Intended

[thirty six]

All the necessary precautions have been taken: the door is locked; the curtains have been carefully drawn to avoid any light escaping from the room; the boys keep their voices hushed and laughter to a minimum. Sitting close together in a tight little circle, they watch one another, waiting for James to join them. He has promised them a surprise, his apology for causing them all to get detentions for transfiguring the caretaker's cat.

Not that they regret it. Animal transformations have become something of a fascination amongst them recently, especially after learning about Lupin's lycanthropy. Add to that the lesson they had on Animagi, the fact that they want to do something to help Lupin, and Sirius not-so-secretly toying with the idea of trying to turn himself into an animal because he simply thinks it's 'damn cool'. Still, he has to admit that experimenting on the cat might have not been such a good idea...

Of course, this is just an excuse. Everything is an excuse for James to pull some stunt... not that Sirius is complaining, though, because he enjoys them as much as James himself does.

'What is it?' Sirius asks, watching as James rummages under his bed for something only he knows about. James turns around and smiles at him, a mischievous twinkle entering his eyes.

'You'll see,' is all he says, refusing to say anything further than that, much to Sirius's chagrin. If there's something that Sirius cannot be, it is patient. He drums his fingers on the floor, earning a glare from Lupin, then begins to count slowly under his breath.

'If you haven't found whatever it is that you're trying to find by the time I reach ten, I'm going to come over there to get it myself.'

'No need for that,' James answers, his voice triumphant as he carefully draws out an oddly-shaped object, wrapped in old papers and held together awkwardly with spellotape, most presumably to hide whatever it is that James seems so anxious to share with them. He scuttles across the floor, taking his place in the circle, holding his surprise aloft.

'Now, behold, brave Gryffindors! I come bearing gifts! Diffindo!'

The papers are ripped apart, pieces of spellotape fluttering about and settling themselves over everyone's clothes. James looks around sheepishly.

'Er. Well. That wasn't supposed to happen.'

At this moment, though, no one seems to care much about the sudden mess. They are more interested in the bottle that James is clutching tightly to himself, trying to see what it is.

'James, you're a genius,' Sirius breathes when he sees exactly what James has been hiding. The other two lean forward, craning their necks to see what Sirius is talking about. Lupin looks unsure of himself, his expression teetering between admiration and disapproval when James plunks the bottle down in the center of their small circle. Peter simply gapes.

'Firewhiskey? Where'd you get it?'

The bottle of Firewhiskey is a special prize, one that James has been keeping for some time now but couldn't bear to hold on to for any longer. He confesses that he stole it away from the kitchens, sneaking into the cupboard reserved for teachers' drinks and running like mad before the house-elves could figure out where he had gone. He refuses to tell them exactly which cupboard he went to, insisting that he has his reasons, but it suits everyone just fine. After all, curious thirteen year-old boys often do not care where they get their supplies from, just that they get them.

'It's the real thing, isn't it?'

The bottle is passed around the tight-knit circle, each boy inspecting the label to confirm that it is, indeed, the real thing. Sirius, feeling he is an authority on such things because he is the only one of them to have ever tasted Firewhiskey before, announces that the bottle is genuine, and so are the contents within.

Of course, what he neglects to tell any of them is that he has only ever drunk a sip of it, and that too out of Andromeda's glass at a party when she wasn't looking. He was young, then, and he has nothing but a very vague memory of it, but that doesn't stop him from recalling even that with relish, supplementing his account with details he has picked up off others.

'Well, then,' James finally interrupts as he places a glass filled to the brim with the amber liquid before Sirius, 'since you know so much about it, you take the first drink.'

Not wanting to be caught out, Sirius quickly grabs up the glass and takes a huge gulp. The Firewhiskey burns Sirius's throat as it goes down, making him sputter uncontrollably, but he is all too eager to have his second go. And his third.

But to a thirteen year-old, even a little to drink becomes a lot, especially when he is with friends. It is Peter who first announces, proudly, that he feels rather tipsy, followed by James. It is not long before, then, that the four boys are all feeling pleasantly drunk, not so much as to feel sick but enough for them to stop worrying and start laughing at nothing in particular. A bottle shared four ways doesn't allow for much.

Then again, the whole point was not to get drunk, but rather just to try and see if they could do so without being caught.

Or, at least they try to.

'How do you feel?' Lupin asks Sirius. He considers the question for a second, trying to think over the odd buzz in his head and the warmth that is slowly spreading through his body. How does he feel?

'Weird. But in a good way. I think.'

With the bottle empty and no-one having any better ideas, Peter proposes that they play a game. Usually, Peter's games are dead boring, and Sirius refuses to play at first. After a little wheedling from James, however, and with the solemn promise that he would not regret it, he agrees.

'But I get to go first!' he demands. 'So, how do you play this thing?'

It turns out that the game Peter has come up with is an adapted version of the Muggle 'Spin-the-Bottle'. Sirius has never played any game of this sort before, so he listens intently as Peter explains how one person is supposed to place the empty bottle in the center of the circle and give it a good spin.

'But what's the point of that?'

'The person the mouth of the bottle ends up pointing at is asked "Truth or Dare". If they say "Truth" then they get asked a question and they have to give an entirely honest answer.'

'And if someone says "Dare"?'

'Then they have to be dared to do something stupid or outrageous. But because we're not Muggles, we could do something stupid or outrageous with magic!'

'... riiiight.'

On a normal day, Sirius might have laughed off the game altogether. But now, with the alcohol allowing him to forget for a second that he doesn't like such games, and the fact that Lupin is poking him in the side, demanding that he be a good sport, he doesn't have much of a choice. He enters the game with great gusto, giving the bottle a good spin.

It ends up pointing to himself only, sending the other three into fits of laughter as he tries to ask himself 'Truth or Dare'.

'Here, let me do it,' James demands, and the bottle goes spinning again. This time, though, it lands facing Peter, who immediately opts for 'Truth'.

'Truth? That's boooooring.'

'It's also safe,' Peter retorts.

'All right, Truth. Hmm...tell me,' James says, leaning forward conspiratorially and winking, 'who's that Slytherin girl you were talking to last week.'

Sirius chokes when he hears this, trying not to laugh and failing miserably. It is not so much the fact that Peter was speaking to a Slytherin that amuses him, but rather, that Peter had been speaking to a girl after he had vehemently denied he had a girlfriend.

'He was speaking to a Slytherin girl?'

'Hamming it up, I would say,' James says, snorting and jumping up in a quick imitation of Peter, hunched over and peering shyly out from beneath his fringe. 'Oh, in Gryffindor Tower we have none of that awful dungeon smell! In Gryffindor Tower, it's so cheery, not like your horrible black hole! You really know how to charm them, don't you?'

The image sets everyone off, and soon all of them, save Peter, are lying on the floor, unable to stop laughing. Even Lupin, normally quiet and restrained, is howling with mirth. There is barely a moment's pause before someone begins snickering, setting the rest off all over again.

'Oh, oh! Listen to this! In Gryffindor, we're all great pals. You guys don't even care about anyone but yourselves... Peter! I didn't know you loved us so much!'

'Yes! By the way, where's that special room you said we had? I've never seen it...'

'No, wait, don't tell us... you want to take her there, right? Right!'

'You're one to talk, Sirius,' Peter says, his voice bordering on desperation, his movements fidgety. 'You keep on going down to talk to that seventh-year girl...'

Sirius holds up his hand and waggles his fingers, letting the ring flash in the light. 'You forget. I actually have a reason.'

Peter rolls his eyes and looks away. 'Whatever,' he mutters, his cheeks tinged with pink. 'You guys are too much. I'm going to bed.'

'Bed? No, that's not fair! It was your idea to play this game... you can't just leave us here!' Sirius exclaims, reaching across the circle to grab at his hands.

'Yeah? Try me,' he responds, moving as if to leave. Sirius gives out one last hearty laugh, wipes at his eyes and claps Peter on the shoulder.

'Aww, come on! Tell us who she is, then. I promise I won't tell anyone.'

'Or make fun of you,' Lupin chimes in, still grinning.

'Yeah, tell us!' James demands, sitting up, his face completely flushed.

Peter seems to debate the issue for a moment, his face growing thoughtful. 'Well, this is a bit difficult to explain... are you sure you really want to know?'

'YES.'

'She's my sister.'

'Sister? You hear that, she's his... wait, did you say sister?' James sputters, suddenly looking very sober, and very confused.

Peter scowls at them. 'Yes, sister. Is that so hard to believe?'

'Yeah, it is. How did she get into Slytherin? No offense or anything, but don't you think that's a bit weird? Your parents are Muggles, mate.'

Peter mumbles something that vaguely sounds like 'snotmugbon' under his breath. Sirius raises an eyebrow.

'What?'

'He said, "she's not Muggle-born",' Lupin supplies, scratching his chin thoughtfully. 'Although, I don't understand how... you said your parents are Muggles.'

'I've met his Dad. Definitely a Muggle.'

'He is a Muggle. But...' Peter stops short, then shakes his head. 'Never mind.' There is something in his voice, now, something of sorrow that surprises Sirius. Peter has never shown any kind of sadness over anything before, so it is unusual to see him in such a state, eyes lowered, voice dull, his face fighting to keep expressionless but losing as the corners of his mouth turn in a wistful smile.

'Hey. What is it? You know you can tell us, right?' Lupin says softly. Sirius and James nod their agreement, leaning forward as Peter glances at each of them nervously, then begins to speak.

'It's a bit complicated, but... the short version is, that's not my Dad you saw at the station. That was my step-father.' At the word step-father, Peter shudders, almost as if he has suddenly remembered something unpleasant, his face twisting in disgust.

Sirius blinks. He remembers that day at the station, remembers the man who he had thought was Peter's father. He hadn't even thought for a second that the man wasn't, really... he had never even considered it...

But the new knowledge colors his mind, makes him remember small things. The way Peter never goes home at Christmas or Easter. How he never mentions his parents at all. The nervous look on his face at the station... how he walks away the moment any of them mention their families...

He shakes his head. This is too much, this is all too much.

'What happened to your real family?'

At this point, Peter shrugs. 'Who knows. They just dumped me and my sister at the orphanage when I was three, disappeared forever... I don't remember them. This was the only family who'd take both of us in.'

The four boys lapse into silence. Peter toys with the bottle, not meeting anyone's eyes. His usually cheerful face is now completely devoid of its characteristic mirth, his shoulders slumping forward. James glances over at Sirius, then at Lupin; there are no words needed to explain the one final question that each of them remains with. The only problem is that they don't know how to ask.

And how would they ask? Why would they want to know? Sirius knows they have never paid much attention to Peter at all. He has always been the fourth wheel, an eager accomplice but, by his own admission, not too bright; he has been the most ordinary of the four, not proud or rebellious or determined. There has never been anything to ask of him.

It is Lupin who finally breaks away, giving voice to that one pressing question.

'Was your... were your parents...'

'Magical? Yes. Pureblooded, even. But it didn't matter much, did it? They were never there for me.'

'This family... I mean, the one you live with now... what do they know? I mean, magic... and Hogwarts...'

At this point, Peter looks up. Sirius is caught by his stare, watery and wide and almost defeated. There is so much pain in that stare, so much hate bottled inside. But it is only there for one second, and when Sirius blinks, it is gone, gone with the tears that Peter wipes away and laughs at.

'This family? These parents? Mum's a Squib. She knew all about Hogwarts. She was so happy when my letter came. Never knew we were Magical until she got a visitor from the school and a tracking file the Ministry's kept on us. Dad's a Muggle. He didn't take it well at all. Wanted to get rid of me from the beginning 'cause I was stupid and clumsy and odd. This was just another reason to hate me,' Peter snaps, rising and kicking the bottle away. It crashes against a bedpost, shattering, the noise making Sirius flinch. Without another word, Peter crawls into his bed and tugs the curtains shut around him.

But even after he has left, even after they have all gone to bed themselves, his words remain, echoing in Sirius's head.

They were never there for me.

Sirius suddenly feels sick. He hopes that everything they have heard this evening will soon fade, become a matter of no real consequence. It hurts too much to think about it; it is almost physically painful to think about Peter's parents and then think about his own; it is disconcerting to find almost no differences between them.

He tries to console himself, but it is difficult when the night is quiet, the air heavy with the unspoken thoughts of four teenage boys and the ghosts of everything that could have been. Everything he comes up with sounds wrong, has no meaning for him.

Of course, his parents hadn't exactly abandoned him...

But they did abandon me. They said I was unworthy of being their son.

Peter's words come back to him, and he smiles a little at the irony of it all, slipping away into a fitful sleep with Peter's unhappy voice echoing in his ears.

They were never there for me.

*