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The Little Brat


“Lily Evans.”

It was a couple days after Christmas, and Diagon Alley was bursting with life, so at first it was hard to spot who had called her name when Lily looked up from the cup of hot cocoa she’d just purchased at a vendor cart. Beside her, Frank Longbottom turned, too. He’d just paid for his and Ali’s cocoas, but he recognized the voice and his eyes swept over Jasper Odair with a bit of skepticism. He raised his eyebrow as the Hufflepuff quidditch team captain came hurrying over from among the tables, where he’d been sitting with some of the other members of the Hufflepuff team.

“Hello Jasper,” Lily answered.

“Hello,” Jasper came to a stop before her and nodded to Frank, whose shoulder was being tapped by the seller to remind him to take his change. “‘Ello Longbottom.”

“Hey…” Frank drawled, then he glanced at Ali, who nodded him to follow her as she walked a ways off from the cart, away from Lily and Jasper, giving them a bit of privacy. Frank seemed reluctant to follow, but a tug on his jacket from her mittened hand and he sighed and turned along.

“How’s your holiday?” Jasper asked.

Lily stared at him, unsure how to answer. Her holiday was horrible, saying anything else would be a lie, yet it was only polite to say it’s great or at the very worst it’s fine and act as though it wasn’t an utterly idiot thing to ask a girl whose dad just died how her holiday was. Lily shrugged. It was the safest way to respond. “Yours?”

Jasper realized his transgression and his cheeks burned red. “I… uh… been alright.” He paused and looked down at the ground. “So did you, uh, start studying for the O.W.L.S yet?”

Lily nodded, “Loads of revising still to do.”

“Yeah, me too.” Jasper rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re uh… you - you doing anything exciting with the rest of your holiday break?”

Lily shook her head, “Not particularly.”

“You… you wanna do something?” Jasper asked. “Like - with me?”

Lily was surprised by his forwardness. He was an awkward boy, it was sort of shocking to her that he’d have the guts to ask. Jasper Odair sort of struck her as one of those people that spoke a high and mighty line but never actually followed through with the things they say that they’ll do when they’re talking in fits of passion.

“Maybe the cinema or bowling or something?” She forgot Jasper was muggle born too, until he brought up bowling. She’d tried explaining bowling to Ali once and she’d been utterly confused by the concept of throwing a big heavy ball at pins with the goal of knocking them down.

“I don’t know, Jasper - I’m sort of going through alot right now and --”

“All the more reason to say yes,” he said. “Help you forget your problems, if for just an afternoon.” He paused and smiled, “C’mon, Lily, give me a chance.”

She hesitated. After all, another boy had said to her give me a chance - many, many times. James’s note was still in her pocket, and it seemed to burn and she reached in and her fingers wrapped around it, rubbing the parchment, as though it were a worrying stone and she cast her eyes downward, away from Jasper. She’d given James a bit of a chance - not a full chance, really, she would be the first to admit that James’s chance had been very narrow - but what she’d started to see had been alright. Until he attacked Snape (if that was what happened). So maybe… maybe the lesson to take from that was that when people are given chances, they can surprise you.

Jasper smiled. “As friends, at least, Evans?”

He called her Evans!

Lily looked up at him.

Jasper was not a bad looking guy. He had jet black hair that he’s slicked back with Sleekeazy and a bit of a crooked smile. He was tall, but not too tall, and not too skinny, either, just a healthy weight with a bit of baby fat still ‘round the cheeks… he had bright blue eyes.

And he was quidditch captain.

“As friends,” she said.

A grin crossed Jasper Odair’s face. “Excellent!”




Sirius, James, Peter, and Remus stood at the top of the sloping hill far out back of the Dumbledore house, where they’d camped a few times the summer before. The hill seemed to go on and on and on and on for decades down now that it was covered with snow - the valley far off below. Sirius held one of the plastic disc style snow sleds. It was bright blue and had plastic white handles on either side. James, Remus, and Peter, each had their own plastic discs. Peter looked between James and Sirius. “You guys didn’t say this was the hill we were using these on,” he pointed out.

“A hill is a hill,” Sirius said.

“But this is an awfully big hill,” Peter argued. “By the time you reach the bottom you’ll be going a hundred miles an hour!”

“And there’s a very large field below to skid across,” James pointed out, “It’ll be mad.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Peter muttered, “That it’s mad.”

“Moony, what’re the mathematics?” asked Sirius, “Are we looking at dangerous things about now?”

Remus said, “Well the math’s going to be different for each of us, depending on our weights, I reckon…” He glanced about between them, then, not sure if it was an insult or a comfort to him, he said, “You ought to go the slowest, Wormtail.”

Peter looked unsure if he wanted to take it as an insult or a comfort, too.

James grinned, “Let’s just do it.”

Sirius grinned, too, loving this new sort of reckless side of James that had been showing the last couple days. James had been game for just about anything - and it was fantastic. Sirius felt like it was first year again and the crazy James Potter that he’d met aboard the Hogwarts Express was back and he grinned at his mate eagerly. “Prongs is right, lot, let’s just do it.”

Remus sighed, but he obliged by putting his neon green disk on the ground and sitting down upon it, using his heels as brakes. Sirius and James both put theirs down, too, kneeling upon it, their toes dug into the snow behind them to stop them sliding off. James looked up at Peter, who was still standing, holding plastic disk, which was red like James’s. “C’mon, Wormy,” James said, “Let’s go.”

“What if one of us breaks his neck?” Peter worried.

“Will you relax and get on the fucking sled? It’s going to be fun,” Sirius said, looking over at him, “Stop overthinking things! You always overthink! Blast!”

Peter threw the sled down, muttering about see if I’m overthinking when you nearly break your bleedin’ skull open and sat on it the way Remus had, figuring there was probably some logistically safer reason for his approach to this whole endeavor. He clutched the white handles as though he were hanging on for dear life.

“Ready?” Sirius asked, looking ‘round the other two, “On the count of three, then,” he announced as they nodded. “One… two… three!”

And away they went. Four colourful disks carrying four screaming boys as they flew over the thick flakes of snow that fluttered up behind them in the air as their sleds tore down the hill, leaving lines in the snow where they’d been. James’s sled spun as he went down, turning him about like a top as he went and he squeezed his eyes closed as he went - the trees flashing by in loops. Sirius was going the fastest, leaning forward to increase it. Remus was laughing, hands in the air as he coasted along. And poor Peter - his sled hit a bit of a banking about halfway down and he soared over it, going airbound for a moment, his feet kicking wildly in the air as he went, shouting at the top of his voice. When he landed, it was quite hard so that his bum ached and the disk spun him about, carrying him backwards the rest of the way down to the bottom, where he skid to a stop a couple feet from where Sirius had been thrown into a pile of snow so violently that his leather jacket’s pockets were full of snow and his Gryffindor stocking cap had fallen off and he was searching for it in the snow bank, his short-haired head still shocking even after nearly two months of it looking like that.

James and Remus arrived last - Remus smartly using his feet to slow him down as he reached the bottom so that he neatly stood up and held the sled when his ride had ended - graceful as hell. James skid to a natural halt, then fell off from dizziness, white washing himself in the snow and laughing uproariously as he got snow burn on his cheeks, turning his entire red from the cold of it.

See?” Sirius asked, looking at Peter, “Wasn’t that amazing?”

Peter had to admit, even with having been airborne like that for a moment, it had been a rather good time. He looked up at the length of the hill that they’d come down and he smiled at how bleedin’ far it seemed.

“Alright, let’s have another go!” Sirius exclaimed, getting up and grabbing his disk.

Peter, who was still staring up at the length of the hill they’d come down, realized rather stupidly for the first time that coming down it meant that they would eventually need to go back up. Now he was frowning at how bleedin’ far it seemed.




Kreacher was playing gobstones with Regulus again. He was lonely. The dormitory was still empty, the other boys still gone (though, honestly, their company was hardly company at all - even Barty Crouch seemed to have been avoiding Regulus lately, ever since the incident with the baby house elf at the Malfoy’s). Regulus watched Kreacher make a move and he studied the board, rubbing his chin.

On Christmas when they’d played, Regulus had told him to really play, not just to play to let Regulu win - so their games were actually challenging, actually fun - and Kreacher had even won twice in the many games they’d played until Regulus had fallen asleep. Now, Kreacher was winning again, and Regulus was trying desperately to find a move he could make without losing.

Suddenly, Kreacher said, “Kreacher will return, Master Regulus - Kreacher’s Mistress is looking for him.” And CRACK!, he was gone.

Regulus sat up. He didn’t want to take a move while the elf was gone. He ran his fingers up to the chain of the necklace that Maryrose had given him, and he traced the line of it over his shirt ‘til he felt the silver circle of the tiny medallion. He smiled as it pressed against his skin as he laid a hand over it.

It took some time before Kreacher returned.

“Master Regulus must forgive Kreacher for taking so very, very long. Kreacher’s Mistress wanted tea and Kreacher had to make the tea and serve the tea and then the little brat threw her usual temper and broke the cup and Kreacher had to clean it up and --”

Regulus looked up from the gobstones. “The little brat?”

Kreacher’s ears went flat.

“Did you just call my mum a little brat?” Regulus was in shock.

Kreacher shook his head, “Oh no, Master Regulus, Kreacher would never, ever, ever call his Mistress - his wonderful, wonderful Mistress - such names! Kreacher would be having to punish himself so very much if he was saying such terrible things about his Mistress.” Kreacher’s ears were very, very flat, though, and he trembled a wee bit.

Regulus stared at him. “Who is the little brat, then?” he asked. Kreacher stared up at Regulus with his great wide eyes wet with impending tears and he shivered and quaked and worried his fingers in loops and Regulus knew he was keeping something back and he said, in a warning tone, “Kreacher, who is the little brat? I command you to tell me.”

At this, Kreacher looked physically sickened.

“Kreacher… cannot be… be telling… Mistress said… oh Kreacher cannot… he cannot, Kreacher cannot!” and he started tugging on his ears.

Regulus was reminded of the year before when he’d asked Kreacher a question like this, when Kreacher had tried to refuse, when he’d had a secret that Orion Black had told him, about the knot in the tree out on the grounds… and Regulus drew a deep breath, “Who is your Master, Kreacher?” he demanded.

Kreacher’s tears spilled and he let out an agonized squeal as he pulled his ears very, very hard.

Regulus reached out and stopped him, holding the elf’s wrists to keep him from tugging his ears right off. He stared into Kreacher’s wrinkled, warty little face. “I command you to tell me, Kreacher,” he repeated, staring into the elf’s eyes.

“The Minchum girl! The Minchum girl is the little brat, Master Regulus! She is being very terrible, has been since she arrived! She breaks tea cups and has tempers and she makes messes - so many messes! Tears things up! Kreacher has had to hide Master Regulus’s things to keep them from being broken!” He was in tears as he spoke, his ears wildly flapping from nerves, and he wrung his hands…

“The Minchum girl?” Regulus asked, confused, “Not Harold Minchum’s grand daughter? The one that was missing?” Kreacher nodded yes. Then, Regulus remembered - “But - wait, no it can’t be. Kreacher, you must be mistaken. She was returned to him.”

Kreacher’s agonized sound came again - somewhere between a honk, a squeal, and a high pitched whine.

Regulus stared at the elf, concern on his face. “The Prophet said -- they had photos --”

“Kreacher is not knowing how they is been doing it,” he murmured, “Kreacher is not knowing how, Kreacher only serves the Noble House of Black, Kreacher is only doing his job, Kreacher is only serving Mistresses’s commands!” He tugged his ears.

Regulus said, “I know, Kreacher. You aren’t in trouble. I won’t tell anybody you told me.”

Kreacher stared up at him.

“Kreacher, I want to know everything about the girl, though. Everything you know. I want to know how long she’s been there and how Mother is treating her and if you’ve overheard anything at all - even the smallest detail - about why she is there and how long they plan to keep her there. Anything.”

Kreacher looked very nervous.

“Kreacher, I command you to tell me everything.”

And so the house elf launched into the story of how Lucy Minchum had come to be at Number 12, Grimmauld Place.