Chapter 6: Bed & Breakfast
Remus woke earlier than usual. The light sneaking through his curtains was dim and low, pre-dawn light. He closed his eyes against it and tried very hard to go back to sleep, but there was something wrong with the room. It had been changed. He could smell it. He took a slow, deep breath through his nose and let his drowsy mind work through the individual elements. Peter still stunk of his prank from the train, acrid and sharp. Sirius smelled of sex, so Remus knew what he had been doing before he fell asleep. James smelled of ink; he had probably been writing a letter to Evans. Those aromas were all recognisable and belonged.
There were other smells. Furniture polish and fresh from the laundry linens. Those were the scents of a new bed not yet slept in. The clean tang of ozone lit on his tongue; it was the same as ocean air but also of magical transportation such as Apparition or a portkey. That didn't belong, certainly. Apparition was impossible inside Hogwarts' grounds, and the House Elves moved without noise or smell, so it had to belong to something or someone else.
If he could only explain it, he could fall back to sleep.
Grumbling, he pulled the curtain aside and glared his confusion at the room. Even in near-darkness, he could see that James's bed was too close. There had been enough room for Sirius to lie on the floor between Remus and James's beds without his head or feet touching either, now the other bed was two feet closer at minimum. He stepped out, careful not to stub his toes on the now too-close bed. He blinked and saw the reason for the alteration to the room. A new bed, four posts polished and heavy scarlet curtains tied back, had been slid into the space between James and Sirius's beds.
"Oh, that explains it," he yawned and went back to his warm mattress. The mystery solved, he fell back into sleep until shouting roused him a few hours later.
"OW! Bloody, buggery! Who put this stupid trunk here?" Sirius shouted and stumbled back onto his bed, gripping his foot where it had made contact with the offending trunk. He glared his anger at the offending trunk, reading the plaque so he would know who to blame. "Who is this Harry J. Granger prat?"
James grumbled a sleepy reply, rolling over and falling back into his dreams. Remus stepped around the trunk and extra bed easily even as he yawned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes; that did not aid Sirius's mood. "He's probably the bloke from the hospital wing," Remus said after a yawn. "Guess he's a Gryffindor… wonder where the girl is."
"In your dreams apparently," Sirius smirked and watched his friend flush. "No worries, Moony. We'll find a way to make her yours. I'm sure it'll be much easier than bringing Evans around."
"Well, thank you," Remus replied with a hint of sarcasm and left for the washroom.
"Harry J. Granger," Sirius muttered and looked back at the trunk. So that was the name of the unconscious boy from the hospital bed. Sirius had held his hand, felt his frantic heartbeat. The part of him that Remus would approve of stirred with desire to help him, to show him the way to classes and make sure he avoided fights with Slytherins. But the Marauder won out and he decided a prank would be the best welcome the boy could hope for.
Having his underpants garlanding the common room would be a fine 'Good Morning' to Harry J. Granger, Sirius decided.
He knelt by the trunk, pausing to listen for Remus's feet in the hallway. All he heard, though, was Peter snoring and James muttering about Evans and a Quaffle in his sleep. The Marauder set about trying to pick the locks before Remus came back. Magic didn't work; his spells rebounded back at him and knocked him on his ass. Cursing, he tried to open the trunk manually. He was very good at picking locks, having learned at an early age after all the times his mother would lock him in his room. No lock stood a chance against Sirius Orion Black, but apparently no one had informed these three locks because they were not opening.
"What are you doing?" Remus asked in his Prefect voice, as stern and crisp as McGonagall's.
Sirius yanked the pin from the stubborn lock and deftly slid the thin bit of metal into the crease of his palm. "Just… admiring the quality…" He gave the lock a polish with the hem of his shirt.
"Leave it, Pads," Moony warned. "Come on. I have to meet the kid and show him the way to classes, and there's no way I'm leaving you here to defile the poor boy's things on his first day."
"Right!" Sirius said. "Save the defiling for next week." He grinned, jumped up and dug through his own trunk for a uniform and robes. He dressed quickly and hurried after Remus, eager to see if Harry J. Granger acted anything like the black-haired, hazel-eyed boy he so resembled.
Following his friend into the common, he found it unnaturally empty at that early hour of the morning. Professor McGonagall stood by the fire, her spine stiff and tartan dress heavy. On the woman's left stood the pair from the infirmary. They looked extremely nervous. The girl's fingers were working manically, kneading her knuckles raw. The boy's eyes darted up every few seconds to study something of interest before darting back to the floor. Sirius noted his eyes almost glowed with excitement and curiosity, and that they were intensely green.
"Harry and Hermione Granger," McGonagall introduced them, "Remus Lupin, Sirius Black. Mr Lupin is your Prefect. You can rely on him when you need direction or assistance."
"And Sirius?" the boy asked, the tone and tenor of his voice sounding so like James Potter it was startling. Sirius hoped he wasn't imagining the cheeky quality.
"Well, I think you might disregard most anything Mr Black tells you unless you can confirm it with Mr Lupin or Miss Evans," McGonagall replied.
"I am insulted, Professor," Sirius protested. "When have I ever steered a fellow Gryffindor wrong?"
"There was the time just last year when you convinced Silvia Dunn that the best way to pass OWLs would be to answer every question with a question," Remus said, his eyebrow raised in challenge. "Or perhaps when you talked Fenton into transfiguring his owl into a crocodile and leaving it in the first years' washroom… or when you managed to—"
"Yes! Thank you!" Sirius said, his voice affecting anger while his face clearly showed pride. "I might have done one or two things to Gryffindors, but I wouldn't dare prank these two."
"And what makes us so special?" Hermione inquired.
Sirius swept her into his arms. "I'm a sucker for a pretty face," he winked at Harry and gave the girl a quick kiss on the cheek that left her flushed bright red and stuttering.
"Be careful of Mr Black and his friends," McGonagall warned in a mild tone as if this was simply the behaviour she had come to expect from the boy. "Your schedules." She handed them each a parchment and left them in the care of the prefect.
"What's this? Introductory Healing?" Harry frowned at the timetable in his hands. "They don't have that in our ti—old school."
"I think it'll be good for you to learn that with all the trouble you get into," Hermione commented. Harry shrugged and nodded at her logic while Sirius's eyes lit up at the prospect of another troublemaker. "At least they didn't force Divination on me. Transfiguration this morning; I wonder how it compares to our old class." She stopped. "Oh, no! My books!"
"You can borrow mine," Harry said. "I'll write to Flourish and Blotts for a spare set after class."
"No, Harry, I can't have you spending your money on me," she insisted with a shake of her head.
He looked at her meaningfully. "You're my sister, Hermione… why shouldn't I spend it on you?"
"Oh, right," she muttered and noticed the pair of boys staring at them and listening intently to their every word. "Um… Breakfast?"
Remus watched her nervous fidgeting for a moment. "Right," he said, not at all sure what to make of them. "That's in the Great Hall. I'll show you the way."
He led them through the corridors, pointing out vanishing steps or moving staircases, which paintings could be relied on for accurate directions and reminding them repeatedly to watch out for Peeves. Hermione put on a very good show of being interested in what he had to say while Harry struggled with having his dead Godfather walking along beside him, staring at Harry as if he were the most interesting thing ever to enter Hogwarts.
Ever since Tonks had begged him for Sirius's old record collection, he had been haunted by dreams of a Sirius this young. While this boy looked very little like the one in Harry's dreams, he was still having a hard time believing this was a not dream now.
"Harry," Hermione touched his arm. "You're staring off."
He blinked, refocusing his mind and eyes on the present, "Sorry, got lost in thought." He turned toward the Great Hall, but remembered half a second later that he wasn't supposed to know where it was. "Um… Where are we?"
"The entrance hall," Hermione said, feigning a hint of confusion. "Remus says the Great Hall is this way. Where will we sit?"
"Next to Remus and me, of course," Sirius declared with a disarming smile. He took hold of her arm and pulled her into the Hall, pushing her down onto the Gryffindor bench beside Remus, who looked exasperated by his friend. Sirius settled down beside Harry, his eager grin now shining on the slightly anxious boy. "So, Harry J. Granger, what's the J stand for?"
"James, my father's name," Harry replied in a quiet mumble.
He nodded. "We've got a mate named James… looks a lot like you. If you're willing, I can think of more than a few pranks involving twin Potters," he smirked and let his eyes drift to the enchanted ceiling as he imagined the possibilities. He was so wrapped up in his devilish thoughts that he didn't notice Harry choking on his juice at being called a Potter.
"Morning, Marauders," the jovial voice of James Potter greeted as he dropped onto the bench opposite them. "Ooh and guests."
"The Grangers," Remus introduced them. "Hermione and Harry."
"Harry James Granger, middle name from his father," Sirius said and looked meaningfully at his friend.
"There are loads of people called James, stop making a fuss," Harry grumbled and took another drink of juice. He kept his eyes trained on his plate, knowing that if he dared look directly at James Potter he would not be able to stop staring.
"Um… Harry James Granger," Sirius said, his tone in no way joking. "Are you ill?"
Harry looked at him sideways, "No. Why?"
"You're not actually eating anything," the tall Marauder observed, "and you're making James over there look like a heavy-weight." He poked at Harry's side, feeling the ribs directly beneath the boy's skin.
Harry slapped the invasive hand away and glared at him. He was almost as bad as Tonks. This was awkward and stressful enough without him acting all worried. He forced his eyes back toward his empty plate, remembering the last time someone had mentioned his lack of appetite.
It had been Lupin who had pointed it out. Lupin had worried about him, worried enough to make a pact to get the boy to eat. They had been eating the same miniscule portions since he had arrived at the Burrow in July. Glancing over, he saw Remus eating a sickening quantity of eggs and bacon and couldn't imagine being able to hold that much down.
As Sirius stared, Harry took a piece of toast and a slice of bacon, eating slowly and not enjoying the sensation of having food in his mouth.
"No worries," Sirius grinned and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "A few weeks trying to keep up with us and you'll be putting it away like a champ. Right, Peter?"
"Right," the boy agreed.
Harry's head shot up and he looked at the boy sitting beside James. He was unremarkable next to the charismatic James Potter, so unremarkable that Harry hadn't even noticed him.
But he noticed him now.
The traitor. The rat. Voldemort's cowardly and submissive follower. He had cut off his own hand to bring the monster back to life and power.
Harry had not felt a surge of anger like this since the previous term, and then it was always accompanied by a searing pain in his forehead and a proximity to Albus Dumbledore. He wanted to strike the fat little coward opposite him, cut him down and prevent all the problems that he would cause – deaths, betrayal, imprisonment and heartbreak.
The narrowed green eyes remained fixed on the boy longer than anyone thought normal. They accepted he would study them, learning their faces and trying to remember their names for later, but he was keeping his eyes trained on the round-faced Peter Pettigrew far too long. He was not studying the boy so much as glaring at him.
The boy under scrutiny shrunk under Harry's hard gaze, trying to make himself as small as possible and hide behind James. He looked like a mouse caught in the mesmerising eyes of a venomous snake, too frightened to break eye contact, knowing that the moment he did the strike would come.
As the two boys stared at one another, the others watched in confusion and morbid curiosity, unsure whether they wanted to interrupt or just let the action play out to the end.
Harry's jaw clenched in anger; with minimal fat to disguise the movement, every flexed jaw muscle was visible. His thin fingers gripped a butter knife until his knuckles turned ghostly white, desperate to send the dull knife across the table into the other boy.
"Harry," Hermione whispered and placed a hand on his arm. "No."
The boy jumped at the contact, dropping the knife from his hand. He blinked away from his own dark thoughts and looked around at the fear, worry and anger his reaction had caused.
"Sorry," Harry said hurriedly and ran from the Great Hall.
They watched him go, and then they turned their demanding eyes to Hermione.
"What the bloody hell was that about?" James asked as he pushed Peter back to his seat on the bench. The round-faced boy looked nervously between his friend and Hermione, clearly concerned that she would take up her brother's angry posture.
"That's no way to make friends around here," Sirius commented lightly as if having a friend threatened was something that happened on a daily basis. Although, given their pranks, it might well be something that occurred regularly, Hermione concluded.
The girl looked everywhere but their faces, certain they would see her lack of absolute honesty if she looked into their eyes.
"I'm sorry. He," she pointed toward Peter, "looks a lot like someone that hurt Harry," she told them quietly. She hoped it wasn't too much information, but she had to tell them something.
"And that makes it okay to threaten me with a knife?" Peter demanded in an outraged squeak. In his mind he had evaded several swipes from a dangerously sharp knife and thought himself rather brave for keeping his composure.
"Harry wouldn't hurt anyone," she defended. "It's just been a difficult journey. He's tired, that's all. Besides, he hardly 'threatened' you."
"That's true," Sirius nodded. "Hooper did you more harm last month in Diagon Alley." The others murmured an agreement and dropped the subject.
Annoyed that his brush with death was being ignored, Peter sat back on the bench and eyed the girl with suspicion. "You don't look alike, you and your brother."
"He's adopted," she said, keeping her eyes on her food so that he wouldn't see the guilt she felt about lying.
"Oh," Peter said, unsure what else to say.
"That's unusual," Sirius commented.
"Not really," she said. "I've known several adopted children."
"I'm sure you have," he allowed. "But all the families I know wouldn't dream of bringing unknown stock into their lines."
"Snobs," Remus said.
"And completely untrue," James added. "My parents have practically adopted you, Padfoot."
"That's his nickname," Remus informed her quietly as James and Sirius began to bicker about whether he was really adopted or just an extended guest in the Potter home.
Hermione put an appropriately confused look on her face and asked, "What sort of nickname is that?"
"Difficult to explain," replied the boy vaguely. "I'm Moony, by the way."
"Pleased to meet you, Moony," she smiled and offered her hand in greeting.