- Text Size +
Petrificus Totalus


James was laying across his bed, head over the footboard, legs up on the headboard, the paper crown Peter had put on his head earlier in the evening tilted a bit crooked but still on his head, his Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook open on his angled lap, butterbeer halfway to his lips… Peter came in the room, humming, looking quite pleased with himself. James lowered the bottle, a grin playing upon his face as he watched Peter shuffle happily across the room to his bed. “Alright, Pete?” he asked.

Peter looked up, seemingly startled by James’s presence in his own bed. “Yeah,” he said, “Yeah… I’m alright.”

“Brilliant,” James said. He watched Peter turn down his bedclothes and crawl under the duvet, resuming his humming. James’s lip was hung up on his tooth as he grinned and he ran his tongue over the tooth, and thought errantly of Lily and how important that funny quirk to his smile had been to her, but he pushed it out of his mind, returning his focus on Peter. “So my birthday party went well for you, then, mate, ‘ey?”

Peter looked over, “It was wonderful!” he answered. “James, she kissed me!” He sounded in awe of the thought that a girl would want to kiss him. His cheeks were flushed and the tip of his round little nose.

“Good on you, Pete,” James said, and he meant it.

Peter fell into good dreams rather quickly and James lay awake staring up at the window, at the stars beyond the glass, thinking about being fifteen and what it meant to be growing up. They were halfway through their time at Hogwarts already - it seemed like just yesterday he was going positively bonkers over boarding the Express for the first time and so much had changed since then. It was the sort of reflecting one ought to do on one’s birthday - particularly on a milestone birthday like fifteen.

When the thinking got too deep for him, he stirred and looked over at Peter, who was smiling even in his sleep, hugging on his pillow like it was Annalee herself, and James smirked. Beyond him was Remus’s unmade, empty bed. He wondered how Remus was doing out there in the Shrieking Shack, if he was alright all alone or if he was laying out there scratching his own skin off and he felt bad for having been selfish and staying inside… so he decided to go out and check on him.

James rolled off the bed and scooped the Marauder’s Map up from the desks and slipped out the door and into the common room. The fire was dying in the hearth, ashes falling from the spent logs, and he tiptoed by in the glow of moonlight pooling on the carpet, the Map tucked into his belt. The portrait hole swung open and James climbed through to the corridor beyond and was halfway down the grand stairs, headed down to the entrance doors to sneak out to the whomping willow and on to the Shack, when he heard somebody crying.

James instinctively ducked down behind the rungs of the stairwell, and peered down into the entrance hall below, where the crying was coming from. Stained glass windows coloured the moonlight various shades of red and green in a pattern of the Hogwarts Crest on the flagstones, long tapestries framing the doors to the Great Hall… a large plant with funny turnip looking fruit stood in the corner (he remembered tripping over that thing’s fruit the night that Snape had done the sectumsempra curse on him), but he didn’t see any person down there that could be crying.

Intrigued, he crept on, down to the hall, and he peered ‘round the end of the rungs, looking out over the room. Light spilled out from the parlor room beside the Great Hall - just a crack from a slightly open door. James presumed the crying was coming from there and, being quite nosey, he crept forward, reaching up and pulling the paper crown from his head as he walked. He put it down on a bench by the doors to the Great Hall and leaned ‘round a small trophy case that held the house cup and pressed himself to the wall just beside the door, listening.

“You’re weak, it takes nothing at all to penetrate your mind,” came Severus Snape’s voice from within. “You’re pathetic. You have to be better.”

“I’m trying,” came another voice - the crying voice - and James froze for a moment because as the voice had lowered it had become so much like his brother’s that for a split second he’d thought it was Sirius Black that had spoken. He caught himself only just before bursting forward to the rescue, realizing that it was Regulus, of course, and James clutched onto a bit of the stone wall to steady himself.

Evidence, he thought. He was hearing evidence.

“Why can’t you tell me how?” Regulus asked, the sadness of the crying still in his tone, “How can I get better? What can I do to improve?”

Better at what? James wondered.

“Just don’t be so pathetic,” Severus answered.

“But how?” begged Regulus.

Severus was quiet a moment and then he said, “Dark magic is like smoke. It must consume you to be black. If you’re not consumed by the desire to cast the spell or deliver the curse or block the mind then you will not be able to achieve it. It’s like the avada kedavra. We could wave our wands a hundred times, screaming the curse with all our voice, and still fail to deliver the kill if we have but a moment’s doubt in our hearts… Dark magic must fill you from your toes to your fingertips or else it will never be black, but only grey; and the blackness of others’ magic will conquer you every time.”

James shivered at the reverent tone that Severus delivered this little speech in. Severus Snape had said the words the way a man might recite a wedding vow and his voice had slithered over the words, his tongue wrapping about their sounds, intimate with their meaning.

“That’s enough for tonight. Think about whether you really want to be an occlumens, Regulus, and we’ll try again another night. When you’re less distracted by thoughts of your murderous brother.”

James eyebrows stitched together. What was that supposed to mean? Murderous brother? Not Sirius? What in hell is Snape on about?

“Sorry, Sev,” murmured Regulus, “I - I thought I’d do it tonight…” he sighed and James heard his footsteps echoing toward the entrance hall. James quickly slunk back, away from the door, into the shadow of the trophy case, and he knelt down as far as he could, ducking behind the funny turnipy looking plant, and holding his breath to keep from being noticed as Regulus Black swept from the parlor room and down the stairs into the dungeons.

James clutched the stone, waiting, not daring to move even a fraction of an inch. Severus was still there in the room and he would be coming out at any moment… James bit his lip and a sudden, horrible idea came over him. Revenge. For all the rubbish Severus Snape had caused, getting Sirius expelled and telling the whole school about Rey and Sirius, and the sectumsempra that had caused the scar across his chest… and suddenly James felt as if this opportunity had come to him on a golden platter and he grinned as he inched toward the door, boldened by the feeling of destiny and he drew his wand and held it at the ready, the words on his lips…

PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!” he shouted, whipping the wand the moment he’d gone through the door into the parlor room and there was a crack and a thump and a clattering of a wand hitting the floor and James laughed as his eyes adjusted to the low lighting in the room to find Severus Snape, frozen solid and laying on the floor, his face stuck in an expression of surprise, his wand several feet away on the floor. James bent and picked Severus’s wand up and turned it in his hand like a baton, stuffing his own wand away in his pocket. “Hullo Snivellus,” he said darkly, “What’re we doing out of bed? Dark arts?” He looked the wand over, then tossed it across the room carelessly. He looked Severus in the face. “You lied to all the staff about what you did back in December. Told them it was someone else when it was you that slashed me. And you went and got my best mate expelled… not to mention all the rubbish you do to Lily… You really deserve this.” James pulled his wand and aimed it right for Severus’s still face. “Pugnus,” he whispered and Severus’s nose burse with blood as though he’d been punched. James stared at the stark contrast of the bright red blood against Severus Snape’s pale white face, dripping over his cheeks like tear. The black glassy eyes stared up at him, unable to blink, unable to look away due to the spell, unable to flinch… and James suddenly felt quite sick to his stomach.

He ought not have done it, he thought, and he backed away, horrified by his own actions. What in hell had he been thinking?

He was about to undo the spell when he heard the purring behind him and turned to see Mrs. Norris in the doorway. “Shite,” he cursed and he looked back at Snape, but didn’t dare spend the time to stay. Pulling the map from his belt, he consulted which way Filch was coming from, decided the best way was out, and made a dash for the doors of the castle, slipping out into the night, leaving Severus Snape laying on the floor in the parlor room, frozen.

He ran like hell across the grounds, afraid Filch would spot him and follow… he’d be the next one expelled if he was caught…

He realized halfway across the grounds that he wasn’t being followed and he came to a stop and bent double, holding his knees, catching his breath. When he felt a bit more steady, he looked over the grounds toward the Willow and he realized he wasn’t sure he wanted to go where he’d have to face Remus, not wanting to tell him what he’d done, not wanting to see Remus’s disappointed expression. So instead, he went off toward the line of the forbidden forest and the moment he’d got beneath the line of trees, where he was out of the sight of the castle, he dropped to the bracken and changed into his stag form. He ran through the forest, his hooves kicking leaves and twigs up from the ground as he ran off the stress that was coursing through him.

The worst part, he thought, was that until he’d realized what he’d done and the guilt had started to set in, he’d actually enjoyed seeing Severus Snape bleed.

Sort of like how he’d enjoyed kissing Maryrose pretending she was somebody else until he’d realized that, too.

Even worse, he was pretty sure he’d do either thing again if the chance were given him.

Bloody hell, he thought, I’m a horrible human being.