked every attempt with an arm and his body while he read.

Meanwhile, Peter wandered off into the small kitchen; with a movement of his wand, a freestanding cupboard transformed into secret passageway leading outside.

“Where did you get this information,” James excitedly inquired, finally tearing his attention from the parchment and peering at Remus with the same intensity.

“Transfiguration class, this morning. You know, James, it would not hurt to attend class just once before you leave,” retorted Remus. Wait, did he just ask…

“Why?” Quizzical, Remus’s eyes narrowed. From what he could recall, neither James nor Sirius would study or take notes, claiming they, as Sirius bluntly put it after their OWLS, ‘knew it all’. So if they, or he (meaning James), knew it all, what was in Remus’s notes to cause James excitement?

A tawny coloured rat scampered into the parlour and sat up on its hind legs, watching the pair on the settee. The whiskers of its nose twitched as it chattered at them.

James handed the parchment out to Remus, and then rubbed his face, smiling idiotically. “It… I don’t believe Sirius and I missed something so simple, so plainly basic as that,” he pointed at the parchment. “We were so caught up in the abstract, we completely missed the obvious.”

Remus smiled, wanting to ask what the obvious was, but the words choked themselves in his throat. His heart began pounding rapidly and his head ached. From a distance he heard James shouting at him.

“Remus, Remus, it’s fine! Look at me! Watch me, Remus! Keep your eyes on me!” James shouted, grasping his friend by the shoulders and holding tightly until Remus’s attention focused solely on him. As Remus’s body underwent the torturous transformation from human to werewolf, James transformed with him, in full view, into a stately well-muscled stag. The werewolf whimpered in painful confusion, staring at the creature standing before him. The stag moved close, and then gently butted its head against the werewolf.



********************************************
Feedback link: The Marauders: Year 6

Warning: While the story may seem to be going the way of Alternate Reality, I assure you, it is not.




Chapter Six

The Boy Who Cried Wolf





Tautly stretched muscles agonizingly trembled over the werewolf’s lean frame as it balefully howled a greeting to the moon. The rat chattered again at its friends, and then, scurrying to a higher vantage point, leapt onto the stag’s back. Antlers lowered, the stag gently herded the werewolf to the transfigured portal and out into the brightly moon-washed night.

Joyous laughter drifted on the chilly breeze toward the cottage. Lamplight twinkling a friendly invitation from windows in the village below caught the werewolf’s attention. It started to move toward the light but was abruptly intercepted by threatening antlers. The werewolf growled at the stag, yet the stag merely pawed the ground, goading the werewolf to attack. The werewolf snarled its intent. The stag casually leapt to the side, flicking its tail, teasing the creature, and then bounded lightly into the dark forrest. Howling once more, the werewolf chased after the stag in hot pursuit.

“Did you hear that,” a tall ten-year-old boy asked his younger sister. The girl’s fear-filled eyes darted around at the dense pine foliage.

“Hear what?”

The boy burst into laughter. Lips pursed in anger, she slugged him hard in the arm.

“That’s not funny!” and she stormed off down the dirt road. Still chuckling, the boy ran after her.

“Hey, hey, Gertie! You had better slow down; you’re supposed to stay with me. Mum and Dad’ll have both our hides if you go running off.”

The little girl turned and glared at her brother with a large pouting lower lip. “What do you care? There could be wolves in the woods, ready to eat me, and all you’d do is laugh.”

Her brother chuckled. “There aren’t any wolves in these woods.” In the distance, a howling pierced the cold night. The boy’s smile vanished as spun around, trying to find the source of the sound. His sister ran up and clinched tightly to his arm with a force that made his arm tingle.

“We, we’d better hurry along,” he whispered. His sister’s head bobbed in agreement, as the pair resumed their trek.

On either side of the road, the forrest swayed with a dance as the chilling night breeze whistled through the upper branches of the trees. There was a sharp snap from the woods. Gertie gasped and jumped.

“It’s fine. We’ll be home soon. See, Mum’s lit the porch lamp.” Her brother pointed to an orange glow not too far in the distance.

“We shouldn’t have stayed so long at Uncle Albert’s,” she whispered.

Without warning, a great stag bound across their path to be swallowed by the impenetrable forrest on the other side of the road. The pair froze in their tracks, staring after the vision. Then, just as unexpectedly, another creature in pursuit of the stag ran out of the woods. Abruptly it halted at the edge of the pine forrest and turned toward the children. Slowly it advanced their direction, half walking upright, half walking on all fours. As it stood before them, sniffing the air, its eyes glowed eerie amber in the moonlight. The creature threw back its head, howling, and then lunged. From nowhere the stag rematerialized, antlers catching into the werewolf’s side to toss it toward the woods. Lower tree branches groaned and snapped under the forceful impact of the hurled creature. The stag turned, its hazel eyes beseeching the children to escape, but they remained frozen, petrified with fright and grasping each other tightly.

There was a vicious growl. The stag reared on its haunches, shrieking with pain before reeling with great effort on the werewolf; teeth sunk deeply into the stag’s hindquarters, and blood flowed freely. Antlers swept like a scythe in a lethal arc, forcing the snarling werewolf away from the children. The werewolf jumped and howled sharply, violently shaking a hind leg where a tawny rat clung desperately by its teeth onto the werewolf’s heel. The stag attempted again to coax the children into escape. The boy, this time understanding the animal’s intensions, grasped his sister’s hand and yanked her hard as he took flight toward the orange lamplight in the distance. Finally shaken loose, the rat soared through the air to land in a clump of tall dead grass. Freed of the annoying rodent, the werewolf made to pursue the fleeing children, but the stag’s antlers blocked its path once more. Frustration mounted with each of the werewolf’s attempts to manoeuvre around those deadly prongs. Snarling, the werewolf feint a lunge. The stag reared to counter. The werewolf quickly dropped to the ground to come up under the stag’s exposed underside; teeth again sunk deep. The stag shrieked and dropped to the ground. Quickly turning, the werewolf paused only long enough to relocate his quarry: the children. With a howl, it fell into pursuit.

Gertie glanced over her shoulder toward the terrifying sounds. The wind was abruptly knocked out of her and dirt filled her mouth. Her brother was shouting at her to get up before she realized she had tripped over a rock. She glanced back again, screaming in soul-wrenching terror as slavering jaws clamped down upon her throat.

“Den…”

“Gertie,” shouted her brother as he picked up a stone and threw it at the beast, squarely hitting the werewolf on top of the head.

The creature’s attention diverted to the boy, forgetting the lifeless form at its feet and fresh blood mingling with the dirt. Its eyes burned with an amber fire, its haunches bunching as it readied to leap at the petrified boy. A brilliant red burst flashed at the werewolf’s feet. The startled beast yelped and then fled into the dusky black forrest.



Voices swam through an empty sea of velvety black. Gradually, pain crept into that sea and with it, recollection of proceedings before unconsciousness.

“Forgive me, Albus, but what with last evening’s events, the board members have petitioned the Ministry with a vote of no confidence; frankly, there’s nothing I can do at this point,” said a lilting melodic voice.

“I understand, Millicent,” replied a deeply resonating, yet sombre older voice.

“Headmaster,” another woman sharply whispered. There was a shuffling of feet, and the sensation of the mattress sinking to the side, accompanied by a warm gentle touch.

“James, James dear,” a familiar older woman’s voice beseeched softly.

“Mum,” James whispered weakly, attempting a smile. The tranquil golden lamplight contrasted sharply against the dark shadows lurking in the corners of the room, filling his hazy vision when James opened his eyes and looked up into his mother’s worried face. Pain pierced aching muscles as he reached hopefully toward the bedstead for his glasses. Mrs. Potter wistfully smiled and handed the spectacles to him. Turning his head slowly, James looked around at the people occupying the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey stood just behind his mother on one side, and to the other solemnly stood Professor Dumbledore, flanked by a man James had never met before. The professor stared intently at him. James averted his eyes, his cheeks burning with guilt. The professor gruffly cleared his throat.

“Millicent, shall we adjourn to my office and allow Mr. Potter a good night’s sleep?”

The witch appeared flustered, stammering, “Albus, we need to address this issue now.”

Dumbledore placidly peered at the woman. “With the injuries he has sustained, I seriously doubt the boy is going anywhere. Besides, he’ll more than likely be willing to recount recent events after he’s had sufficient rest.” The professor then escorted the reluctant woman from the infirmary.

Mrs. Potter took a cloth from the bedstead and dipped it into a bowl of noxious liquid before dabbing it across her son’s forehead.

James peered at her, observing how the lamplight harshly emphasized the careworn expression and deeply etched lines around her mouth and hazel eyes.

“What’s going on, Mum,” he softly inquired.

Tears welled into her eyes as she fretted with the cloth, wringing it out in the bowl before again dabbing James’s face. He raised a hand and gently pulled the cloth away.

“Mum?”

Mrs. Potter broke into heavy sobs, snatching back the cloth. “James dear, the, the Ministry’s holding you and your friend, Remus, on charges of murder.”

“Murder?” James abruptly sat up. The swift action caused his head to spin. He settled back, propped on his elbows. “Whose murder?”

His mother wiped away the stream of tears with the cloth. “A little girl from the village, dear; barely eight years old. She, she was,” Mrs. Potter choked. “The child was horribly mauled. A mob set out looking for the werewolf as soon as they found her, and you.” Her eyes widened as if suddenly seeing her son for the first time.

“Why didn’t you tell your father and me that you’re an animagus? This is serious, James, what has happened. There’s talk of Professor Dumbledore being relieved as headmaster, and holding him accountable for your actions as well.”

“They can’t do that,” James argued. “He had nothing to do with it. It, it’s all my fault, mine and Sirius.” His gaze rapidly searched the room. “Where is Remus?” He hesitated, “Where’s Peter?”

Sniffling and wiping her nose with the cloth, Mrs. Potter sighed heavily. “Remus is locked in one of the towers, under strict security. When they found him, he was attempting to…” her gaze dropped. “The poor boy was so distraught with what he’d done, all the blood covering him, that he tried to kill himself.”

“No!”

In rapid response to the shout, two wizards rushed into the room, their wands drawn at the ready. James stared with astonishment at the men.

Mrs. Potter jumped up and stood between them and the bed. “Put your wands away, there’s nothing’s wrong! My son and I were only talking!”

The men studied the mother and son carefully before nodding and then leaving the room. Still sniffling, Mrs. Potter sternly looked at her son.

“James, you’re going to have to keep your voice down. This isn’t a game, this is real, and you are in an extremely serious situation.”

His mouth hanging open, James glanced from his mother to the door and back again. “Am, am I under guard as well?”

“Yes, you are. I told you, you’re being charged with murder.” She plopped onto the chair, mumbling, “Your poor father has spoken with more solicitors in the past twelve hours than in his entire life.”

Twelve hours – twelve hours in his father’s hands did nothing positive for Sirius. James glowered at the thought that his father had spent the past hours diligently working on his behalf, yet had ignored the obvious solution that would have saved Sirius. The obvious solution…

“Mum, you didn’t answer – where’s Peter?”

“What, dear? Oh, your friend, Peter, the small boy,” Mrs. Potter appeared distracted and, to James, suddenly very old.

“Yes, Mum, the small boy.”

“No one knows. No body has been found,” she blinked, unsure. “The professor is hoping you know where he is.”

James frowned and shook his head, “Haven’t a clue.”

Madam Pomfrey walked over and laid a gentle hand on Mrs. Potter’s shoulder. She looked up at the healer and nodded before turning to James.

“Dear, it’s time for me to leave. Either your father or I will visit with you come morning.” She patted his arm lightly, and then leaned forward with a soft lingering kiss to his forehead.

“You have a good night, dear, and try to sleep well.” The healer motioned her to follow. Silence engulfed the room as the echo of the closed infirmary door faded into the night.

James lay back, staring at the high ceiling and feverishly began plotting how to correct the mistakes of the past month. The key, he knew, was written in Remus’s class notes.

A scratching sound from under the bed caught his attention, a sound that was strangely familiar. Ignoring the pain in his abdomen, he rolled over to the side and peered into the shadows below. Thin gossamer wisps of thread protruded out from under the bed and twitched oddly in the weak lamplight. James smiled with relief.

“Peter,” he whispered. The wisps of thread moved farther out, revealing a head and then the body of a rat. It sat up and squeaked excitedly at James.

“Come on, Peter,” James whispered eagerly. The tawny rat’s form enlarged and blurred as it shifted into a small mousy teenage boy, sitting on the floor by James’s hospital bed. Peter opened his mouth to speak, but James laid a finger to his own lips indicating a need for silence. James motioned with a hand. Peter pulled a wand from his robe and gave it to James. Waving the wand in the direction of the door, James breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank goodness you’re all right. You are all right, aren’t you?” James frowned at Peter.

“Yeah, I’m fine, except for a sore knot on my noggin when Remus shook me off toward the trees. I think I hit a stump or something.” Peter winced as he gingerly touched the back of his head.

“Have you seen Remus?” James questioned. The wince on Peter’s face drooped, and he looked as though he were ready to breakdown any moment.

“Yes,” he offered. Fear rapidly filled his eyes, along with a stream of tears. “Oh, James, it was awful. Did you see? Did you see what Remus did to that little girl?”

“No, I didn’t.” James shook his head, and then grabbed Peter’s shoulder. “Look, Peter, we’ve got to go back and make things right, change what’s happened so it doesn’t happen at all.”

Peter frowned with concern. “What are you talking about, James? When you say ‘go back’, what do you mean, exactly?”

“I mean,” James lowered his voice to an unnecessary whisper. “With your help, I’m going to go back in time and make things right. Sirius won’t have died, so he would have been there to help me keep Remus from killing that girl.”

Peter appeared alarmed by the suggestion of time travel. “And just how do you plan on doing that, James. No one can go back through time.”

Eyebrows raised, James nodded. “Yes, they can. Sirius and I found a book at a stand in Diagon Alley the other summer written by a wizard who did just that. That’s what gave us the idea for the Time Charm. Problem was, the wizard never wrote exactly how he did it.” A devilish grin stretched across his face. “But I think I figured it out.” Wincing with pain, he leaned confidentially toward Peter.

“I’m going to need your help.”

“I, I don’t know,” looking away, Peter frowned and shook his head.

“Come on, Wormtail, at the beginning of term you offered your help for the Time Charm, remember? You can’t go back on your word now that I really need your help.”

Peter worriedly licked his lips, before looking at James. “So, just what is it you want me to do?”

James smiled triumphantly. “It’s simple. First, if no one has gone there yet, I need you to gather my wand and Remus’s notes from the shack…”

Peter vigorously shook his head.

“What,” James frowned.

Reaching inside his robes, Peter pulled out a small wad of parchment and a wand. James was stunned.

“How…”

“When I woke up, there was a rather large crowd around you and the, the body. They were discussing plans about how to capture the werewolf, meaning Remus. I thought it was probably best to hurry as quickly as I could over to the shack then, before anyone got there and began inspecting the building. If it were found, our stuff would have been a blatant giveaway as to what we’ve been doing.” Peter smiled awkwardly at James and shrugged a shoulder. James merely looked on, astounded by Peter’s assessment of the situation.

“Exactly,” was all he could finally acknowledge.

“Well, here’s the second. How would you feel to remaining a rat for a bit? At this point, they haven’t a clue where you are, or even if you’re alive. Since Remus and I are being charged for murder, it won’t matter a fig if it’s one murder or two.”

The frown deepened on Peter’s brow. “Why?”

“Because one of us needs to be able to freely move about, and it’s a sure bet it won’t be me,” James looked on.

“But why stay a rat? What’s that going to accomplish?” Peter felt flustered by the request.

“If you’re a rat, you’ll be able to hold onto my wand and the notes,” James sighed. “You can hide in the dormitory and then meet me wherever they decide to hold me. It’s not likely I’ll be kept here much longer, considering Remus is hurt and they have him shackled in a tower somewhere.”

Peter gazed sorrowfully at his friend. “So then when are you planning to work on this Time Charm?”

“Well, I figure wherever they place me that should give me about a day or two. Hopefully I won’t need much more time than that, now that I know what needs to be done.” James sighed again, thoughtfully peering at Peter. The pair sat in silence for a while; worries could have been voiced, but they both knew nothing positive would result; some things were best not said.

Gradually Peter stretched. “I guess I’d better hurry on up to the dormitory then, before someone gets the idea to rummage through the other notes and things.”

James nodded, and then his eyes lit up. “Peter, the Invisibility Cloak! It’s still in the shack!”

“No, it’s not. The cloak’s hidden in the room behind the mirror on the fourth floor.”

James was rapidly developing a new respect for the small mousy teen. “Great, brilliant; so then,” his voice trailed off for a moment, his thoughts wandering elsewhere. “We’re going to need a time piece - ”

“What about my cat clock,” Peter interjected cheerfully.

James shook his head. “Too big; we need something small, something no one would notice, and easy to carry.”

The two of them were brooding over the problem when James gave Peter a sudden shove. “Evan’s hourglass! You know, the thing she threw at me, the necklace with the hourglass.”

Peter’s eye widened. “Sure, I could hide that easily enough, but do you think it’ll work? I mean, its not very big, James.”

“Size isn’t an issue, as long as it actually keeps time.”

Peter nodded. “I’ll test it out first. If it does, I’ll take that as well.”

James smiled, “Fine.” He glanced over at the door. “You’d better go now, before someone walks in and sees you here.”

Peter quickly agreed and shifted back into his animagus form to scurry off into the dark.

Lying down on the bed, James fell into a restful sleep, optimistic for the first time in weeks.



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Feedback link: The Marauders: Year 6

Chapter Seven

On Trial




The following morning, a reception as frosty as the threatening wintry weather outside greeted the elder Mr. Potter when he walked into the Hogwarts infirmary. Nearly two hours passed without a word spoken between father and son; the elder Potter reclined as comfortably as possible in the high-backed wooden chair while James sat in the bed propped up by a stack of pillows. Mr. Potter crossed his legs and rested his clasped hands upon a knee.

“James, this childish behaviour cannot continue. You are an adult wizard now; you need to start acting like one. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this treatment, but I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.”

James glowered at his father. “Like you helped Sirius?” Mr. Potter sighed.

“So we come directly to the crux of the matter; very well, your mother and I thought your attitude might have something to do with that.” Mr. Potter leaned forward.

“There’s something you need to understand, James. That situation was extremely complicated. Yes, your mother and I were awarded legal guardianship of Sirius, but the legalities behind the guardianship bound us in many ways. His… parents, still desired some control of him, perhaps maybe to keep up appearances. Who knows? No one was more upset that he died because of those legalities than your mother and me.” He dropped a weary gaze to the floor. “As I said, it was complicated.”

“Save it for someone who cares, Father,” sneered James, slowly shaking his head back and forth.

Looking up at his son, Mr. Potter’s jaw dropped slightly while the aging eyes behind his horn-rimmed glasses registered the deep hurt with which those words had wounded him. He stood stiffly, holding onto the back of the chair for support, and swallowed hard against a constriction in his throat.

“Since this conversation is going nowhere, I’ll take my leave.” He hesitantly sighed and then looked lovingly at his son.

“You should know, James, that they’re transferring you to the dungeon cells below the Ministry sometime today. Your mother and I won’t be able to visit with you again until your trial. It’s been scheduled for one week from tomorrow. Until then, in spite of the distain in which I am harboured, I shall endeavour to do my best to procure you the most profitable defence possible.” He choked and ran a smoothing hand down his rumpled tweed vest.

“I, I can’t lose two sons before this year is ended.” Mr. Potter abruptly turned and strode out of the infirmary.

The sneer faded as James watched the retreating form of his father, and slumped back on the pillows.

Shortly past noon, the infirmary door swung open and Professor Dumbledore walked into the room, accompanied by a strange man and the two, armed wizards from the previous day. James anxiously watched their approach. The professor halted near the foot of the hospital bed, giving James a brief nod of acknowledgement.

“Mr. Potter, I’m pleased to see you well.”

“Professor,” James attempted a smile, but the smile rapidly died as the man and the two guards positioned themselves around the bed.

“Mr. James R. Potter,” stoically began the strange man with a clear voice. “After thorough investigation, you have been found wilfully defying Ministry regulations regarding werewolves as stated in the Werewolf Code of Conduct, and in defying these regulations are a suspect party to the recent murder of a young Hogsmeade girl, and the disappearance of a Hogwarts student. Therefore, on this day, you are to be removed into custody and incarcerated to the holding cells of the dungeon level of the Ministry of Magic in London, England, until what time you receive due trial and sentencing. Are there any questions?”

James shook his head.

“Very well.” The man turned toward the two guards, “Gentlemen, perform your duty.”

The armed wizards moved forward.

“Professor,” James beseeched the headmaster. “Professor Sir, please, one request? May I take my rat, for company until the trial?”

Dumbledore looked over at the strange man. “Barty, for the lack of better judgement, the boy’s not a hardened criminal; at least, for the time being, please allow him his pet.”

Bartemius Crouch, head of the Ministry’s Department of Magical Law Enforcement, had many years experience tracking down and apprehending seditious witches and wizards, though few were as young as James Potter was, and none had made such an unusual request. He appeared to contemplate the request before nodding his consent. “Only on the condition there are no magical qualities about the creature.”

“Thank you, sir,” James optimistically replied. “He’s in the dormitory.”

While James rose and changed into day clothes, Professor Dumbledore stepped off to the side to speak quietly with Madam Pomfrey. The healer nodded and then hurriedly left the room.

One of the wizards steadily pointed his wand at James while the wand of the other moved in a tight arc pointed at James’s chest. Invisible bonds strapped his arms to his sides and gagged his mouth, eliciting an inward chuckle at fleeting memories of him and Sirius performing the same jinx on fellow students. The thrill of escape teased him as the two wizards led him through the halls, but he refrained from pursuing that course of action. After all, he thought, it wouldn’t gain anything. He had a week to complete the charm, and Peter to help. Besides, the professor had already suffered enough because of his recklessness.

The curious sensation of humiliation burned his cheeks as he and his escort progressed through the castle toward the main entrance. It appeared that the entire school - students, teachers and ghosts - lined the hallways to witness his departure. Of course, floating lazily on his back, Peeves the Poltergeist was on hand as well to usher him out the door with one of his friendly jibes before breaking into raucous cackle.

“Potter Fodder, Potter Fodder, taking out the rubbish.”

Peeves did not bother James; he was used to the impish spirit’s mischievous antics. He had even taken some hints from Peeves on rare occasions. However, a frustrated anger gnawed at the pit of James’s stomach as he caught a glimpse of Snape standing near the front doors, smirking triumphantly.

Outside, a cruel wind bit fiercely. James blinked back misty tears, and a ominous apprehension took root in the back of his mind. Turning, he longingly gazed at the grey stone turrets of the castle and the throng of students spilling from its entrance before a hand pushed down his head and shoved him into a waiting Ministry vehicle.


“Tell me again how this is supposed to work,” Peter poked a cautious finger at a glittering golden pile lying on the floor between him and James. Sheets of parchment lay strewn around the pair, illuminated by the cool, shimmering blue flame of a single torch in the dismally small, damp chamber.

“The inner ring controls the hours, the centre ring controls days, and the outer ring is engraved with the master incantation to keep it all from exploding,” sniggered James.

Peter squeaked. The steady torch flame jumped as the hollow echo of a heavy door shutting somewhere outside in the hallway reverberated into the chamber.

Shaking his head slightly, James reached out, suspending the glittering pile in midair. He and Peter stared at the miniature hourglass.

“Are you certain it’ll work,” Peter whispered in awe.

“It’ll work,” James confidently replied.

Peter frowned. “How do you know that?”

“Because, I’ve already tested it; while you were away last night,” chortled James.

Peter’s eyes widened.

James tilted his head toward a tin-drinking cup. “I wrapped the chain around it, and set the ring for one hour. Just before sending it back, I drank all the water, so it went empty; within a heartbeat it was full again.”

Peter stared at him in amazed silence.

“So, were you able to visit Remus?” James lowered the necklace, gazing hopefully at his friend.

Peter blinked. “Remus? Yeah, I saw him,” his voice was barely audible. “He’s not well, James. They have him shackled like a common beast. And,” Peter hesitated.

“And - ,” prodded James.

“Madness has taken him,” Peter reluctantly replied. “I overheard two guards discussing a court order to have him… removed.”

Eyebrows bunching, James glared at the mousy teen. “Removed to where?”

Peter shook his head. “Not that sort of removed; permanently removed.”

Indignation flared across James’s features as the full understanding of Peter’s words impacted upon him. “What, are they daft? Remus isn’t anymore a threat than I am!”

Hot tears welled in Peter’s watery eyes. “He’s dangerous now. He, he’s tasted human blood.”

James fiercely shook his head. “I’m sorry, I refuse to believe Remus is that dangerous. What happened to the little girl is tragic, but - ”

“James, look around, there’s no buts about this!” exasperation filled Peter’s voice.
An electric tension crackled through the chamber, sending Peter to skitter against the wall. A perilous gleam flared in James’s dark scowl.

“I understand what’s happened; I understand all too well. I will do this, and I will put right the wrong that started all of this. It all began with me… not speaking to my father… on Sirius’s birthday when the opportunity was blatantly staring me in the face… at St. Mungo’s.”

“At St. Mungo’s,” Peter slid slightly forward, curiosity overriding the fear. “What did happen, James? You never did tell Remus and me.”

James eased off the floor, sitting heavily on the edge of the metal-framed cot, slumped over. The scowl faded, and like a burst dam, the events of that afternoon at St. Mungo’s gushed forth in a seemingly never-ending stream. Peter listened and watched in stunned silence while relief registered in James’s expression and voice as the tormenting knowledge of why Sirius died was finally shared. James concluded the recounting with the conversation between him and his father in the Hogwarts infirmary.

“Wow,” gasped Peter, and then frowned, shaking his head. “But, James, if things were as difficult as your father said, what makes you think you’ll be able to change his mind?”

“Because I’ll have undisputable proof.”

“What proof,” the frown deepened on Peter’s brow.

“Me.”

The steady blue flame jumped again, this time at the hollow creaking of a heavy door opening. His eyes narrowing, James looked over at the door to the chamber.

“Peter, what time is it?”

Reaching into a trouser pocket, Peter pulled out Remus’s odd watch and flipped open the cover. Two of the four rim sections that had been set at beginning of the school year had reverted to the dark grey, while the third section labelled ‘Holiday’ flashed red. Only ‘Second Term Start’ remained the placid serene green. The hour and minute hands swept across the shimmering silvery white and dull black face of the watch. Peter’s gaze rapidly shot up at James.

“It’s almost time! They should be here any second.”

Footsteps echoed in the hallway, increasing in volume as someone approached.

James hastily gathered up his wand and the hourglass, draping the chain around his neck, before grabbing and wrapping himself in the Invisibility Cloak. He pulled the cloak down to admonished Peter.

“Quick! Animagus! Get out of here as fast as you can.”

Peter nodded, his form blurring into the tawny rat.

Tossing the cloak over his head, James huddled in a corner of the chamber. Lightly tapping the hourglass three times, he raised his wand ever so slightly, just enough to draw a treble clef in the air above it, and then pointed the wand at the timepiece with a drop, bouce, swish, swish, drop. The hourglass vibrated in a harmony of colour. James silently cursed at having told Peter he had already tested the timepiece, when in fact he had not. Anxiously, he then began counting the number of turns he made of the centre and inner rings of the hourglass. Just as he looked up to witness Professor Dumbledore, his father and Mr. Crouch burst into the chamber, all sound faded and movement in the small room blurred. He felt dizzy. A crushing pressure was building against his chest, threatening the ability of the lungs to breathe, the heart to beat. Then suddenly, the room went black.


* * * * * * * * * * * *


Mr. and Mrs. Potter followed closely behind Albus Dumbledore as he deftly negotiated a course up the elevator and through the halls of the Ministry of Magic, stopping only on the second floor long enough to rap on a door displaying the brass placard ‘Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Bartemius Crouch - Administrator’.

The door swung open.

“Punctual as usual, Albus,” Bartemius nodded, backing away to allow his three visitors entry.

“Barty, you’ve met the Potters,” Dumbledore acknowledged, stepping into the room.

“Yes,” Bartemius offered a hand to the elder Potter. “Richard, I wish this meeting were under better circumstances.”

“As do I, Barty,” replied Mr. Potter, shaking the offered hand, and then ushering his wife into the office.

Mountains of parchment sat neatly organized against walls, filled-to-capacity filing cabinets, and three sides of the mahogany desk occupying the centre of the office. Dumbledore smiled knowingly at the orderly chaos.

“Seems you’ve been kept rather busy.”

Bartemius rolled his eyes. “As has the Wizengamot.”

“Indeed, we have,” Dumbledore chuckled. “And we have you to thank. However, I feel we will all be much busier when that particular business is concluded.”

“I agree.” Bartemius motioned to chairs positioned facing the desk.

“Please, everyone, sit.” Bartemius moved behind the desk, sitting in an old wooden swivel chair and resting his clasped hands on the desktop. The bright, open expression of greeting transformed into a dark, closed professional manner as he glanced from Dumbledore to the Potters.

“While the solicitor you have chosen is quite competent, and young Mr. Potter has been compliant during his incarceration, I wish to warn you that the evidence against him is overwhelming.”

Mrs. Potter grasped tightly to her husband’s hand.

“As I am sure your solicitor has explained to you, your son, of his own volition, has confessed to masterminding, along with the deceased Mr. Sirius Black, their research into animagus transfiguration, and that he and Mr. Black taught their friend, Peter Pettigrew this skill. This was accomplished in order to accompany their classmate and friend, Mr. Remus Lupin, who they knew since their third year at Hogwarts to be a werewolf, during his monthly transformation. They discovered that, as animals they had a strong mental influence over Mr. Lupin, thus allowing Mr. Lupin to think with more human rationality than would otherwise be possible.

Bartemius paused, taking a deep breath and shifting uneasily in the chair. “The Ministry is aware that the discovery made by your son and his friends will be instrumental to further understanding of the mind of a werewolf. However, he has confessed as well, to releasing the Remus werewolf in the Hogsmeade Village region on more than one occasion, the most recent of which culminated in the mauling death of an eight-year-old child.”

Mrs. Potter sniffled and wiped her nose delicately with a handkerchief, while her husband lightly rubbed her shoulder.

“In short,” Bartemius concluded solemnly, “with your son’s confessions, coupled with his disregard of numerous laws and regulations, it does not appear that he will be found innocent of any charges, no matter what defence the solicitor offers.”

The ticking of an old wall clock kept a discordant rhythm with the heavy sobs in the otherwise silent office. Bartemius peered uncomfortably at Dumbledore, exchanging glances while the Potters consoled one another. After long minutes passed, Bartemius cleared his throat and licked his lips.

“You will have to take your son’s pet home with you following your visit with the boy.”

Mr. Potter looked over at him, frowning and misty-eyed. “What pet? James doesn’t own a pet.”

“Your son’s pet rat tha- ” Bartemius’s eyes widen as he looked quickly at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore immediately stood and rushed out of the office, swiftly followed by Bartemius and then Richard Potter.

The brass elevator’s progression to the ninth level of the ministry was agonizingly slow, as the minutes and seconds rapidly ticked away. The three men hastily manoeuvred down through the courtrooms of the tenth level to the stairwell that led to the dungeon below, and then down the long tunnel hallway to the holding cells.

With wand at the ready, Dumbledore slammed open the cell door, charging into the chamber with Bartemius Crouch close to his heel.

“What the -!” shouted Richard Potter.

Bartemius jerked his head back at him. “What is it?”

The elder Potter looked down at the smooth stone floor. “I, I don’t know. It felt like something just ran over my feet.”

Dumbledore stood motionless in the centre of the small chamber, peering through his half-moon glasses at the contents of the room, his gaze slowly coming to rest on a dark deserted corner. Slowly he walked over, his hand outstretched.

A faint smile grew and he nodded, whispering, “Good luck.”



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Feedback link: The Marauders: Year 6

Chapter Eight

Großmutter



An overwhelming pain crashed in upon him, and he gasped for breath. Gradually the chest pain subsided, and with it, vision returned. A grey hazy at first, it rapidly cleared as he surveyed the surroundings, accessing the situation. Everywhere James looked was shrouded in impenetrable darkness, but beneath him was the damp cold stone of the cell he had occupied for the past week. Cautiously, he pulled back the cloak, exposing only his head, and in doing so, a bright blue flame blazed into life on the far wall, bathing the small dungeon cell with a familiar, sinister illumination. James kept the cloak wrapped around his shoulders while examining the object he had hastily snatched off the floor. It was Sirius’s pocket-knife, the one that could unlock any door.

“Peter, you Niffler,” James smirked, not even certain he wanted to know how Peter came into possession of the knife. Chuckling, he rushed to the cell door. Finding it unlocked, James slipped out of the chamber, drawing the cloak back over his head. The same blue light illuminated the rough hewn stone hallway outside the cell. Doors to other chambers lined the hallway on either side; some whose doors gaped open, others were locked with pitiful wailing emanating from within. To the right, at the far end of the hallway was a locked, silent, heavy black door. James opened the blade and wiggled around the portal's crevice, just as he had witnessed Sirius do a dozen times or more. A clank sounded. The knife was safely pocketed. The black door swung open to reveal a stone spiral stairwell leading upward.

The corridor of the next level up appeared deserted with a vaguely visible short flight of stairs at the far end of the level. Numerous other doors lined the length of the hallway. As James neared the halfway point, shouts and arguing could be heard from the other side of an ironbound oak door. He paused for a moment, straining to decipher the muffled shouts before hastening on toward the stairs, hoping that no one would suddenly come spilling out through those doors. At the top of the short stairs, James noticed another black door similar to that in the dungeon. The seductive temptation to enter the door tugged at him longingly. He reached out to open it, but it was locked.

‘Padfoot and I are definitely going to have to expand our region of exploration,’ the mischievous thought formed in his mind. Forced to remain clearly focused on the goal, he made a quick mental note of the door's location before tearing himself away to hasten onward.

From the top of the short flight of stairs, the plain wood-panelled corridor turned to the right. James followed this until he stood in front of a brass-caged lift. Hand poised to press the call button, he abruptly looked around. The rapid tapping of shoe heels hitting the hard wood floor caught his attention. Backing away, James narrowly escaped detection as a robust man in a pin-stripped cloak reached out and pressed the call button.

Intently watching the man, James fought hard to keep his breathing even. The grill of the lift opened and the man entered, not leaving time or space for James to enter as well. James held back, resolved to wait for an empty car. Just then, the sound of someone running fast echoed dully off the plain wood walls.

“Wait! Hold on!” a voice shouted.

The man in the lift stepped to the side. Spotting an opportunity, James quickly ducked into the car, plastering himself against a sidewall as the running figure hurtled in directly behind him. The man panted, smiling at the gentleman in the cloak.

“Thanks, Cornelius. I… I couldn’t believe… back there… they fell into that… old argument… again. They’ve been at it… the entire night.” The young man, appearing to be in his early twenties, gasped between breathes. The lift began to rise with a gentle clatter.

“Yes, well, it will only become worse, you mark my words; and they know it, all too well. Frankly, I’m surprised your father hasn’t done something by now to step up the wizard hunt. These mysterious deaths are occurring far too frequently.” The man nodded solemnly. “These are becoming dangerous times, my boy, dangerous times.”

The young man nodded in agreement. “I know; and Father has begun bolstering the search parties with more hit wizards and aurors.” His smile broadened. “I’m even joining the search.”

The robust wizard looked at the young man with surprise. “You? But, what did Bartemius say about that?”

Fully recovered, the young man sniggered, and crossed his arms while leaning against the back wall. “Plenty, I can tell you. But Father gradually saw things my way. What they really should be concerned over is the poisoning of that Hogwarts student. That sort of thing doesn’t normally occur under Dumbledore’s watch. Word of that gets out and parents will be pulling their children from the school quicker than a disapparating house-elf. Do they know who did it yet?”

The older wizard shook his head, frowning. “No, and that infernal potions competition is complicating the issue. Not to mention the rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin has heated up.”

“More so than usual?” The young man smirked.

“Quite,” replied the older wizard. “We’re afraid it may be the…” He stopped in mid-sentence as the lift came to a halt, and smiled.

“Well, I shall leave you here,” he called back while stepping out of the lift into a main hall. The younger wizard followed closely behind, chuckling.

“Not so fast, there’s something I need to ask.” Their conversation faded as they progressed off into the throng filling the main hall of the Ministry. While stepping quickly from the lift, James accidentally nudged a wizard entering the car, carrying a large box. The wizard peered quizzically at the box before attempting to enter the lift again.

Dodging a way through the excited crowd of witches and wizards as they bustled through the Ministry’s atrium, James stopped a moment beside a fountain in the centre of the hall, ogling the scene in fascination. The fountain was populated with golden statues of a house-elf, centaur, and goblin, presided over by a beautiful witch and commanding wizard, both with upraised wands. He stifled a laugh, watching as water spouted absurdly from the five statues. The ceiling of the main hall sparkled a deep turquoise blue while gold symbols floated overhead, bringing to mind a poor imitation of the ceiling of the Great Hall in Hogwarts. The floor, like the level below, was dark hard wood, but polished to a shine that reflected the ceiling. The walls, however, were more ornate than their lower level counterpart. And to either side of the hall, ornate gold fireplaces lined the walls, offering transportation to and from the Ministry via the Floo Network.

People arriving to the Ministry stepped lively from the floos along one wall as people departing the building stood in short cues in front of floos on the other side. Weaving his way through the bustling crowd, James walked to a remote, seldom utilized floo at the far end. When the coast appeared clear, he grabbed a pinch of floo powder from an ornate gold container on the mantle and jumped into the fireplace, dropped the powder, and whispered distinctly, “St. Mungo’s.” With a twist and a rush, James found himself staring out of another fireplace onto a different hall. He had returned to the lobby of St. Mungo’s Hospital.

In spite of the numerous people cluttering the hospital’s lobby, there was no indication anyone took notice of an invisible intruder. James breathed a sigh of relief that his arrival was not heard. Stepping quickly from the floo and skirting the perimeter of the room to avoid any confrontations, he worked his way to the stairs leading up to the third floor and Sirius’s room.

Cautiously, he slipped inside the hospital room. While gently closing the door, he peered warily out into the hall for any sign of being followed. There was none. The latch clicked, and James gasped when he turned. Although he had longed to see his friend alive again, he was not prepared for the reality.

The room was as sombrely lit and plain as he remembered, which only enhanced the seriousness of his intent. He took a step toward the bed, halting in mid-stride as the door abruptly opened behind him. James darted into the shadows of a corner on the backside of the door, remaining silent under the cloak, and witnessed himself, Remus, and Peter enter the hospital room of their fallen companion, followed by his parents. The group positioned around the bed, mumbled their birthday greetings and then placed their gifts around the prone form. The door reopened and in entered Healer Smethwyck. A bizarre distress at viewing himself across the room, interacting with his friends, began gnawing at James’s mind. Shaking the mind-twisting sensation, he slipped out of the room to follow his parents and the healer as they exited for their private conference. James softly sprinted down the hallway ahead of the group to obtain an advantageous position, and then waited patiently for the perfect opportunity.

As the Potters and the healer strolled into the empty glass-walled atrium at the end of the hall, the healer stopped, scanning the hall before continuing the conversation.

“Her name is Grosmutter Dunklehexe. She is a hag and she lives in the Black Forrest of Rheinland.”

Wide-eyed, Mrs. Potter inhaled sharply, her hand resting upon her chest. Wrapping a consoling arm around his wife’s shoulders, Mr. Potter stared disbelievingly at the wizard.

“Healer Smethwyck, am I to understand that you expect us to give consent for a hag to cure Sirius? Are you daft man?”

The healer gazed confidently. “As of this morning when I awoke, no, I am not daft,” he replied and then began shifting restlessly. “I realize this is an unusual procedure, but this is an unusual case. Unfortunately there are no other options, Mr. Potter.”

Mrs. Potter placed a hand on her husband’s chest, gazing up at him. “We need to speak with Orion and Walburga.”

From his vantage point, James saw the tears in his mother’s aging eyes. He also saw the opportunity for which he was waiting.

Potter senior vigorously shook his head. “I refuse to speak with people who have treated their own son with such contempt as to…”

At the moment his mother looked up to address his father, James noticed her parted body left an opening between the two large enough that James could pass his hand through, and deposit the note he had written into his father’s vest pocket. Quite a few times in the past, James had successfully plucked objects from his friends’ pockets while concealed by the cloak. This, however, was the first time he ever attempted to place something into a pocket, without detection.

“Richard, he is, after all, their son,” Mrs. Potter wiped away a streak of tears. Scowling, Mr. Potter looked at the healer.

“We need time to think about this and,” he sighed, “contact his birth parents.”

Holding his breath, James reached out, the hand hidden from view by his mother’s body, and slipped the carefully folded square of parchment into his father’s vest pocket.

“With respect, sir, there is no time to think,” Healer Smethwyck quickly retorted. If the boy is to live than we must contact the hag now. Even an hour’s delay could cost him his life.”

“I understand,” Mr. Potter replied, becoming agitated with increasing frustration. He patted a vest pocket nervously, and then suspiciously slipped an index finger and thumb into the pocket, fumbling with some object. “All I’m asking is twelve hours. Will he be able to hang on for another twelve hours?” Mr. Potter seemed distracted.

The healer appeared beleaguered. “I cannot guarantee it. We will certainly do what we can, but please, do contact us sooner than later.”

“Of course,” both Mr. and Mrs. Potter sullenly agreed.

After the trio of adults had silently strolled back up the corridor, the healer said his goodbyes outside of Sirius’s hospital room before continuing with his daily rounds. Following carefully, James watched as his mother placed a hand on the doorknob and then turned to her husband.

“Are you coming, Richard dear?”

The elder Mr. Potter looked up to his wife, his eyes darting suspicionly around the corridor. An expression of wonder fought with frustration on his face.

“We need to quickly collect the boys, and then talk.”

“Yes, of course we do, Richard.” Tears still misted her eyes.

“No, we need to talk.” Mr. Potter held out a small, neatly creased piece of parchment to his wife. She extended a hand, cautiously accepting the note. Her eyes widen as she looked up from the parchment to her husband.



From under the secure concealment of his father’s Invisibility Cloak, James impassively watched the comings and goings of the healers on the third floor as they performed their duties, healing and comforting the infirmed. He had waited until his parents, friends, and past self left the hospital room before re-entering it, and took up sentry on the far side of the bed. Through the course of the afternoon, no other visitors came to call, so that by evening the realization occurred to him that his best friend had died alone. James choked back the tears.

Unannounced, the door swung open.

“This way, Grosmutter,” Healer Smethwyck called as a young witch guided a hunched backed, darkly shrouded figure. A young wizard followed the bent figure, carrying a goodly sized chest.

“Ja, ja,” replied a feeble, gruff voice. “Stellen Sie den Kasten neben den Tisch.” An ancient, claw-like hand waved a pointed finger in the general direction of the bed. The chest was placed on the bedstand. The young witch led the bent figure to the chair closest to the door.

“Vielen Dank.”

“If you need anything, Grosmutter, don’t hesitate to call,” the young witch said, and then she and the young wizard departed, casting furtive glances over their shoulders at the black shrouded figure. Healer Smethwyck stood boldly at the foot of the bed.

“I leave Mister Black in your hands, Grosmutter. There is nothing more we can do for him.” He turned, and then hesitated.

“Dere is sumting more, Healer,” the feeble voice asked, placing slight emphasis on the wizard’s title.

The healer paused. “Yes.”

The shrouded figure lifted its veiled head, waiting.

“There, there’s been a security issue arise with the Floo Network connecting the Ministry and the hospital, so, someone will be entering the room in a bit to conduct a thorough search.”

“Dere shall be no search!” The gruff voiced shouted with unexpected strength. “No vun, Healer Smettvyck, vill enter dis room. Or else, I leave.”

“But the Ministry regulations dic…” stammered Healer Smethwyck.

“Or else I leave! And der boy dies… your decision.”

Healer Smethwyck glance from the imposing bent figure to the prone form stretched out on the bed. Finally, he nodded.

“No one shall disturb you until your call.” He turned and strode from the room. There was an audible click as the door locked shut.

The shrouded form softly cackled. “You can come out now, child. Der gnome is gone.”

James remained frozen, stunned. The figure cackled louder.

“Ja, ja, I can see you.” She drew back the veil covering her face. The old woman appeared emaciated and pale, with a great bulbous hooked nose. Hairy growths dotted one side of her face, which was covered in wrinkled skin that stretched hideously when she the laughed, revealing rotted, brown teeth. She blinked her milky-white eyes at him.

“Just because die eyes no longer vork, does not mean I no longer possess sight.”

James cautiously removed his cloak as well. “Are you the, the hag,” whispered James, finally finding his voice.

“Ja, I am. Who are you, child?” The hag fumbled a moment with the lock on the chest, and then began to withdraw objects, setting them with great practice on the bedside table.

“My name is James Potter. I’m a …”

“You are friend to der boy vhat lies here,” she interrupted.

“Yes.”

She stopped, turning her white eyes on him. “You have risked much for your friend, child, und togetter ve vill save him.”

“Together?”

“Ja, togetter. You tink I can do dis alone?” She cackled again. “You are obviously wersed in runes, take dis and write.”

James quizzically took the inkpot and quill handed to him. “What am I supposed to write with these?”

The hag cackled softly. “Dis.” With a wave of her hand, the bedcovers folded down, exposing Sirius’s bare torso. Glowing runic symbols brightly appeared on his flesh. James peered at the hag.

“Trace die symbols, child, vhile I prepare der potion.”

James nodded slowly, and then set to work.

Silent hours passed quickly. The hag chanted and added ingredients to the bubbling concoction within the cauldron sitting on the bed stand while James, fingers cramping and numb, drew out the symbols covering his friend’s ever shallower breathing body. As he placed the final stroke on the last symbol, the hag’s cackle broke the silence.

“Now.” She ladled a portion of the potion into a glass. The thick liquid glowed an eerie green that pulsated like a heartbeat. Then she withdrew a heavy silver disc from a pocket. The cover flipped open, revealing a watch without numbers - only an hour hand and a minute hand. Her fingers lightly touched the object’s surface before it was closed and put away.

“Good, good. Ve have finished just in time, you and I, child.” Grasping the bedrail firmly, the hag hoisted her bent frame into an upright position, and then picked up the glass.

“Come, child, come. Lift your friend’s head. Quickly now,” she motioned with a free hand. James rushed over to elevate Sirius by the shoulders.

From nowhere, a heavy deep chime softly rang out. Sirius barely drew breath.

The hag placed the glass to Sirius’s lips and poured the viscous liquid down his throat. The last drop drained from the glass on the second chime. The dropped glass shattered on the floor as she began her chanting. By the third chime, the runes traced on Sirius’s body began to glow the same eerie green. Smoke rose from the symbols, a charred scent filled the room, and James knew they were burning into his friend’s flesh.

On the sixth chime, the runes cooled and turned black. James waited, afraid to breathe.

With the seventh chime, Sirius stopped breathing. James began to frantically worry.

Eight…
… Nine…
… Ten…
… Eleven…

… anxiety screamed through James as the tone of the twelfth chime died. There was no movement from Sirius. Anger welled inside, and James glared viciously at the old woman.

“What have you done? What have you done! You were supposed to save him. He’s dead!”

The hag cackled to herself as she packed away the potions equipment.

“That’s it? You’re leaving? What about Sirius? What about - ”

“Vhat about him?” The hag visciously rounded on James with an expression of sheer malice. “You risk your own life coming back drew time to save your friend, vittout tinking once dat maybe, just maybe he is not supposed to live.” Her bent frame became rigid, almost powerful in appearance.

“I did vhat I vas supposed to do. Now, my vork is done, I go home.” She finished packing the equipment.

James was flustered, no longer certain what action to pursue. He solved the riddle of time, travelled back to contact his father in the past, who had the hag contacted, only to witness Sirius die… again. The anger, frustration, the anxiety all drained from him, leaving him hollow.

“What do I do now,” he weakly asked.

“How did you get here,” the hag gazed at him with her sightless eyes. From the collar of his robes, James pulled out the hourglass.

“With this.”

“Dann use it to return from vhere you came,” she chided, pulling the veil back over her head.

James fumbled with the hourglass between his fingers, then his expression dropped. There was a small crack in the glass, allowing an occasional grain of sand or two to fall out. Dejected, he sat heavily in the chair and leaned his elbows on the edge of the bed, one hand clutching the hourglass while his head rested in the other.

“I can’t go home. The glass is broken.”

The hag laughed louder. “You tink dat dat piece of bauble vill take you home? Look at it, it is vortless. No!” The veil shivered as she shook her head. “Go home. Go to vhere you call home. You are still in schule, ja? Dat vould be your home.”

“But,” James frowned, puzzled. “I’m there. I mean, the me of this time is there.”

“Ja, und vhat is your point?”

The frown deepened. How could he explain his reluctance at possibly experiencing again the same mind-twisting sensation he had endured before? “I… don’t know. It’s just…”

The soft cackle erupted once more. “Notting vill happen, child, as long as you don’t vake yourself.” The hag turned and hobbled toward the door. “Und do not vorry about your friend, he vill vake soon enough.” She unlocked the door and left the room.

A sudden gasp caught James’s attention. He stared at Sirius’s form. The chest heaved and then settled into a slow, regular rhythm. Sirius breathed once more. Elation filled James as tears of joy filled his eyes. His best friend was alive. James tossed the broken hourglass onto the bed stand. Carefully, he drew the bedcovers back over his friend’s body, watching as the colour gradually returned to Sirius’s face.

Footsteps approached the door. James momentarily froze, then dropped behind the bed, rapidly tossing the cloak over his head. From beneath the bed frame, he watched a pair of worn brown leather loafers cross the tiled floor, stop, and shuffle about. There was a grunt as though someone were lifting something heavy, and then the loafers walked out of the room. James stood, performed one last inspection of Sirius, and when satisfied all was well, left the hospital room.

The corridor was void of all but the minimal staff for tending to any emergencies during the night-time hours. James easily slipped down to the first floor, but waited patiently for the security wizard to leave his post by the floo chimneys. Yawning widely, concern over the possibility of falling asleep and being discovered in St. Mungo’s lobby grew in the forefront of James’s thoughts. After some time, the security wizard stood and mumbled something to the witch at the reception desk before disappearing through a door across the lobby.

James leapt at the opportunity, swiftly grabbing a handful of floo powder from an urn on the mantle. With a second thought, he pulled off the cloak, not wanting to trip any security alarms again, and then dropped the powder, whispering clearly, “Hogsmeade.” A twist and rush later, James stood looking out of the fireplace at the great room of the Three Broomsticks tavern.

“James? James Potter, is that you?” A dozen or more pairs of eyes turned their attention toward the floo. James looked toward the source of the question. It was Madam Rosemerta, the tavern’s owner. Her large brown eyes twinkled brightly at him. James coyly smiled, the tips of his ears burning, as he quickly ducked from the fireplace and out of the building. In the cool night shadows of the village, James covered himself with the cloak.

He encountered very little resistance, breaking and entering Honeydukes with the penknife so he could access the tunnel in their cellar, a tunnel that led into Hogwarts. In less than a half an hour, James was ascending the stairwell to the Sixth Years dormitory.

Standing by the bed for many minutes, James looked down upon himself until exhaustion became too great to stave off any longer. Doing his best not to wake himself, James curled on top the bedcovers, next to himself, and fell into a night of fitful dreams.



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Feedback link: The Marauders: Year 6

Conclusion to Chapter Eight



“...es ...ames ...hey, James! Come on, Prongs, the professor wants to see us before breakfast.”

A bleary eye opened and James groggily looked toward the voice and the hand jostling his shoulder. “Moony... what?” he inquired hoarsely. “Professor Dumbledore wants to see us... why?”

Remus straightened. “I haven’t a clue, but we better not keep him waiting.” He walked over to an open trunk and began dressing.

James glanced around the room, rolling from his side as the bedcovers were roughly tossed off and his feet hit the cold wood floor. Sirius’s empty bed, neatly made and patiently waiting for its occupant to return, greeted him. He stared at it with an oddly puzzled expression.

Peter frowned, catching James’s stupefied muse. “Is something wrong, James?” he squeaked. Remus stopped as he pulled on his robes, looking at his puzzled friend.

Oblivious to the chill in the room, James glanced at the pair and merely shook his head. “Don’t know. It could have been a dream... I guess... but it seemed so real.”

“What seemed so real,” Remus inquired softly.

His gaze locked on Remus. James whispered, “That Sir... that he... died, and I travelled back through time to save him.”

“Don’t be so morose, James,” Peter nervously chuckled while pulling a grey and maroon jumper over his head.

However, Remus found nothing amusing or morose about James’s statement. He gazed intently at James. An expression appeared in his friend’s eyes that was not present the day before, a haunting expression of...

“Come on, James, get dressed. The situation could not be that dire. I seriously doubt you would be here, knowing Sirius was gone, provided you did discover a way to travel through time, since you and he have yet to solve the time formula.” Remus offered a warm, coaxing smile.

Nodding slowly, James forced a chuckle. “You’re probably right. If I found a way to go back, it’s not likely I’d return mission incomplete.” He rose and dressed. Within fifteen minutes, the trio stood in Dumbledore’s office facing the headmaster as he sat behind the desk, peering at them over his half-moon spectacles. Regulus Black sat in a chair slightly off to the side.

“Thank you for promptly coming on such short notice,” Dumbledore greeted the students. His eyes merrily twinkled with the golden morning sunlight streaming into the chamber. “I asked you three to attend as well because you have become as much family to young Sirius as his brother here.” Dumbledore folded his hands on top of the desk.

“It is a joy to inform you that Sirius is out of danger…”

With his head bowed and gaze fixed on the floor, Regulus shifted in his chair, stifling a smile. Peter squeaked gleefully while James and Remus exchanged knowing grins.

Dumbledore scrutinized the grinning pair through his half-glasses before clearing his throat. “Yes, well, James, your parents will arrive shortly to escort you, Remus and Peter to St. Mungo’s where Sirius is conscious and awake. The healers expect him to make a complete recovery within the next two weeks.” Dumbledore leaned forward, resting on his elbows.

“Regulus, I have taken the liberty to contact your parents and have persuaded them to allow you to accompany the Potters; that way you will be able to join in properly wishing your brother well and celebrating his birthday… if you desire.”

Everyone sat silently staring over at the young Third Year Slytherin.

Regulus’s eyes widened and darted from the Gryffindors to the headmaster. “Er, I… er, maybe it’d be better if I don’t, sir. Sirius and I, well… we aren’t exactly speaking to each other.”

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow and shrewdly smirked. “Then all the better reason for you to visit your brother, would you not agree Master Black?”

“I, I don’t feel comfortable about it, sir.” The young Slytherin twisted the opening of his robes and focused his attention back down at the desk leg.

“I see,” Dumbledore nodded, pressing the tips of his fingers together thoughtfully.

“Professor, will you be joining us,” James hastily inquired.

“No, I have already visited with young Sirius.” Dumbledore stood. The feet of the heavy oak chair scrapped roughly on the stone flooring. “Now, off to breakfast. Mr. and Mrs. Potter will be arriving within the half-hour.”

“Yes, Professor,” James acknowledged. The other teens rose as well and retreated from the office.

Dumbledore peered through his spectacles with great interest while the students departed. As the door latched shut, he pulled an object from his robes and held it high. In the morning sunlight, the broken miniature hourglass sparkled within its golden rings. Examining it carefully, he turned his head from the hourglass to the door and astutely smiled.



A little over three weeks remained of the autumn term and the winter holiday was rapidly approaching. An atmosphere of urgency among the older students was building. While Peter appeared ready to collapse any moment under the pressure of the workload, James simply smiled and Remus steadily plodded through.

“Settle down, class, and pass forward your scrolls on Human Transfiguration,” Professor McGonagall called out over the din of anxious voices.

Handing his scroll to the Hufflepuff girl with brunette hair and a ponytail, Peter murmured his nervous dissatisfaction. “This report is sodden awful. I’ll never pass with shoddy work like this.”

“You shouldn’t have had a problem with it, given what you know first hand,” a voice whispered as a body pushed through to sit next to James, while passing forward a scroll. Peter frowned, but then his eyes widened.

Pulling out his wand, James angrily turned on the intruder. He stopped abruptly and his jaw dropped in astonishment. “Sirius!”

The shout drew attention to the rear of the classroom. Cheers suddenly broke out, accompanied by sporadic applause. Standing, Sirius extended a flourished gesture and bowed at the waist. A fit of giggles erupted from some of the female students. Imitating Peeves, a wet razz issued from one of the Slytherin boys. Being in an unflappable humour, Sirius glared playfully in his direction and sat down.

“Thank you for that announcement, Mr. Potter,” Professor McGonagall mildly miffed. “Shall we continue with today’s lesson?”

“Sorry, Professor,” James modestly replied.

“It’s good to have you home,” a pale and peaked Remus whispered behind James’s back.

“Good to be home,” Sirius winked.

The professor tipped her chin, hands clasped together as she stood in front of her desk to address the class. “Let us to the lesson – today we shall attempt simple applications of Human Transfiguration. It is best, and most important, to remember that transfigurations conducted on a grander scale are just as subject, if not more so, to the rhythm of life as the smallest living transformations you learned back in Third Year.

“First, think clearly of the form you wish to accomplish. The next phase, if the outcome is to be permanent, is to blazon the subject with the appropriate runes as illustrated on pages one hundred and four to one hundred and fifteen in the index of your texts. If the outcome is merely temporary, then you can ignore the Second Phase.

“Finally, in the Third Phase, taking your wand firmly in hand, you begin by imitating the maestro who is composing an exceptional piece of orchestration. You will brandish a treble clef in mid-air, like so, and then follow it with a signature in common time, directed precisely at the subject to be transformed.”

Head bent over a parchment, Remus painstakingly copied notes of the lesson. His feverishly scratching quill joined the raspy chorus that filled the room. When the professor asked for a volunteer, a sea of upraised waving arms suddenly appeared. However, at the last desk in the rear of the classroom an animated conversation silently flowed behind a screen of two Advanced Transfiguration texts.

Later in the day, the Gryffindor common room was filled with huddled pockets of students taking advantage of the break before the evening meal when Peter breathlessly burst through the tunnel excitedly shouting.

“Did you hear? Did you hear what happened?”

James and Sirius paused their conversation over a pile of colourfully inked parchment. “What happened, Peter?” James asked solicitously.

Gasping between words, his eyes wide, Peter blurted out, “Someone tried to poison Evans!”

A hush fell over the room.

James’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure? How do you know?”

Peter flopped down on the worn sofa in front of the fireplace and peered at his friends seated next to him in the fireside chairs. “I was, I was in the infirmary, sitting with Remus,” Peter began. “Professor Flitwick came rushing in with Evans. She was floating, rigid as a board. I think he cast a Mobilicorpus on her. Anyway, he and Madam Pomfrey put her to bed and then Madam Pomfrey started fussing over her. Professor Dumbledore came in, Professor Slughorn was with him, and they talked with Madam Pomfrey while she ministered to Evans.”

Peter shiftily glanced around the room and then dropped his voice to a whisper, tilting toward James and Sirius. “I overheard him, Professor Dumbledore that is, say that Trigg was expelled.”

“Trigg?” James frowned.

Sirius leaned back in the chair, brooding. “A Seventh Year Slytherin.”

Twin quizzical gazes were directed at him from James and Peter.

Sirius shrugged. “Regulus may have mentioned him a few times in passing. He, er, Trigg, seems to have personal issues concerning Muggle-borne.” He caught a glimpse of a pair of Fifth Year girls staring at him, one blonde-haired and the other brunette with freckles. Sirius arched an eyebrow.

“Yes?”

The brunette shook her head and the pair twittered.

James scowled. “But that doesn’t make sense. All Evans has ever done is support the right of personal opinion, even if she doesn’t agree with the opinion. This Trigg must be a complete moron.”

Sirius smirked. “Slytherin.”

James’s hazel eyes flashed. “Yeah.”

Conversation among the other students resumed, filling the room with a low rhythmic drone.

“So, was she okay when you left - Evans?” James forced a casual inflection to his inquiry.

Sirius slyly winked at Peter.

Smiling at James, the mousy teen ran his fingers through the fringe that fell in front of his eyes, sweeping the hair from his face. “She was awake and talking when I left. By the way, Remus’ll be waiting for us after dinner.”

“Wonderful!” Sirius glanced at the grandfather clock by the tunnel entry, and then hopped to his feet. “Let’s go. I’m starved and ready to create a bit of chaos.”

James and Peter quickly followed Sirius through the portrait tunnel. Other groups of students also began filtering out through the tunnel as well, each heading toward the Great Hall for dinner.

“First you, now Evans; you know, Padfoot, if it turns out that Trigg isn’t responsible for poisoning you as well as Evans, when I find out who did do it, he’ll have a hard way to go,” James commented coldly.

“Never happen.”

James glared at Sirius. “Why not?”

“Because there’ll be nothing left of the sorry sod when I’m through with him.”

A chill travelled up James’s spine at the malevolent conviction of his best friend’s firm declaration.



Curled up on the parlour settee within the Shrieking Shack, Remus was immersed in studying when James pulled the invisibility cloak off him and Sirius. Emerging from the trapdoor in the floor of the hallway, a tawny rat scurried into the room and jumped up beside Remus.

“Hello, Peter,” Remus smiled weakly at the rat.

“How are you feeling,” James asked with concern over his friend’s exceptionally gaunt appearance.

“Oh, just ducky,” Remus smirked. “For some reason, I feel unusually tired, but that won’t last much longer.”

From the kitchen, a large bear-like black dog padded into the parlour, tail wagging. James smiled.

“Hey, Padfoot, portal open then?”

The dog barked excitedly, but then the bark abruptly altered to an alarming growl. Remus moaned. James turned, grabbed him by the shoulders and shouted.

“Remus, Remus, it’s fine! Look at me! Watch me, Remus, keep your eyes on me!”

As Remus’s body underwent the torturous transformation from human to werewolf, James transformed into a stately well-muscled stag. His unruly mass of hair shaped into a majestic twelve-point rack of antlers. The werewolf whimpered in painful confusion, staring at the creature standing before it. The rat jumped onto the stag’s back while the stag gently butted its head against the werewolf. Tail wagging like a fuzzy whip, the great black dog led the curious procession toward the transfigured portal in the kitchen, and out into the brightly moon-washed night.


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Feedback link: The Marauders: Year 6

Chapter Nine
Home for the Holiday



For as long as community memory served, the Potters had always occupied the quaint brown brick and white stucco Tudor cottage situated in the hidden vale of Godric’s Hollow. The Hollow, as it was fondly dubbed, was a peaceful village where very little occurred, if anything at all, that could be remotely considered scandalous. The last great upheaval to hit the Hollow came decades ago in the form of a wedding.

One of the Potter boys married a rather odd girl, from a family named Black, from outside the village. While the tense ceremony progressed smoothly, the reception was far from uneventful, culminating in a brawl between the two brothers, and the newlyweds departing in a rage never to return (not that that particular Potter boy was missed by anyone). The Hollow became considerably quieter after his permanent departure. The rambunctious disagreement between the brothers had the community buzzing for months and years. In fact, some elderly residents continued to speculate on how the bride managed to get herself straddled on a rafter in the sanctuary until the day she passed on.

Nevertheless, for the residents of Godric’s Hollow, the Potters were a cornerstone of the community, an unassuming constant. No one knew, or even cared, that the cornerstone family of the village… were wizards.



A sharp, high-pitched squeal of glee pierced the normally tranquil atmosphere of the Potter home, and then pierced it again as James, accompanied by Sirius, stepped out of the floo into the ornately Victorian-styled parlour. They both found themselves instantly tackled by an enthusiastic welcome from James’s mother. Mrs. Potter gave Sirius an exceptionally warm greeting.

“Sirius, dear, it is wonderful to have you home,” she happily gushed.

“Er, thanks,” he gasped, stumbling from her hug. He looked over at James with a silent plea of assistance. James chuckled at Sirius’s mixed dilemma, but then his brow furrowed and his nose twitched.

“Mum, what’s that smell? What - are, are you baking?”

Recognising the bittersweet, nutty aroma, a stupid grin plastered itself on Sirius’s face. “Chocolate Treacle Cake… with Rum Butter.” An inhaled breath whistled past his teeth as he replied wistfully.

“That is correct.” Mrs. Potter beamed and patted Sirius’s cheek before wandering back into the kitchen.

Raising an eyebrow, James glowered at Sirius. “I never got home-baked Chocolate Treacle cake.”

The grin slyly altered to a smirk as Sirius turned on his heel and carried his travel bag upstairs.

A few hours later, as the sun sunk low in the winter-grey afternoon sky, a weary but happy elder Potter staggered into the cottage, shook the snow from his cloak and then kissed his wife lovingly on the cheek. She smiled at him, hugging him tightly.

“Welcome home, dear. Hard day at the Ministry?” She waved her wand toward the kitchen and then removing the cosy from the teapot sitting on a doily-covered end table, poured her husband a cuppa.

The chestnut brown woollen cloak was hung on the coat tree by the door. Mr. Potter settled into his favourite overstuffed easy chair in the parlour. A flame burst into life within the small white stucco hearth when he pointed a finger in that direction. Looking up, he smiled at his wife while accepting the cup of tea.

“Just another day, as usual... well, as usual as it gets these days. Mark my words, Eleanora, business with this Lord Voldemort fellow is going to become bleaker before it improves... if the situation ever improves.” Mr. Potter sighed. He glanced around the parlour.

“Are the boys home yet? It is getting awfully late.”

A plate of holiday biscuits hovered into the room from the kitchen and set upon the end table. Looking pleased, Mrs. Potter sat in the chair next to her husband. “Yes, dear, they arrived a while ago. They -”

The door of the mudroom off the kitchen creaked open and then slammed shut.

“James, is that you,” Mr. Potter called.

Boot heels hurriedly clattered across the wood planked kitchen floor. The sound was abruptly muffled by the thick area carpet covering the parlour floor.

“Hi, Dad.” From the rear of the chair, James planted both hands on the corners of the back and leaned over top of his father, wildly grinning.

Mr. Potter reached up, grabbed his son by the scruff of the neck, and pulled him close for a peck on the forehead. “What have you been up to? You’re ice cold,” the elder Potter quizzically scowled. The grasp was released.

Their cheeks and noses cherry red against chilled pale skin, James and Sirius exchanged grins. Sirius shed his thick black wool coat and curled up on the floor near the fireplace while James drew a cushioned stool next to his father, his similar coat dropped into a heap on the floor.

“Sirius and I decided to take a jaunt through the woods… admire the snowfall.” James reached for the cup his mother offered him.

“It seems to me that with as many trips the two of you have taken through those woods, you would be able to travel them blindfolded,” she chided.

James winked at Sirius.

Noticing the sly smile with which Sirius silently responded, Mr. Potter turned to James. "Is there something your mother and I should know, son?"

"Er, not particularly, Dad," James shrugged, sipping gingerly of the warming beverage.

Mrs. Potter smiled discreetly at her husband. "Now Richard, you know young men have their secrets."

"Right," the elder Potter gruffly replied. Taking a deep breath as he stood, a rough clearing of the throat commanded everyone's attention. "The time is getting on. We don't want to be late or give the vicar cause for alarm, now do we?"

"You're quite right, dear." With an agreeable nod, Mrs. Potter tipped her wand at the tea setting. The plain antique silver tray rose into the air and hovered back to the kitchen, followed likewise by the tray of biscuits. Mrs. Potter brought up the rear.

Deftly snatching a biscuit as the tray passed, James hastily gulped the tea and then stood, patting Sirius on the shoulder with the back of his hand. "Come on, we need to change."

"Change? Into what?" A bit stymied, Sirius followed James upstairs.

"Clothes of course; something proper for attending the Christmas pageant."

Midway up the staircase, Sirius bound onto the same riser holding James, and caught him by the arm to spin him about. James, barely managing to keep his balance, glared angrily at his friend, a reproachful glare that Sirius completely ignored.

He leaned close, whispering, "What... are you saying that we're going to a Muggle Christmas event?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying. Now, if you don't mind -" James gave him a shove and pushed away from the wall to continue the ascent.

"Why?" Sirius doggedly followed into James's bedroom.

"Because Dad and the vicar have been friends all their lives. The vicar was his best man... and," James sighed, "Because Dad is afraid he'll be too careless one day and someone might become injured." The door of the chifforobe swung open and James reached inside.

Sirius winced and shook his head. "I don't understand that bit of logic. Injured how?" He yanked the roughly knit woollen jumper off overhead, and began to don a decent set of robes.

"No, not those!"

The shout froze Sirius in his tracks. Bewildered, he looked over at James.

"Your school jumper, wear that. People won't question that."

With another sigh, Sirius shook his head again.

"It's a long story, but suffice it to say, the rigging the vicar uses to hoist the angel every Yule is old and shoddy. Dad is afraid some year it's going to snap, and whatever child is strapped could be hurt, or possibly die."

"Seriously?"

James solemnly nodded. "Seriously," and finished knotting his necktie into a neat Windsor. The necktie's large yellow sunflower stood out brilliantly against the deep purple vest and shirt, topped by a black jacket and trousers.

Sirius sniggered. "A bit off season, wouldn't you say?"

"I happen to like sunflowers, thank you very much." James arched an eyebrow, running a smoothing hand down the length of the tie.

A deep voice shouted from the ground floor. "Boys, put a hustle in it, we are going to be late!"

Playfully punching Sirius in the arm, James wiggled the eyebrow. "Come on, you'll like it. It'll be fun."

Trailing behind, Sirius mumbled under his breath. "Yeah, as much fun as a stay at St. Mungo's."


The inviting aroma of home-made vegetable soup wafted throughout the cottage, beckoning to the Potters and Sirius when they returned home. A fire ignited within the parlour hearth as Mr. Potter silently entered the room and settled into his easy chair. Mrs. Potter draped her cloak over the back of a dining chair as she bustled into the kitchen, emerging a minute or so later, guiding a hovering cauldron of hot soup to the table.

"James, be a dear and fetch the sandwiches, will you," she quietly asked.

"Sure thing, Mum," James replied in like tone, casting a furtive glance at his best friend before trekking into the kitchen.

Meanwhile, Sirius pensively sat at the table, uncertain what to say, if anything at all. He breathed a sigh of relief when Mrs. Potter walked over to the wireless and turned it on. A woman's voice, warbling the final strands of a song, emanated from the wooden box. The song faded, and then was replaced by a male announcer's suave voice.

"That concludes our special Yuletide presentation of Celestina Warbeck in concert at Peabody Hall; and as we conclude our broadcasting day, everyone here at MGCK would like to wish all of our listeners a merry and safe Christmas holiday. Thank you, and good night." Dead silence.

"Oh posh." A disappointed Mrs. Potter turned off the wireless. She looked through the doublewide archway to the parlour.

"Come, Richard dear, soup's ready. Have some while it's still hot. Just the thing for you," she cajoled.

Mr. Potter grumbled darkly as he stared at the blazing orange fire. "A safe Christmas indeed; obviously news of the disaster has already spread."

"Now, Richard, you do not know that as fact, so stop fussing and have a pleasant bowl of soup. Come, come... and remove your coat, it's not that cold in here." She smiled at James, relieving him of the sandwich platter.

"Thank you, dear."

James settled next to Sirius. The pair softly mumbled their gratitude for the full, steaming bowls given by Mrs. Potter.

"For years now I've been telling Vicar that the rigging needed replacing. Haven't I told him that, Eleanora?" Leaving the coat laying on the easy chair, a disgruntled elder Potter sauntered into the Dining Room and heavily sat at the head of the table.

With heads bowed, James and Sirius spooned their soup while exchanging sideways glances.

"Yes, dear." Mrs. Potter placed a steaming bowl in front of her husband, along with a small plate containing half of a chicken sandwich. She then sat down to his right and politely spoon sipped broth from her own bowl.

"Quite right, yes, quite right I have. But has he listened to one word of caution?" Mr. Potter's nose twitched with indignation. "A more stubborn, bull-headed man I have never met."

Mrs. Potter raised an eyebrow, but continued to sip her soup without comment.

Mr. Potter turned a disgruntled eye toward the silent pair of young men. "And you two - Sirius, what in Merlin's Beard ever possessed you to levitate the child up to the rafters. People fall down, not up."

James sniggered.

His father glared. "I find no humour in this situation. If it were not for the fact that Sirius, here, is now technically of age, there would be a Ministry owl making a delivery right now."

There was a clicking tap at the Dining Room window.

Everyone around the table froze. Mrs. Potter's ageing hazel eyes widened.

"Richard?"

The clicking rapidly repeated.

James stood and walked over to the window. No sooner was it opened then in flew a large, tawny coloured owl, which landed on the table in front of Sirius, tail feathers dipped into his bowl of soup and a leg outstretched. Sirius tentatively removed the scroll tied to the owl's leg. Relieved of its mission, the owl spread its tail feathers, showering the table and everyone seated with a spray of soup broth, and exited through the same window it entered.

A bowl of hot, moist washcloths appeared on the table where Mrs. Potter tapped her wand. "Help yourselves; freshen up, dears." She pulled a cloth for herself and wiped away a string of cabbage that clung to her cheek like seaweed.

Sporting the worst of the soup spray, Sirius merely stared at the rolled piece of parchment in his hand.

"It's not going to disappear, my boy. You might as well read it." Mr. Potter attempted to appear conciliatory as he plucked a kernel of corn from his thinning hair.

Sirius sluggishly nodded. The parchment was smoothed out on the table. His lips silently mouthed each word as he read the contents of the letter. When his lips ceased all movement, Sirius resumed staring at the parchment until he gradually leaned back in the dining room chair and breathed a sigh of relief. All three Potters waited expectantly.

"Well," James finally queried.

Breaking the suspense, Sirius slid the parchment over to him. James snatched it up and leaned toward his father so they both could read the message.


Dear Mr. Black,

Intelligence has been received by this office that the Levitation Charm was performed by you at sixteen minutes past seven this evening in a Muggle-occupied area, and in the presence of Muggles.

While memory modifications have been performed by Obliviators from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes on the unintended witnesses of this display, your action is in breach of the International Statute of Secrecy as established in 1692, and although you are technically a student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, you are of adult wizarding age and subject as such to all penalties of this breach. Therefore, sentencing for your action this evening is pronounced according.

While the Levitation Charm used was intended to save a person's life, the execution was flawed, thus resulting in mental and emotional anguish to Muggles. At this time, punishment will not be administered upon the perpetrator, Mr. Sirius O. Black. However, notation of the offence has been permanently recorded and may negatively impact the sentencing for any future incidents committed by said perpetrator where intervention of this office would be required.

Best holiday wishes,
Yours sincerely,
Mafalda Hopkirk
Ministry of Magic



James broke into a wide grin, but the elder Potter pressed against the chair back, relieving his son of the letter.

"My boy, do you understand what this means?" The letter waved in the air before being tossed, and then floated down to peacefully rest on the tabletop. Mr. Potter's grim expression bore into Sirius. "It means, that while the Ministry will not enforce any corrections for the incident this evening, they will add those corrections to the punishment of some future incident... should there be another incident."

"What future incident? So he used the wrong spell, Dad. Sirius only did it to save that girl's life." A fiery gleam of indignation flared in James's eyes. "They can't hold that against him."

"James, dear, they are not. That's why he's not being punished now," Mrs. Potter sadly sighed, and looked to her husband for support.

Leaning against the chair arm, Mr. Potter rubbed a finger thoughtfully along his lower lip, and then gestured toward the letter. "If Sirius had simply cushioned the girl's fall, yes, the child may have been injured but she still would have lived and the situation would have appeared normal... to them; but he didn't. A letter from the Ministry may still have been issued, but quite probably would only have been a letter of warning; however, it is not." The finger resumed to thoughtfully rub his lower lip.

"My dears," Mrs. Potter inhaled slowly, "Your father and I are aware of the number of detentions you've had to report to. Please don't think ill of us for showing our concern. You're good boys, you're father and I know that, but the Ministry doesn't know you as we do. We -" Mrs. Potter bit her lip while her misty gaze beseechingly sought her husband. He reached out and lovingly pat her arm.

A strained silence crept into the cottage and gripped its occupants for many long minutes.

"There won't be a future incident."

All eyes turned toward Sirius.

"Then you have learned something from this mishap, my boy," asked Mr. Potter solemnly.

"Yes, sir," replied Sirius, with a nod while meeting his gaze.

"Good!" Mr. Potter gave a single jerk of his head, briskly rubbed his hand together, and then sidled up to the table. "Then let us put this dismal affair behind us, and look hopefully to the future, shall we?"

Everyone cheerfully agreed, ending that Christmas eve with music, humorously attempted dancing, and much merrymaking.

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Feedback link: The Marauders: Year 6