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31 August


The night before the train would carry them to Hogwarts, the four Marauders sat about on the porch behind the Lupin house. James’s broomstick, still not flown yet because muggles might see lay across his lap - shiny gold letters declared it to be a Stratosphere77 and he was polishing the handle for about the hundredth time already. On the floor, leaning against the rail, sat Remus Lupin, eating a chocolate bar while Sirius absently stroked his hair, sitting on the rail above him. Sirius had back against the column, eyes closed, smiling lazily as his legs crossed over one another and stretched before him, his other hand in his far pocket, turning the tiny box from the consignment shop over and over and over in his palm. In the chair beside James sat Peter, rocking so the floorboards squeaked, struggling to open a pack of sugar mice with his teeth.

“We’re sixth years, guys,” Remus said suddenly.

“We are,” James nodded.

Remus looked around at them, “Remember when we first started and Bilius and Derek and Alex were sixth years and we thought they were sooo grown up and older than us and --” he looked about, “Do you lot feel grown up?”

“No,” Peter said quickly around the package.

“Good, I thought it might be just me,” Remus said.

“I hope this year goes smooth,” James said. “I feel like I’ve had quite enough adventure this summer with everything that’s happened. I’d like a year without any surprises and horrid happenings. Just boring old school work and snogging Evans, thanks.”

“Awe, listen to you, still thinking you snogged her.” Sirius smirked.

I did,” James insisted. “Twice.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Actually, she snogged me the second time…”

“Merlin’s beard, the hallucination grows stronger,” murmured Remus, nibbling the chocolate bar with a smile. Sirius’s fingers were tangled up in Remus’s hair still, stroking the curls at his forehead so that Remus’s head bobbed with the petting he was getting. He rolled his eyes up, as though trying to see Sirius’s hand, but of course he couldn’t.

Sirius said, “But I agree with James. A good year without any drama --”

“No drama? So you aren’t going, then?” Peter snickered.

James and Remus broke into laughter at this.

Sirius sniffed and pretended to be offended.

“I don’t reckon it’s even possible to have a year without drama for us,” Remus declared.

James said, “Well, I plan to be working triple hard at Quidditch this year. Flying practice for me, every day, and I’m going to reconstruct the whole team if I have to. We’re bloody winning that house cup this year if I have to personally every bloody position on the pitch myself.”

“Win the house cup on your own? Bloody hell. There goes the ego again,” Sirius murmured.

“You ought to try out this year, Sirius. You were a fabulous beater when you played. I could use another fabulous beater. I’ve only got Frank one more year.”

“Perhaps I will.”

“Good.”

Remus sighed. “Well, if you do, at least I’ll have something to watch when we’re at the bloody quidditch games this year.”

“You could try out, too,” James suggested.

Remus laughed so hard he snorted. “Clearly you don’t remember me on the broomstick in flying lessons first year. There’s a reason I haven’t touched a broomstick since.”

“Nor have I,” Peter said, though he hadn’t been offered to go try out.

James said, “Maybe you’re harboring secret talents.”

“For what? Falling off and breaking the most bones? Could probably set a record,” Remus joked.

“No breaking my Moony,” Sirius growled.

They laughed.

The chatter and planning for sixth year went on until finally Peter declared he’d better head home and he scrambled away, saying goodnight and heading inside to the floo. The other three went on sitting in the dark and Remus got into the chair Peter had vacated, needing to stretch his knees and Sirius lay down on the railing, his hair hanging down, bracing himself with one leg on the floor of the porch, the other still on the rail. Across the yard, along the edge of the trees, fireflies twinkled and Remus stared at them as they glowed and weaved through the shadows.




Severus Snape had his fists in his pockets. He stood on the curb across the street from the Evans house in the dark, hidden by shadows. He stared up at the lighted window that was Lily Evans’s room. She was packing her trunk - every now and then he’d see her pass by the window carrying some article of clothing or a book, her hair fallen over her shoulder and a smile on her face. She looked happy.

He sighed and looked down at his old, scuffed up shoes and leaned against the stone barrier that lined the edge of the yard of the across the street neighbors. His black hair hung over his cheeks. He wondered if Lily Evans -- or anybody, for that matter -- would notice he was gone when they got on the Express, when they got to Hogwarts? Would it matter at all that he had switched to Durmstrang? He clutched the ledge of the stone.

Reaching into his pocket, Severus removed the letter he’d written Lily and he walked across the street and put it into the mail slot in the door. Hurriedly, he turned and walked away, jamming his fists into his now empty pockets again, and practically ran back to Spinner’s End.




Petunia heard the click of the mail slot. She was in the living room, on the telephone with Vernon Dursley when it creaked open and then snapped shut and she told Vernon to hang on and she went and got the letter from the floor. She collected it and went back to the living room. The envelope simply said Lily on the front and Petunia sat down and took up the phone again. “Lily’s got a letter,” she said to Vernon, and, being the nosey thing she was, she opened the envelope - expertly breaking the seal of it without ripping the envelope itself by breathing on it to loosen the adhesion, and then slipped the letter out. Her eyes skimmed the note. “It’s from that horrible boy,” Petunia said.

“The homosexual?” Vernon asked.

“I think so,” Petunia said. Her eyes went to the bottom of the page and she read the signature. “Severus was his name, wasn’t it?”

“Something like that, yes,” Vernon said.

“Ugh.” Petunia wadded up the letter and threw it into the waste bin.




Jasper Odair woke with a start in his cell in the depths of the Ministry, his panicked voice echoing off the walls. He’d dreamed of his father and he woke flailing, trying to push the old man off him, his legs kicking. “No - no no - no!” he yelled and flipped himself right off the hard wooden bench that served as a seat and a bed. The threadbare blanket he’d been laying on fluttered over him. He struggled to his knees from the stone floor, panting, and looked around. A barely lit torch gave the only light, flickering, threatening to go out, giving the dungeons a horrible, eerie glow.

Jasper pulled himself up and walked to the bars of the cell where someone had left a tray with a cup of water and a thin sandwich on a plate. He sat, back against the wall, and took the cup and drank the water down in just a few gulps. He inspected the sandwich and decided to pass on it, preferring to go hungry than eat the mysterious looking meat that had been slapped between two stale bits of bread with a bit of neon-yellow mustard. He got up and started pacing… pacing, pacing, pacing…

He squinted through the dark at the calendar over the jailer’s desk across the room and saw it was the last night of August - tomorrow was 1 September, and he wondered if Edgar was packed properly and if Mrs. Odair would bring him to King’s Cross in the morning. He hoped Edgar found someone to help him get through the barrier to Platform 9¾ - somebody kind. Maybe Lily Evans would help him.

Lily Evans had sent a letter to him through Charlus Potter. A short letter on a plain notecard. The letter had smelled like her and Jasper had breathed it’s sent until it had faded away, stolen by the dankness of the dungeons like everything else. The letter hadn’t said much. Only that she didn’t believe the things the papers were saying and that she hoped Jasper stayed strong because he was sure to get out, and to believe that everything would be okay, and she was thinking of him. Just nice little things. She’d signed it sincerely and that one word had stung because at home, under his bed, in an old shoebox, he had loads of notes and letters from last term at Hogwarts signed love.

He sat back down on his bench and pulled the threadbare blanket over his knees.