Music of the Night

Music of the Night

Chapter 6: Confusion's Mockery

Remus Lupin rolled over on his side, wincing at the acute pain that shot through his lower ribcage. He glanced at the clock hanging over the night table by the side of the bed. It was almost time for Madame Pomphrey to come with her special salve that she expertly smoothed over his gashes and bruises every month.

He folded his arms over his chest and frowned at the white sheet enclosing his bed. The previous night had been a strange one. Granted, things never were quite normal when the full moon shone in the sky and he turned into a ferocious wolf, but this time had been quite different. He didn't know exactly how so; he never remembered his lupine experiences. But he had woken up with more cuts than was usual for a Hogwarts moon.

For the past two years, his friends had been there with him in the Shrieking Shack, preventing from doing himself too much damage. Last night, he supposed, he was simply much more vicious than usual, although he couldn't for the life of him figure out why. He just knew that when he had transformed back into human form, he convulsively wretched his previous night's dinner and was carried by James and Sirius straight to the Hospital Wing.

And aside from the fact that it was he who had just undergone a particularly gruesome and painful transformation, he did remember noticing that Sirius had looked rather forlorn, although as to the reason why he had no idea.

Remus himself had awoken from his unconscious state with a feeling in his stomach that he was sure quite mirrored the sickening churning that Sirius had been undoubtedly experiencing earlier, judging by their identical expressions, which Remus had noticed when he looked in the mirror.

He pulled the quilted covers over his shoulders and cradled his middle in his arms.

It wasn't so much a feeling of nausea. It was more like the aftereffects of misery. He could almost feel the remnants of salty tears on his lips, although he didn't know how on earth they had gotten there. He seemed to remember feeling despondent and alone in the world, as though no other creature on earth could possibly sympathize. He had experienced fear and horror, but in reaction to an unknown source. In the back of his mind it was as if he had actually been in that exact state of despair within the past 24 hours. The stone in the bottom of his stomach was not only due to the injuries caused by his own incisors; it was there because of something he had done, or because of something that had happened to him.

And it seemed as though it had affected Sirius too. What had gone on the night before? And why did Peter and James seem positively peachy? He made a mental note to ask Sirius later.

He scratched the side of his face where his cheek was sticky with drying blood. That particular cut didn't throb quite so much anymore; his facial bruises usually healed far faster than the ones spotting the rest of his body. Ironically enough, he rarely ever awoke from his transformations with a gashed cheek. Apparently, somewhere inside of the wolf was a subconscious voice telling it to bite everywhere where it hurt the most. Punishment for the foolish boy who, at the age of six, was so abysmally stupid to let himself get near a werewolf.

Remus heard footsteps on the white tiled floor coming toward him. His mind first jumped to the faces of his friends, but upon second thought, he realized that these footsteps were different. He had learned well enough over the years to control and properly utilize his canine hearing to recognize the contrasts between the footsteps of different individuals.

For instance, Sirius generally walked briskly and yet conspiratorially at the same time. His step had a slight bounce to it, but he pressed his feet down firmly and planted them there for a spell longer than was usual, as though he were scrutinizing every aspect of everyone about him.

Peter moved along in small, sporadic shuffles. His feet barely left the ground, and although he sounded rather bumbling, he in reality moved quite gracefully when among his friends. It was when he was intimidated or twitchy that his nerves caused his feet to jolt in awkward directions, making walking, or even standing next to him a danger in itself.

James, on the other hand...how did James walk? He used to have a very defined strut ("I don't strut," James used to say. "I simply swagger with an extra dose of self-assurance."), noticeable by his far-apart steps and the shifting of his weight from foot to foot in rhythm with the pressure of his soles against the stone floors of the castle. Last year, his walk had been a bit more difficult to single out, as it was generally accompanied by the skips, trots, and prances of a throng of females, but it was there nonetheless, if not more so.

But this year, it was different. James still strode about Hogwarts gracefully and rhythmically, and his shoulders still swayed back and forth ever so slightly, but they seemed, if possible, to jut out farther than they had before. His steps were harder and more pronounced, and his hands swung from side to side in addition to the back-to-front motions he had previously called his own.

Not that Remus was all that surprised. James's ego was quite large enough to begin with; James himself would have been the first to admit it. And now he was Head Boy. Well, if his multifarious assets now included being titled number one in the class in addition to his former status of Quidditch captain, female magnet extraordinaire, and prankster supreme, why wouldn't he be a bit more pompous than usual?

This stream of thought was interrupted by a female voice that murmured his name from behind the curtain, "Remus?"

He turned his head toward the voice, leaning his gashed cheek against the linen sheets, and at the same time, hoisted the covers a bit further up his body so as to hide the nastier bruises that were clustered around his upper ribcage. "Come in," he called weakly.

Lily Evans stepped in from behind the hangings. She gasped when she saw him. "Oh, Remus! You look dreadful!"

He tried to look sarcastic, but the cut between his face and the sheet wouldn't allow it. "Thank you. It's nice to see you too."

"Ooh, sorry," Lily whispered embarrassedly as she pulled a chair up next to Remus's bed and plopped a rather large bag down on his night table with a loud thunk! "It's just that you've never looked this bruised and beaten..." She suddenly looked a bit worried and leaned forward. "There's nobody hurting you, is there? Because if there is, it would certainly do you some good to report it to an authority. If you're not comfortable telling me about it, certainly you could let James Potter know what's going on; I'm sure he'd help-"

"No!" he shouted forcefully, probably a bit too loudly for an infirmary. His arm shot out to cover her own. She raised her eyebrow and looked noticeably alarmed. "Pardon?"

He withdrew his hand and felt himself growing moderately abashed and alert at the same time. He had to choose his words extremely cautiously so he wouldn't arouse any suspicion.

"Well," he said slowly after a few moments' pause, "do you remember when I told you I had that...er...medical condition?'

Lily nodded expectantly and crossed her arms over her chest. As if I committed some offense and had explaining to do, Remus noted. "You see," he continued, looking down at the sheets. "I tend to lose blood often. Cuts, scrapes, shiners... you know."

He glanced up at Lily's face for a split second and was relived to find that she wore a somewhat satisfied expression. He had worried that she would see right through yet another one of his excuses. He knew they were lame, but it was either to stutter and think frantically like an idiot or to have her figure out his secret, which she undoubtedly could, if she gave his absences very much thought.

Because with Lily, very little could be kept insinuative or secret. Whenever she had looked directly at him in a conversation (which was rare; she generally let her eyes glaze over the room while she spoke), he had always felt peculiarly disconcerted. There was something about those eyes of hers, those penetrating green orbs, the likes of which he had never seen before, that was unnaturally...clairvoyant. It was as though miniscule, invisible fingers were emitted from her eyes and were prying apart the ribcage of the one she stared at, revealing all secrets and thoughts. So far, Remus had managed to stay hidden, but he didn't know how much longer he would be able to keep up this friendship without looking her directly into her gaze. He generally just got by by keeping his focus on her nose.

He felt Lily observing his weary and averted eyes for a few more seconds before she let out a sigh and rummaged through the voluminous brown messenger bag she had placed on the night table earlier. "So," she said casually, her eyes focused on the mass spillage of parchments and books that had begun flooding out of her bag, "what have you been up to lately?"

Remus fingered the scratchy white sheets with his thumb and gave a hollow cough. "Oh...not much." He had in reality been visiting the sites for various potential career opportunities this summer. None of them had been particularly big on the idea of harboring a full-fledged werewolf. But of course, Remus had no intention of telling this to Lily.

There was the disconcerting screech of a stretcher being wheeled across the tiled floor that stopped suddenly outside of the curtain. "You?"

Her hand emerged from her bag, clutching a copy of the morning's Daily Prophet. She tossed it down onto bed next to Remus's arms. "Well, you know me." She looked thoughtful for a moment and gave a small self-reproachful sigh. "Running around at all hours of the day to some random and some meaningful rooms, classrooms, and hallways, trying to wedge in homework, Head Girl duties, and hospital visits, and subdue rather chaotic revels involving filched Cornish Pixies all before breakfast." She tucked a stray lock into her rubber band and allowed herself a small half-grin. "Wonder Woman, I truly am."

Remus glanced at her amusedly out of the side of his eye and unfolded the paper. He cursorily glanced at the headlines. "Anything interesting today?" he asked with eyes darting rapidly from right to left.

"No Death Eater attacks, if that's what you're referring to."

Upon hearing that, Remus promptly placed the paper on his lap and sat up slightly, noticing too late that he had taken his gashed cheek off of his bed sheets, exposing it to the eyes of an extremely concerned Head Girl. Thankfully, she either did not notice, as her eyes were grazing over the windowsill beside Remus's bed, or she had enough decency not to interrogate him about it.

He leaned his head back on the pillows. "Well then, since there aren't any emergencies I should be reading about and as you're here already, would you mind briefing me on the latest news? I assume you've already gotten through most of it."

Lily shrugged. "Not much today. An inveterate con artist by the name of Mundungus Fletcher got himself kicked out of the Hog's Head for 'instigating unruly behavior, unbefitting of a well-renowned pub as the Hog's Head.'" She inserted air quotes here. "That, a few more squabbles at the Ministry over campaign funds, or lack thereof, and an injured Augurey up north. Apparently, it was squawking before the rainstorm last night with a bit more enthusiasm than the neighbors appreciated."

Tiny rain droplets, the vestiges of the previous night's shower, were trickling off of the window ledge, reflecting in the pupils of Lily's green eyes, which were still fixated on the dreary gray sky in pensive speculation. "We wait anxiously for the paper every morning, and so long as there's no attack, everything else is deemed unnewsworthy and trivial. And even when there is an attack, it's just 'another attack.'" When she spoke, she sounded as though it were to an ethereal guide or even to nothing at all. "I mean, we're so jaded; nothing is significant anymore. It's almost as if the murders of hundreds of witches and wizards for no apparent reason other than prejudice and hate have suddenly become the norm." She eyed the scratch on Remus's cheek. "It's a sad world we live in."

Remus merely gazed back, not exactly sure how to answer. Lily had never been one to pour out her innermost thoughts quite so openly, and unexpectedly, and even on the rare occasions that she did, it was rarely ever with the intention of receiving words of solace.

"Take me for example," she continued wistfully. "I'm Muggle-born and couldn't care less. I love my parents, they love me, and it just so happens that I was born with a rather unique gift. That's all there is to it. I don't really see any reason to feel inhibited or lowly, despite the deprecatory looks that some of the most Pure-Blood exponents shoot my way in the corridors."

Lily stopped speaking and her gaze shifted to the flowerpot on the night table. It appeared as though this train of thought had prompted some new subject of contemplation or worry. She furrowed her brow and set her jaw. It seemed to Remus that she was debating whether or not she should put into words exactly what she was feeling. And while he knew it was probably none of his business, at the moment, he was undeniably intrigued.

"But..." he prompted hopefully and hesitantly.

She clamped her jaw shut, opened her mouth slightly, cocked her head to the side, and then continued. "But, I can't help but feel a bit worried that my lack of family connections might affect my shot in the job market. Who's to say that the new executives at the Ministry won't be a herd of sanctimonious bigots who would love nothing better than to purge wizarding institutions from all those that they deem unworthy?"

Remus nodded, understanding where she was coming from, but internally, he smirked at the irony of it all. Lily, Head Girl of Hogwarts, was complaining of the difficulties of securing a career to a werewolf. He was musing over this interesting form of a rather morbid paradox when Lily seemed to come to herself upon hearing the sound of a rather high-pitched squeal several feet outside of the curtain.

Her head snapped up out of her reverie and, as though she had forgotten that anything had happened (which, Remus reminded himself, was entirely feasible), stood up and grabbed her book bag with one arm and swung it onto her shoulder. "That sounds like Miranda Binghamton, third year. She's here probably nearly as much as I am. Biggest hypochondriac I've ever met. Nice girl, but Madame Pomphrey usually leaves me to quell her nightmares of spottlegroit, or whatnot." She gave a chipper wave and grin, and pulled the curtain behind her.

Remus heard the sound of her footsteps shuffle briskly away from his bed only to stop and meet two pairs of familiar-sounding feet. They belonged to Peter and James.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter. Mr. Pettigrew," came Lily's terse voice. Remus could almost picture her giving them each a little brusque nod of the head. "I assume you got my letter?"

Judging from Lily's response, James had nodded in the affirmative. "Thursday then."

Lily's footsteps moved across the room to where Miranda Binghamton had been flitting about in empty anxiety earlier. James then began to stride toward the bed a few moments later, followed by Peter, who shuffled quickly to keep up with James's long, pretentious strides.

"Moony?" Peter asked timidly from behind the curtain.

"Here," he responded hoarsely. James poked his messy-haired head inside, and his grin immediately turned to a look of concern.

"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed, quite out of turn. Madam Pomphrey was heard at the other end of the wing, scolding the perpetrator in reproachful tones for contaminating the ears of her fragile patients. James rolled his eyes slightly and then whispered in a lower voice, "Jeez, Moony, you look like you were attacked by-" He paused and cocked his head slightly to the side. "Well, like a rabid wolf."

Remus raised his eyebrows wryly. "The novelty of your witticisms astounds me."

James gave an amused grin. "It seems as though the fangs that ripped your skin apart most undoubtedly haven't done any damage to your constant supply of ever-ready remarks of undiluted sarcasm."

"Yes, well it certainly does take a bit more effort than usual to be virtually optimistic when one is in intensely excruciating pain and is quarantined to a hospital bed with scratchy sheets."

James chuckled. The two of them could usually go at it for hours on end. But given Remus realized that considering the current situation, James probably thought it best to force him to talk as little as possible.

"Er, James? Mind moving?"

James snapped out of his focus on Remus when Peter's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Huh?" He turned around, only to get his head caught in the white curtain. He had had just his head poking through it the entire time.

"Sorry," he said with a bit of frustration as he tried to extricate himself from the sheet, which had inevitably decided to squeeze him around the middle as a safety precaution against those that stayed stationary in the opening for too long.

Peter in the meantime scuttled underneath the curtain and managed to enter Remus's loft untangled, sitting himself down in the seat formerly occupied by Lily Evans. When James finally freed himself, he grabbed a wooden stool that was near the foot of the bed, moved it near Remus's head and then leaned his cheek on his fist, supported by Remus's night table.

For a moment he just looked wonderingly into Remus's gray eyes, and then spoke. "So."

Peter's gaze fleeted between the faces of his two friends, one so calm and suave, the other bursting with curiosity and ache. "What happened last night?" Remus asked in a rush.

His two friends exchanged glances. "To put it mildly," James began, sitting up as though he were delivering very ill news, running a hand through his already unkempt hair to make it even more tousled, "you and Sirius both had a bit of, er, well, a battle of male dominance, so to speak."

Remus coughed. "What?"

"It was weird," said Peter perplexedly. "Everything was fine. We were in the forest and having a jolly old time, and then you and Sirius went all rigid for a few seconds. Looked like you were having some sort of seizure."

James shot Peter an oblique look that Remus was unable to interpret and then continued. "When the two of you came to, you were ...wild. You began howling at the moon and started to attack each other. You were almost rabid." He shook his head. "No, scratch that. You were rabid. Insanely, uncontrollably rabid. Both of you."

"James did what he could to stop you, but you just kept howling and biting and spitting. I kept out of the way, being small enough to get trampled on-"

"You hid behind a bush," -He shot Peter another look- "I tried to break you up, and eventually succeeded, but not before you completely tore each other apart."

"And the way you both calmed down was the strangest of all. It was easier to see on Sirius, with those puppy eyes."

"You slowed down, and then your eyes sagged shut and you sank into the ground. But the looks on your faces..."

"Relief, that's what it was. Like your fits were just melting away."

The two of them said all of this very quickly, almost as if it were rehearsed. Remus, for one, didn't know what their purpose would have been had they actually done this (which they probably had); he was no less nonplussed, curious, or anxious than he otherwise would have been. He glanced from James, hair messier than usual and glasses askew, to Peter, whose eyes were wide with nervous anticipation and whose small pointed nose was twitching erratically. Both were breathing rather quickly.

Remus honestly didn't know what to ask first. He scratched at the itchy scab that was beginning to form on his cheek. "Sirius too? That's just..."

"A frightening, surreal, unexplainable freak accident of nature that has every one of us completely dumbfounded?" interjected James. "Yup." He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and stuck his hair up in the back once more.

Remus sat up slightly. "But, I didn't hurt him like this, right? How's he doing?"

"You've ended up much worse than he did," said Peter somberly. "He has a few minor scratches, but nothing that needs Madam Pomphrey's attention."

"That's another thing," added James. "I don't think either of you meant to hurt each other as brutally as you did. I just think you were each startled when the other one started his howling."

Peter shifted in his seat. "And James and I think you got beaten up worse because you tend to bite yourself in addition to everyone else. A lot of those marks are from your own teeth." He nodded in the direction of Remus's torso.

Remus pulled his beaten arm out from within the sheets and examined the long gash on his forearm. Definitely his own teeth.

"And he doesn't remember any of this?"

James shook his head. "Yet another aspect of this lovely thing I like to call Confusion's Mockery. The three of us -- that is, Sirius, Peter, and I -- usually remember everything after we transform. You don't, but then again, you don't have a human mind when you're a wolf." He scratched his forehead thoughtfully. "It's as though Sirius became part wolf. He remembers transforming into and out of dog form, and he also recalls running in the forest before the little episode. But about that itself, his mind has drawn an absolute blank."

Though slightly relieved that he hadn't beaten up Sirius too badly, Remus was still a bit disturbed by the lack of any mention of Sirius's current welfare. He wanted to know if his friend was also experiencing that sensation of having a foreign paperweight rolling about his intestines. "Where is he now? How's he doing?"

Peter shrugged. "As soon as we went up to Gryffindor Tower after bringing you here he conked out on his bed. Even if we tried to wake him, it wouldn't do any good."

James cracked a small grin. "Because even under the best of circumstances, Sirius makes napping a permanent, consecrated ritual that is fit to be disturbed by nothing other than himself and occasionally a bucket of incredibly icy water."

Remus rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. Trust James to try to make light of even the most perplexing of situations.

There was then a slight hiatus in the conversation during which Peter fiddled with the hems of his robes, James stared at a spot on the wall, and Remus frantically searched his mind for any possible positive turn of conversation to take that would veer his mind from his worry for Sirius and the churning pit in his stomach. In the background, they could hear Lily Evans trying to reason with a hysterical Miranda Binghamton. Judging from the decreasing decibel level of the latter's whining, the former was being successful.

Remus turned his head towards the direction of the squabble. Ready, set, diversionary tactics go.

"I heard you have your first Head Boy-Girl meeting this week."

James narrowed his eyes slightly from behind his glasses and looked rather uncomfortable. "Yup," he said stiffly.

Peter rolled his eyes. "Come on, Prongs. Just because you stutter completely speechlessly every time she gets near you doesn't mean that she isn't a perfectly decent person... somewhere very, very deep down." James shot him a look of sarcastic annoyance.

Remus frowned. Maybe this wasn't the best choice of topics.

"Nah, Wormtail's right," he said reassuringly, trying to assuage the situation. "She's really quite interesting once you get to know her. Bit of a weird head on her shoulders, but she certainly gets you thinking."

James crossed his arms in front of his chest, still in apparent disbelief that the very one who had willfully embarrassed him and still continued to render him speechless of all sardonic retorts was able to be associated with any positive adjectives. "And you would know this because...?"

Remus shrugged offhandedly. "She helps out in the hospital wing on occasion. Seeing as I'm here a lot, she drops by for a visit."

Peter suddenly looked at James, who had become very flushed. "You what?" he hissed vehemently.

Remus felt himself gulp slightly. James was not the most mild-tempered of persons, and his frequent explosions were not pretty, not to mention that they weren't exactly appreciated in a hospital setting.

Okay, really bad choice of topics.

"Pardon. I wasn't aware that I needed your consent to become another's acquaintance," he said coldly. Remus had learned that they way to get James to think and act rationally was to be so blatantly bitter and sarcastic to him that he eventually ended up lecturing himself in his effort to tell off his challenger. It wasn't Remus's particularly favorite expedient to harmony, but it was definitely not in his best interests to risk a James-blowout, as he'd begun to call them.

James leaned forward, eyes blazing. "Moony, you bloody well know that you can talk to whoever you damn well please, but should I also remind you that it might not be the best idea to start making buddies with the very smart Head Girl in the Hospital Wing just after the full moon?" The light in his eyes was now recognizable to Remus as concern, not as anger. Remus inwardly breathed a small sigh of relief. At least now he wouldn't have to practice his skills at being rude and insular.

"Come on, Prongs. Come down. I trust her," he said almost pleadingly.

"Oh, well then!" James exclaimed, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. "You trust her! I guess that settles it then! I'll just be on my way with ole' Wormtail here, to positively slap myself silly. Imagine that! You trust her!"

Peter looked slightly abashed, as though James's cynicism were directed at him.

Remus sighed tiredly and looked up. "Look James, I don't want to argue with you right now, considering that one, we're in the Hospital Wing, and Madam Pomphrey won't appreciate it, and two, there's simply no reason for it. I've been friendly with Lily for about three years, and she's never once given me the impression of being nosy. Trust me, if she were that curious about my absences, she would have found out the reason long ago."

James opened his mouth to protest, but Remus held up a hand to silence him, and continued.

"I'm careful. She knows that I have some sort of medical condition, but never has it come up that it's related to the lunar calendar. She brings me my homework and notes, and makes for a most stimulating conversationalist. That is all."

James drew his mouth into a thin line. Peter's focus darted nervously back and forth between his two friends. "It sounds all right to me, Prongs," he said cautiously.

James glanced back at Peter, and after having weighed his opinion, forfeited. "Fine. It's not as though I'd be able to change your mind anyways. But don't say I didn't warn you."

Remus gave a crooked half-grin. "Trust me," he said assuringly. "I honestly don't think there's anything to worry about."

James simply nodded.

Peter cocked his head. "I don't mean to make you upset or anything, Prongs, but what is it about her that makes you so stubborn?"

Remus stretched his hands and placed them under his head, thoroughly glad that the confrontation was over. Whenever a disagreement such as this one occurred, both parties would dwell on it a bit internally, but would outwardly act as though everything was perfectly copasetic. And that was fine with Remus. "Because somehow I doubt that now that you've grown, you're merely intimidated by her height."

James winced. Despite the greatness of stride with which he had always accepted his small frame, it had been rather embarrassing for him to be a head shorter than his crush. "No," he said slowly. "Not exactly."

He tilted his head to the side and focused on a spot just above Remus's left ear. "It's something else. Just makes me..."

"Uneasy?" offered Remus.

James murmured in agreement. "Sometimes she's just like a red-headed McGonagall... but I don't know. She seems to have...multiple personalities in a way."

Remus raised his eyebrows. This was definitely not what he had expected to hear. That Lily was formidable and stiff, maybe, although Remus knew that that was not necessarily the case. But he had most certainly not anticipated that James would claim that Lily had multiple personalities.

Apparently, Peter hadn't either, judging from the look of incredulity that dominated his face.

"And sometimes," James continued without noticing either of his two friends' reactions to his surprising words, "she's almost like Dumbledore. Like she's seeing through you."

Remus frowned slightly. This was most certainly true. "And," he added, "every time she comes within a five foot radius of you, your witty diction comes to a complete, unparalleled halt."

James glanced at Remus with a small self-deprecatory smile. "Fine, fine. I'll stop."

The whining inflections that had been filling the background died away and were replaced by the waddling footsteps of a certain nurse.

Madam Pomphrey poked her head and torso into the curtain, looking very irritable. "You boys are still here?" She stepped inside and shooed at James and Peter with her hands. "Mr. Lupin has had a very difficult night. He needs his rest and ointment. Out!"

"But-"

"No buts, Mr. Potter! It is time for you to leave now!"

James looked pleadingly at Remus, who then eyed the gooey ointment in Madam Pomphrey's hands and said, "Nah. You two'd best go. I really don't think you want to see this."

* * *

This is a bit awkward for me, as I generally try to avoid speaking altogether, much less writing down every ounce of humility and disgust that happens to grace my soul. But write it all down I will certainly try, if nothing else merely to empty myself from my burden and possibly offer guidance to any lost child who may, in about two hundred years or so, happen to discover this diary upon its excavation from the depths of the Hogwarts lake, into which I will pitch it when I grow tired of its lack of response.

Now then, simply based on my introductory paragraph, I suppose one might automatically conclude that I am a man of bitter temperament with no use whatsoever for the frivolities in which many of my classmates indulge. And, one would be absolutely right. I do not care to abjure my melancholy and rather sardonic disposition; denial is certainly a sign of weakness. However, that does not necessarily mean that I am all hollow skeleton and skin. Believe it or not, there is a heart beating in my ribcage, and a rather large brain perched in my skull.

Be that as it may, I'm afraid that I have not had very great opportunity to display my snappish wit and my sarcastic disposition. I merely come across as snappish and sarcastic.

Which is not always an altogether terrible thing. You see, sarcasm, I have found, is very fickle indeed. For some, such as Bellatrix Black and James Potter, it serves as a means for entertainment, gaining admiration and looks of astonishment and amusement. I do under no deliberate intention equate the two, and although I detest them both, I will not venture so far to say that the two are in the slightest bit similar. Far from it. But I digress. Unlike the favorable fondness that sarcasm holds for the two of them, with me, it seems to take a liking to acting as a repellent. A malodorous, caustic, nauseating repellent.

Not that I resent that...completely. I do find it rather amusing to be the one whom all first-years regard as the untouchable brooder who will disembowel whichever oaf comes within a five-foot radius of him. You really should hear the rumors - but that's for another time.

Being the lone Slytherin does have its disadvantages of course. I am shunned from nearly all social gatherings; the rare few to which I am invited are generally in the form of a study session, during which my pupils try their utmost to keep their prying eyes off of my hair and contort their expressions of disgust into polite interest. They fail miserably.

My hair is not actually as oily as everyone tends to think. It is just a so incredibly inky shade of black, that when in sunlight, it gives off glints of a whitish hint. I've never bothered to correct anyone' s misguided judgments; I doubt they'd care very much beyond the brief bout of cynical giggles that they would emit. But I should hope that that is all that they would consider concerning my hair, for their sakes. They would be sorry cases indeed if the only reason for their avoidance of yours truly was because of a baseless fear of grease.

And yet, I digress again.

I hope not to bore you with my incoherent rambling. You see, I am not writing this particularly for anyone other than myself. Granted, should any despondent soul come across this book once I am finished with it and have long been rotting in my grave, I should, looking down upon him (or up, be that as it may), not feel towards him any ill will. If he may seek and draw out comfort from learning of the trials and tribulations of another, so be it.

But my main purpose is to ascertain my own character. I have found that when one does not talk much, but sits on the side and observes, one can determine much about the human psyche, as well as particular traits of various individuals. One of the things that I, as an onlooker, have noticed is that when one engages in a verbal exchange with another, one's personality is brought out into the open. One's character is also understood from the way one's fellow conversationalists relate to him or her.

Being that I seldom converse with others, and that on the off chance that I do, it is generally concerning Potions, Arithmancy, or the like, I have had rare occasion to examine my own disposition. Perhaps if I write down my past and present, upon later reflection, I should be better able to understand myself and to seek some guidance for the future.

I am somewhat frightened of what I may discover, but I am determined to do it nonetheless. After all, a Slytherin is, if nothing else, ambitious, right?

-S. S.

* * *

By the time Thursday night rolled around, James Potter was feeling extremely jittery. Not because of schoolwork (although he did have backbreaking amounts of it), and not because of Quidditch (although he did need a new Chaser and a decent one was nowhere to be had). No, he was nervous for a reason that he felt far surpassed any other possible grounds for uneasiness. He had a meeting with Head Girl Lily Evans in about forty minutes, and he was petrified.

Ok, so maybe the term petrified was a bit intense for this particular situation. What he really was was-

"Anxious there, Prongs?"

Peter plopped himself next to him on the couch.

James looked up from his Transfiguration assignment, which he had been staring at blankly for the last fifteen minutes. "What? Oh, hey Peter."

Peter chuckled. "Head Girl getting to you, huh?"

James tried to shrug nonchalantly and ran a hand up to the back of his head. "You could say that."

"Say what?" asked Sirius as he came up behind them, pens and parchment in tow. He sat down in a plush armchair opposite the couch where James and Peter were sitting, and he dumped his piles on the table between them. Remus walked in and pulled a chair next to the table.

Peter pointed his thumb behind his shoulder at James. "Prongs is getting antsy about his meeting with Lily."

Sirius made a rather unattractive face. Remus just laughed.

"Really, Prongs," he said assuringly. "I've already told you. She's really not that bad once you get to know her."

Sirius smacked his forehead in mock astonishment. "Tell me you're joking, Moony. You heard her on the train! 'Thank you for your interesting advice, Mr. Black, but I would prefer to handle Mr. Potter without having to resort to blackmail. Now, please excuse me while I join my fellow Gorgons and cackle in sadistic delight. Have a nice day.'" He spoke in high, choppy tones that sounded nothing like Lily's voice, but were oddly reminiscent of their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Spright.

James leaned back into the cushions with a forceful thump and rubbed his eyes. "Thank you, Mr. Black, for that encouraging boost of confidence."

Peter laughed quietly.

"Oh, come off it," said Remus irritably. "Honestly, you talk as though she's some sort of missionary of Satan. I'm telling you. You really don't have anything to worry about." He paused. "Just don't say anything unbelievably stupid."

Sirius bent over his parchment and snorted. "Easy for you to say. You're the sensible one."

Remus glared at him, but it went unnoticed, as Sirius was intent on his work. "Forget sense. I'm just talking about James behaving himself."

Sirius waved his quill carelessly in the air. "Sensible, boring, same thing."

James shifted in his seat. "Not that I'm not grateful that you share in my doubt, Padfoot, but didn't you say that you were going to try to be friendly with Evans this year? You know, so things would be easier on Thalia."

Sirius brushed a few pieces of hair out of his eyes and shrugged. "Yeah, well. I realized it sounded nice in theory, but just wasn't going to happen."

Remus crossed his arms over his chest. "What happened to all that 'open-mindedness' you all supposedly care so much about?" he asked impulsively. He immediately shut his mouth once he had realized what he's said.

Sirius's back stiffened from where it was leaning over the parchment. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," he said dangerously low voice.

Remus's cheeks turned slightly pink and he looked away. Peter gave James a worried glance.

James was actually a bit surprised. It was usually Peter who blurted out tactless remarks without thinking. For Remus to allude to the Black family's controversial views on the issue of tolerance was just...well, James didn't really know what it was but it sure as hell meant that something was bothering his friend.

There was an uncomfortable silence among the foursome. The merry crackle of the flickering flames in the fireplace and the chatter of fellow Gryffindors did nothing to lighten the mood.

"So," said James casually, running a hand through his hair, trying to act as though everything was perfectly normal. "Whatchya working on there, Padfoot?"

"Charms," was the gruff reply.

"Er, anything interesting?"

"Loquerers."

Remus gave James a desperate glance. His gray eyes were drawn in regret. "Padfoot, I-"

Sirius interrupted him with a forceful cough and stood abruptly, gathering up his materials hastily. "Excuse me," he muttered. He quickly made his way across the Common Room to the staircase that led to the dormitories, bumping into a few protruding legs and book bags on the way. A few fourth-years looked quizzically after him. No one was used to seeing the boisterous Sirius Black in such sullen spirits.

The three remaining Mauraders watched their friend walk out on them, at a total loss for anything to do. It wasn't as though Sirius had ever told them exactly what had happened with his parents that had eventually driven him to leave; they only knew that it had had something to do with the Blacks' Pureblooded-fanaticism.

It had been during Easter break of Sixth Year that Sirius had appeared at the front door of the Potters' house sopping wet from the howling thunderstorm, clutching his broomstick and trunk. He had taken refuge in their home for the rest of the year and then some, and still, he circumvented every question that was thrown his way concerning his inter-family disagreement.

The gloating looks that his brother Regulus and cousin Bellatrix had shot in his direction upon their return to school after the spring break didn't seem to have appeased the situation very much. Sirius had still scowled towards the Slytherin table every morning, noon, and evening during meals, after which he would rearrange his facial expression into a mischievous grin and become as loud and as obnoxious as ever, if not more so. James supposed it had just been a ploy of Sirius's to bounce his relatives' disdain right back in their faces with the attitude of one who couldn't care less. Horrible actor, he was.

The tacit war of murderous glaring had subsided considerably since the new school year began; in fact, it had almost disappeared completely. And while James was secretly grateful that Sirius no longer uttered rather graphic obscenities under his breath in rapid Pig Latin at every passing Slytherin, he didn't know if this new behavior that Sirius had adopted was all that much better.

Low hums and buzzing gradually filled the Common Room once more as students turned their heads away from the staircase to the boys' dormitories and resumed in their work and games.

Thalia was walking toward them with an equally perplexed look as those around her; she kept glancing back at the staircase in bewilderment. "What's up with Sirius?" she asked with furrowed brows.

Remus averted his eyes, and Peter was still rather pale and twitchy, so Thalia turned to look at James, who responded somewhat apologetically. "Accidentally mentioned his family."

Thalia whistled. "You have any idea what really happened with all that?" She sat down in the chair formerly occupied by Sirius and curled her legs up beneath her. The flickering of the light of the fire speckled her hair, which at the moment was looking particularly springy.

James shook his head and shrugged a shoulder, astounded. "No clue. We rarely ever mention it, and when we do, he usually manages to worm his way out of talking. It's a rather touchy subject." He brushed a piece of dark hair out of his eyes. "You know anything?"

"Being his almost-cousin and all," added Peter.

Thalia shook no. "Nah. I wanted to ask him about it, you know...in case I could help, but Lily said it was probably best if I'd just let him talk when he's ready."

James cocked his head to right, bemused. "How would she know? It's not like she's all that crazy about Sirius."

"Lily's good at seeing these sorts of things," said Remus, who had been quiet until then.

Thalia turned to look at him and raised her eyebrows in mild surprise, but said nothing about his unexpected knowledge of Lily's character. Apparently, Lily hadn't told Thalia about her acquaintanceship with Remus either. "Yeah, she is."

A devilish smile played about her lips. "Speaking of Miss Evans, how go the Head Boy duties, Mr. Potter?"

James groaned. Peter chuckled. "He's scared stiff of her."

Now it was Thalia's turn to giggle. "Scared? Of Lily?" She stopped laughing and thoughtfully placed her index finger to her chin. "Yeah. I guess I can see how she can be very intimidating." At James's wide-eyed look she waved her hand carelessly in the air. "Don't worry about it."

Grateful as James was for the digression from the topic of Sirius's current bout of melancholy, he wasn't sure that this was the issue he would have chosen to discuss instead. Nevertheless, he figured that if anyone would know how to survive his meeting it would be Thalia Tonks. "Not worry that she'll bite my head off? There's a feat I'd be a wonder to accomplish."

"Just don't say anything stupid."

Remus gave a triumphant grin.

James clutched his head in the hands. "Honestly! Is what I say really that idiotic?"

Peter looked away, trying to do so surreptitiously, but he was obviously trying to avoid answering the question.

"Well, you do tend to carry on about Quidditch a bit much," said Thalia.

"And you have a habit of making what you say sound overly self-centered," added Remus.

"You also have a god-awful temper that I just hope she'll never have to see."

"And you walk too confidently. Try toning it down."

The last remark was spoken by Remus, to whom James regarded with a look of both disbelief and disgust. "Really, Remus! She's not going to notice how I walk!"

"She will," he said definitely.

"Fine then. No need to shower me with compliments just now." James wrung his hair in his hands once again. "Jeez, and you people are supposed to be my friends."

"Sure, we are," piped Thalia cheerfully. "But what kind of friends would we be if we didn't point out every little flaw of yours so you can correct them?"

"Oh, I don't know," he drawled. "Maybe nice, thoughtful ones."

Peter sniggered. Thalia flapped her hand again. "Ridiculous. I'm telling you James, the only thing you really have to worry about is letting her be in control."

"Oh, that's nice. So now I'm just the incompetent Head Boy who sits about all day reading Marvin Miggs and not being allowed to indulge in the practice of taking House Points? Lovely."

She rolled her eyes. "No. I mean let her be in control of herself. Don't do anything or say anything that'll challenge her that way...that will make her doubt herself or cause her to become uneasy. Unless, of course, she challenges you to first."

James shook his head vigorously, as though trying to discard of old tidbits that were clogging up his brain to allow new room for this plethora of information. "Yeah, look. I've probably got to be going. Won't want to keep her waiting." He rose up from couch and lingered for a few moments of trepidation before he left the Common Room.

After he was out, Peter turned to Thalia. "So what do you figure?"

She grinned sheepishly. "I think I scared him a bit more than he deserved."

* * *

Thalia returned to the girls' dormitory a few minutes later to find Hannah sprawled out on her stomach, reading a romance novel on her bed, as she was wont to do when she should have been doing her Transfiguration assignments. Karen was diligently attempting to clean under her bed, but was incapable of doing so because of a family of Dust Bunnies that lived there that enjoyed bombarding her with pellets of fuzz.

"Hey girls," Thalia said cheerfully. She found grating on James's nerves to be very amusing at times; she often ended up in a particularly bouncy mood. The sight of Karen halfway underneath her bed kicking definitely helped to boost her spirits.

"Oh, hey Tha - ACHOO!" came the muffled sneeze of Karen. There was a rather painful bang as Karen's head hit the underside of her bed board. She emerged awkwardly, clutching at a small bump on her head. The front pieces of her thick dark hair had picked up stray pieces of gray dust. She twitched her nose. "What's up?"

"Nothing! Nothing at all!" She threw the back of her hand dramatically against her forehead and collapsed onto her bed. A soft hum of music came floating through the open window.

Hannah looked up from her book in mild amusement. "You sure about that? Because you seem a bit tipsy to me."

Thalia quirked a small half-grin. "Yeah? Well, now that you mention it, I do feel delightfully giddy!" She swung herself up in a seated position and bounced twice onto the mattress. Her hair sprung in tight coils with each jump. "Peeves and I were having a little 'chat.' He solemnly swore to leave me alone for a week provided that I supply him with several meals' worth of mashed potatoes. He said he'd pelt 'em at the Hufflepuffs some time."

"What's wrong with the Hufflepuffs?" asked Hannah, with her head on her folded arms.

"We've got a game against them in two weeks," grunted Karen as she repeatedly shoved a small broomstick underneath her bed. "Nice work, Thalia."

Karen was the only female Beater on all of the Hogwarts teams, a statistic that gave her much pride. She could certainly hit as forcefully as any male player, if not more so. She was tall - not so much as Lily, but she certainly had height to speak of, and she was very broad-shouldered. She imagined that it was largely due to her physique that she was such a successful Quidditch player. Thalia always said that she couldn't care less exactly why Karen had such a powerful club, so long as she knocked the opposing teams clear off their broomstick and into the Hospital Wing. Not that Thalia particularly wanted to cause anyone a concussion, but it was the principle of the thing.

"Highly cooperative, he is that Peeves," piped Thalia. "Once you know how to handle him, of course. Interesting fellow, he was once upon a time. Said I reminded him of the way he was when he was alive." She tilted her head to the side. "I was a bit insulted at the time, but now...You know, if I have that much fun in the afterlife, the world can't be half-bad."

Hannah shook her head. "I will never understand you. Honestly.

Thalia jumped to her feet and bowed gallantly. "Why thank you, Lady Hannah. Lily told me that only this morning, but she said, 'Thalia, I love you dearly, but you have by far the most skewed logic of anyone I've ever met.'"

Karen snorted. "And she's so proud of it too."

Thalia pretended to look offended. "And you wouldn't be?"

Karen didn't bother answering; she simply rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the Dust Bunnies. She had a tendency to become a bit moody when she was preoccupied with a task that she absolutely detested, such as the one that presently had her attention. Generally, she was in very good spirits, and among strangers, was often compared to Thalia. Thalia didn't especially see the relation; she was openly crazy and didn't really care what others thought of her, while Karen, though bubbly in her own right, tended to be a bit more subdued in public. She also had a certain tough streak to her that could be very forceful or intimidating, and when she was being sarcastic she often spouted out rather tactless remarks. But Lily said that behind the crude mouth was a heart of gold, and if Lily said it so faithfully, Thalia trusted it to be true.

Hannah was entirely different from Karen, even though they had been best friends from the cradle. Hannah was incredibly...sweet. She had not a bad word to say to or about anyone and greeted all with a smile. She tended to be a bit naïve in a certain respect with regards to others; she considered everyone to be a friend, and while at times this was a very worthy attribute, Lily, being the most cynical of the group, more often than once had to explain to her that peoples' intentions are not always as they seem. Hannah always understood at the time, but when a similar situation arose, she was always convinced that the person or people involved were unarguably different, and she very often ended up in tears.

Thalia and Karen were made very uneasy by these types of situations, so the role of the consoler generally fell upon Lily, who was a pure natural at it. Thalia was always amazed at the way Lily so gracefully comforted and soothed when confronted with someone in dire spirits.

And what made it even more fascinating to Thalia was how inconsistent Lily's personality seemed to be. One minute she was warm and sensitive, and the next she was stiff and callous. But Thalia still admired her beyond words, if not for her uncanny perception then for her unwavering sensibility and her ability toapproach everything with aplomb and fortitude. Thalia considered James's arguments for categorizing Lily as a stickler, and after having mulled over them for a bit, realized that his assumptions weren't altogether invalid.

But of course, he didn't know the real Lily.

"Ah-CHOO!" Karen bumped her head again and spewed a rather detailed string of expletives. A discordant twang struck the air. Hannah sighed and swung off her bed, grabbing a bottle of Frobingog's Fuzz Fizzler on her way to lying on the floor next to Karen.

"Your problem," Thalia heard her muffled voice saying as she headed toward the corner of the room where she had heard Lily's strum, "is that you care too much. Every single year you try to get rid of them, and every single week they come back. The Dust Bunnies love you. They think you're funny, trying to get rid of them." Thalia heard Hannah squat down next to Karen and stick her head under the bed. "Here, use this."

Thalia grinned as she bounced over to Lily, who was sitting on the windowsill, guitar on her lap, gazing pensively at the star-strewn sky. The just-waning moon was partly visible from behind a patch of drifting gray cloud; the covered bits penetrated the opaque film slightly, casting an otherworldly glow in the midnight-blue sky.

Lily was gazing at the stars with a mesmerized sort of expression, although she seemed to be looking past the light-years of time and space, and trying to delve deep into her own soul as well as the secrets of the world, one so close and unattainable, and one so far and infinite.

It was her "Dumping Look," as Thalia had so eloquently dubbed it several years ago. Lily wore it whenever she was contemplating the woes of the universe and strummed quietly to herself. When her three friends asked why she always played the guitar while she thought, she tried to explain that she was relieving herself from everything she had been building up inside. Thalia, being eleven at the time, thought it was kind of like 'dumping out her feelings'. And so, the phrase was coined. It wasn't until several years later when she and Karen happened to mention it in a hallway and other students stared at them disgustedly that they realized how crude the term sounded, but it had been too late to change it.

Thalia didn't want to disturb Lily; she looked so preoccupied with her own thoughts. So she stood a little back as Lily began to sing softly.

And it's whispered that soon,

If we all call the tune,

Then the piper will lead us to reason.

And a new day will dawn

For those who stand long,

And the forest will echo with laughter...

Ooh, makes me wonder...

Oooh, it really makes me wonder...

Thalia cocked her head to side slightly, listening. She knew the song. It sounded different now, because on the recording she had at home it was played with an electric guitar; Lily used a mournful acoustic.

She found herself wondering not for the first time if Lily had picked the song she was singing because of the way she had been feeling at the moment, or merely because she liked it. If it was the former case, Thalia couldn't even begin to imagine what must have been going through Lily's head; she loved the melody and the vocalist's voice, but the meaning of the words was beyond her.

Lily ended the song without singing any more of the lyrics; she stared beyond the moonbeams for a few moments longer, and then her head suddenly snapped to the side.

She smiled warmly when she saw her friend. "Hi! I was just finishing up." She propped up the guitar against the wall and dragged a black case out from underneath her bed. "Where've you been?"

Thalia crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. She smiled mischievously. "Oh, just having a chitchat with our favorite Head Boy." She wanted to see Lily's reaction when she told her exactly what they had been talking about.

Lily gingerly fitted the guitar into its case and raised her eyebrow distractedly. "Hmm? What about?"

"You, actually."

Lily snapped the case shut and sat on her bed. She looked up slyly and amusedly and crossed her arms. "Oh really? Did either of you say anything about my character that I didn't know already, or is it safe to say that he was just telling you how much he dreaded our upcoming meeting?"

Thalia grinned. "The latter. He's petrified of you." She waited to see what Lily would do, but whatever response she had been expecting, it certainly wasn't the one she got. Lily laughed. Loudly.

Thalia frowned. "What's so funny?"

Lily shook her head, still vibrating a bit, and started to get a bag together. "Nothing, it's just that he still thinks that my sole purpose in life is to humiliate him."

"And it isn't?"

Lily looked up. "I'm not really that bad, Thalia. Besides, I've decided to call a truce."

Now it was Thalia's turn to raise her eyebrows. "Why the sudden change of heart?"

Lily stood up and swung her bag over her shoulder. Thalia suddenly felt unbelievably short. "He seems different this year, more willing to take his duties seriously."

Thalia didn't know what delusional source had given Lily this information, but she decided not to question it, and though she knew that it would torture her later, she merely watched her friend leave the dormitory with a wave and go off to her meeting with James Potter.

Thalia smiled at the pair of sneezes that sounded from the other end of the dormitory and looked out of the window at the stars; she could see nothing in them remotely fascinating.

It was interesting the way Lily's sudden change of mood had altered her former peppiness as well. She shrugged to herself and muttered, "Well, James Potter, I take it back. She definitely is highly unusual. Good luck to you."