Magnetized Alignment 1/2
Title: Magnetized Alignment
Team: Team MWPP
Author: rev02a
Rating: R
Warnings: Cursing galore, off-screen sex, implied sexual relationship, academic dishonesty, violence, slash (I know, you're shocked)
Summary: If the Sorting Hat placed the boys in the wrong house, the Prank at the Willow would be more than a little different. Prompt: Aries (March 21 -- April 20): "It's not always necessary to suffer in order to make progress, but adversity does teach us a great deal. The conflict you face now is not essential for your growth, but it can and will be turned to your advantage."
Genre(s): AU, Adventure
Magnetized Alignment
The Sorting of the 1971 first years did not go as expected.
Perhaps it was a shade of the bigotry to come, or maybe just a thoughtless prank with long stretching repercussions, but someone
(Olaf Rookwood) charmed the Sorting Hat to place people according to stereotypes instead of their character.
There was reasonable outrage. Parents protested and professors disagreed, but the school's governors cited that "that's the way this school has always sorted..." and, in the end, tradition (and the Rookwood's vast fortune) won out. The Sortings were not overturned, much to the (now righted) Sorting Hat's displeasure.
"There are students in the wrong House," it huffed to Dumbledore, "Godric's House is suffering worst of all! Some are placed according to intelligence, but need to hone their courage to know its depths! And some, those who are loyal and courageous, are among snakes!"
The Hat could lament for hours. In the end, the Headmaster found that the best way to deal with the garment's sulk was to suggest that the wizarding population, when faced with adversity, often learn a great deal more than they expect to.
"Perhaps, those who would be best housed in Gryffindor will teach their bravery to their new housemates. I would also hope that we would see them brave enough to pursue friendships between Houses where once there was rivalry," Dumbledore would muse to the abused headpiece.
The Hat, however, would shift and scrunch down, as if leaning down to meet the Headmaster's eye, "That is our prayer, is it not? For what future awaits us if some of those who are the bravest end up with a deep seated hunger for power?"
Dumbledore never appeared to be touched by this argument, but secretly, he and the old Sorting Hat were of one mind. It hurt him to see his own House's roster missing the names of Lily Evans, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black. However, he had not challenged the governors' opinions. The more focused those men and women were on the Sorting mishap and its outcome, the less attention they would give to the presence of a young werewolf named Remus Lupin.
Dumbledore watched Lupin in the early months of his first year. He worried that the gentle natured boy would become easy prey for the more aggressive members of his House. He also feared that the bloodlust that had helped categorize werewolves as "Dark Creatures" would win out, and the sweet child would turn into a black-hearted wizard.
But in his observations, Dumbledore learned that Lupin's true nature would not only leave him a strong willed, yet tender boy, but would gravitate an angry, lonely boy into his life. From his perch at the High Table, the Headmaster was pleased to see Remus Lupin and Sirius Black become true, real friends--an oddity of the Slytherin House.
-*-
1971 melted into 1972, and then into 1973. Really, it is 1974 before anyone is especially prepared for it. James Potter is completely content to be a fourth year Gryffindor. He has no reason not to be happy, he has free reign of the entire castle with the aid of his father's Invisibility Cloak. He is top of his House in every class and, if he is honest with himself, the only other person in the entire year who could even hedge in on his grades is that snobby Slytherin Sirius Black. He has a minion (although he'd never call him that to his face) named Peter who follows him around with an expression bordering on worship. He has the attention of the beautiful red headed girl from Ravenclaw (well, sort of, she threw a book at his head last week). His roommates are decent blokes, although Peter sings in his sleep and those Prewitt twins give him a run for his money in the prank department.
However, he still feels like something isn't right. It is like... well, it is like he is wearing someone else's trousers. They fit all right, but they just don't sit correctly. It is as if one hem is too long or one pocket is off center. He just can't get comfortable this year. The feeling is constant these days and it makes him twitchy.
This morning, he heads down to the table-lined Great Hall and serves himself seven pancakes under a cheery blue-skied ceiling. The bright sun illuminates the Great Hall; it somehow makes his breakfast and the illustrious Miss Evans more alluring. Peter is plopped at his side blabbering on about how much he loves blueberry pancakes. James doesn't mind because he likes his friend. Overall, this day has all the makings of a wonderful Wednesday.
But, like everything else so far this year, the shadows begin to descend.
Severus Snape, the oily snake, rushes into the room. The way that bloke makes his robes bellow and swish dramatically, it was like he was practicing his Dracula routine. James snorts at the thought. The momentary humor was nearly enough to distract James from his routine hex on Snape. Once he is control of his snickering, he raises his wand toward Snape and contemplates giving the Slytherin permanently flat feet or an appendectomy. But then Snape steps close to Evans and James lowers his wand. He cannot chance injuring her.
James seethes. Lily Evans speaking with that greasy, sleazy, dark bat--but all further thoughts are broken by the late arrivals. Sirius Black, straight-backed and graceful with every footfall, enters for breakfast. All of the young ladies at the Hufflepuff table turn, point, gaze, and giggle at his appearance. Black, however, is completely ignorant of their very existence.
He is fully concentrating on listening with open interest to the boy at his side. Remus Lupin is less interesting to look at, but James is aware that several young ladies have found his jagged facial scars intriguing enough to become the basis of entire romantic novels. Lupin says something to further his point, using his Herbology book to gesture with and Black laughs.
A Slytherin laughing? James is perplexed, but eventually decides that they must have been discussing the joys of thumb screwing newborns. He absently follows their progress across the hall, until, with an agile grace, Lupin looks over his shoulder and meets James's gaze. The hair rises on the back of James's neck. It's strange, Lupin makes no unfriendly expression, in fact, he seems vaguely polite. However, the message comes across clearly enough.
Mind your own, mate.
James casts his eyes back to his syrup-drenched breakfast and then chances another look up at the two Slytherin. Lupin has touched Black's elbow and directed his attention back to the table hanging under scarlet and gold banners. They are slowing in their pace, both looking over their shoulders directly at James.
Both Slytherin are looking him into the face and they hold one another's gaze. A long moment passes and James almost feels more off kilter than he has all year. It's like the Earth decides to spin anti-clockwise or all the atoms of oxygen polarize.
A ghost spreads across Black's face and he looks genuinely confused. Then he trembles--no shakes like a dog freeing its torso of water, and he breaks the connection. Lupin also looks away, while rubbing his forearms as if to dispel gooseflesh, and focuses on Black instead.
It's always been this way; the three of them have these moments of near ionization, as if the three of them are magnetized to pull together. James shakes his head. That can't be true, Black and Lupin are Slytherin, and while snakes shed their skin, they never shed their true, dark nature. They could never be friends.
James notes that the two snakes do not sit with the other people of their year, but settle into a space at the end of the bench, closest to the High Table. Several first years openly beam at the chance to sit next to two boys from fourth year and one of the eleven-year-olds asks for help with Potions. James watches with a confused fascination as Black leans over the girl's textbook and points out something on the page. The girl asks him a question and he turns to Lupin for confirmation on the answer he is about to give. Lupin is examining a piece of streaky bacon, but nods his agreement before biting into his breakfast. The girl turns to another boy from her year and they conference for a moment before returning to Black for more clarification.
James is genuinely baffled. Slytherin don't help one another; hell, they don't help anyone. They're all about self-promotion and self-preservation. But Lupin and Black seem to be much too helpful to fall into either of those categories.
James chews on the inside of his cheek. He's able to assist the younger years, but they rarely come to him. He sees them turn to the prefects and their dorm mates, but not him. Even Peter, who will probably kill himself with a Potions' explosion in the next four years, has never come to him for advice. James tastes the early twinges of copper as his molars scissor into the rubbery flesh of his cheek.
James looks further down the Slytherin table to where the older students sit. In the very center are the fifth, sixth, and seventh years. They gracefully cut their breakfast and daintily raise cutlery to their mouths. They speak pleasantries and polite conversation. James turns and looks at the older years of Gryffindor. Arthur Weasley is laying facedown on the table asleep. Molly Prewitt is using her fork to point as she scolds her younger brothers. Alice Knightly is putting on lipstick. Three sixth years are copying from one essay while levitating pieces of pancake into their mouths.
From the exterior, the people seated at the green and silver dressed table are more civilized than his Housemates. James glares at their petite bites and refined napkin dabs. He knows who they truly are; he knows no one can shed their inner snake.
These genteel, older students are wrapped up in their baby kissing, connection building and are, thus, oblivious of the end of the table, but James sees. Lupin leans his head into Black's and says something. Black grins then slowly turns and looks at the High Table. He pushes a strand of shoulder-length black hair behind his ear and then catches Lupin's eye and grins wickedly.
Lupin pulls his wand out of his robe's sleeve and lays it on the tabletop. James watches Lupin lower his face down to his shoulder and whisper something. A burst of light shoots out of his wand and zigzags across the table, bouncing off of plates and butter trays like a ball in a pinball game. As the ray shoots further down the table, the students begin to follow its progress. Just then, the beam hits the syrup pitcher and the sticky goo explodes into the air and rains down on the polite chatter of the older Slytherin.
As his older Housemates scream and flap their robe sleeves indignantly, Lupin innocently slides his wand back into his sleeve and Black throws his head back and laughs riotously at the sight of his cousins drenched in syrup. The rest of the hall seems to join in with his laughter. Even Lupin offers a sly grin. James can't help but mirror the facial expression. That, he muses, was pure brilliance.
Then McGonagall thunders over the crowd, "BLACK! LUPIN! DETENTION!"
Both boys quit laughing, look at one another, and shrug. James can't help but notice that they don't seem surprised.
Part of him aches unexpectedly. Snakes or not, Lupin and Black are pranksters--damn fine ones at that--and James longs for brothers in crime. He glances at Peter, who is still chuckling at the sticky-coated Slytherin prefects. Peter is great as a fellow kitchen raider and pre-prank plotter, but spontaneous practical joke development is not his forte. James looks down the table at Gideon and Fabian, the twins responsible for the infamous Giant-Squid-Gender-Change-of-1973. They are brilliant as well, but work solely as a pair. In the Gryffindor world, James Potter is a lone mischief-maker.
For the last seven bites of his pancakes, James daydreams about a universe where Black and Lupin join Peter and he in creating mayhem. These daydreams spark something desperate in James. Sure, Peter and he are friends, but they have no marrow-deep kinship that Lupin and Black seem to share (the friendship that James craves).
He can't help himself, James must know what that is like. He skives off Evans-gazing (or "stalking," according to Peter) for the afternoon and follows the two Slytherin to the library instead.
-*-
James finds them at a shadowy table near the Muggle Classic Literature section. Lupin is hunched over a parchment, scribbling notes from a Charms text. He glances from book to parchment, from parchment to book, quill flying in order to fill the twelve-inch requirement.
Black is adjacent to Lupin, but slung over a chair backward, with his knees folded over the back of the chair and his head pillowed by the table. He's reading a book that he's holding over his head. Regardless of the awkward position, he is entirely engrossed. Somewhere between his book copying, Lupin notices this too, and a wayward, boyish grin spreads across his face.
Lupin moves slowly, sliding his left arm out and pulling a book from a pile at the table's corner. He places it directly over the text he's reading from, about a quarter of an inch from Black's ear. Lupin waits, an icon of pure mischief, with practiced patience.
At the same moment that Black adjusts his book to turn the page, Lupin throws the cover of the book open. Apparently, it is one of those ancient Egyptian torture manuals; it emits an eardrum-shattering scream. Black's reaction is instantaneous.
He roars a deep, surprised yell, flails his arms, and falls off his chair. James has to clap both hands over his mouth to muffle his laughter. Lupin snaps the cover of the book shut with an efficient, proud snap and an accomplished smirk. A moment later, Black leaps off the floor and tackles Lupin out of his chair.
"You!--you!--" Black sputters, while pining Lupin to the floor.
"Yes, I am, indeed, myself," Lupin replies, with an even and sarcastic tone.
Black pokes him roughly in the center of his forehead and finally admonishes, "Bad form!"
Lupin just laughs with the skin around his eyes crinkling and his teeth gleaming in the poor light. Black pokes him in the forehead again, and then stands up and dusts himself off.
"And you made me loose my place, you bastard," Black grumbles, as he leans over and retrieves his book.
Lupin hauls himself off the floor and begins to straighten his work area. He stretches his arms over his head, pops his neck, and settles back into his chair. Black, however, pouts.
"More?" he whines incredulously.
"Sirius," Lupin replies as if he speaking to a two-year-old, "I still have seven inches to go."
"You can copy mine."
"That would be plagiarism and, as I have told you before,--"
"Yes, yes, academic dishonesty will send me to the eighth circle of hell, got it. But, Remus, if I sit in here any longer my brain will turn to goo and ooze out of my ears and onto your parchment and you'll have to recopy it," Black says dramatically.
Lupin raises an eyebrow at Black. Black sticks out his lower lip and bats his eyelashes.
"I suppose," Lupin begins slowly, "if your brain were to ooze out then you would be dead. As such, I could copy that essay and turn it in as my own work."
"Yes," Black says enthusiastically, "but while I would not contest the originality of your homework, I would also be dead." Lupin taps his chin with his pointer finger and appears to contemplate this.
"Mmm," he hums, "indeed. That would be rather..."
"Lonely? Agonizing? Painful? Dire? Appalling?" Black supplies desperately.
"Quiet," is Lupin's assertive reply. "Quiet," Black echoes, deflating.
"Imagine," Lupin replies, waving his hands outward to express the possibilities, "I could go to the library and finish all my homework without a single disruption."
Black narrows his eyes and points at the previously screaming torture text.
"I would like to remind you, sir," Black begins after Lupin has looked at what he is pointing at, "that I was being very well behaved when someone distracted me."
"Whomever this terror is should be sent to the gallows immediately," Lupin replies, with a stern nod.
"Now, let us not waste human life," Black says gallantly, but Lupin raises an eyebrow at the words "human."
Black's face darkens, "I'm not having that discussion with you again, one out of thirty does not a monster make."
James is very confused, but doesn't spare too much time on this throw-away comment. He is focusing on the pair's physical interactions. Lupin simply smiles, or perhaps grimaces. Black touches Lupin's shoulder, as would a sparrow rest from flight. Lupin lowers his eyes to his parchment, but Black tightens his fingers on his hold.
"I need fresh air, lest I die in this mausoleum of learning. You," Black squeezes the shoulder again to emphasize his point, "need pumpkin juice before detention."
"I do?" Lupin queries, but he is already moving to pack up his things. Whatever momentary hardship James witnessed has past.
He watches them gather their belongings and teeter to and fro as they push one another while walking out. He doesn't hear what else they say to each other, but what he has seen is enough. They are friends; they are best mates.
Now he is certain, his world is not aligned because he is lacking in true friendship.
-*-
At eight o'clock Remus and Sirius tromp up from the freezing, damp dungeons and knock on Professor McGonagall's office. She calls for them to enter and Sirius pushes the door open.
"Boys, the syrup..." she begins after both of them have settled into armchairs.
"Oh, Professor," Sirius teases, warmth and affection dripping from his words, "we've done so much worse."
"That, Mr. Black, I am fully aware of. However, did you consider that when syrup is charged, it also heats?" Sirius's face transforms into a mask of irritation.
"Mr. Black, that syrup burned students. Now, I know that Professor Dumbledore asked you to perform some of your less destructive pranks to make sure that no one comes to question your Animagi lessons, but I must insist that you not injure your peers in your desire to protect the nature of these meetings," McGonagall removes her glasses and wipes the lens on a handkerchief.
Sirius looks at Remus with a leer and Remus has to cough to hide his smile when Sirius says, "Yes, because we all know that 'the nature of these meetings' would make tongues wag."
McGonagall's head snaps up and forward in surprise. Sirius grins. Remus rolls his eyes.
"I will pretend that I did not hear that, Mr. Black."
"Thank you, Professor, that's probably best," Remus answers hastily for his friend.
Sirius glares at him, but any response he is creating is cut short when McGonagall begins her review questioning with firing squad speed and accuracy.
Remus likes Transfiguration well enough, but he does not like these additional lessons that Sirius has gotten them roped into. It wasn't Sirius's fault--well, yes. Yes, it was entirely Sirius's fault, but for once in the boy's life this could be overlooked.
Professor McGonagall is quizzing Sirius on O'Brien's Six Quandaries of Bowel Configuration. She doesn't need to; Sirius has already proven that he's done the extra reading and studying of the N.E.W.T.'s level material. Remus rubs the bridge of his nose. He knows these laws now too, because for the last week Sirius has grumbled and moaned.
"Who the hell cares that the sphincter must be reduced to his atomic structure and then aligned with its Zodiac element? Do you, Remus? Do you care? Because I sure as hell don't! And, while we're on the subject, did you know that your sphincter, old friend, is the Earth element? Hmm?"
He should be grateful for this entire experience and he knows that. Sirius is a clever chap, but damn rash. The day after he'd confirmed that Remus was a lycanthrope, he'd run headlong into his Animagus transformation study without consulting Remus.
Luckily, Dumbledore had caught the Slytherin in the Restricted Section of the library one night while Sirius was researching. The older wizard had insisted that Sirius continue with his ambitions, but he had also insured that the study continue under the tutelage of Professor McGonagall. Remus is glad for this interference, as Sirius could have easily have turned himself into a dinner bell or an infectious virus or a wad of chewed gum.
"--very well then. Shall we begin the Runeing?" McGonagall asks, moving for some parchment without waiting for Sirius's reply.
Remus is fully aware that he has not been listening at all and he is now clueless to what is going on. Sirius reaches into his robe pocket and produces an abused piece of parchment.
"I've already chosen my Runes, Professor," Sirius speaks with a clarity that does not hide his insecurity from Remus. McGonagall raises an eyebrow, "You've already chosen?"
Sirius hands the parchment to her and she unfolds it slowly. Her eyes never leave Sirius's face, it's almost as if she's preparing to read aloud a note she has confiscated during class. Finally, her eyes settle on the script on the page before her.
"You are," her voice is trembling with genuine affection when she speaks, "sure of these? They are very... strongly worded, Mr. Black."
Sirius just nods, a strong abrupt gesture.
"Very well. Mr. Lupin," McGonagall is passing the parchment to him, "you will be performing the charm." Sirius reacts quickly, making to intercept the parchment, but McGonagall moves it out of his reach.
"You will let him see this, Mr. Black," she says sternly, "otherwise, you will have wasted our time." Remus is more than moderately curiously when his hands close around the edges of the parchment.
"Mr. Lupin, the first set of Runes will be burned," Remus looks up in alarm at this verb, "onto Sirius's right wrist. They are the outcomes of his transformation that he sees as being beneficial for others. And the second set," she says more softly, "are his reasons for doing this for himself. These go on his left wrist."
Remus is aware of how emotional his Professor seems and, simultaneously, how still his usually movement-driven friend is. The first set of Runes are words he recognizes: protection, shelter from harm, brotherhood, pack.
He smiles. Yes, these would be the outcomes for him when Sirius manages to complete this feat. Secretly, he cannot wait for that day. The idea of having company during the lonely hours of the moon's reign settle both his and the wolf's anxieties.
Remus reads the second set of Runes. These, however, actually make Remus's heart shift in his chest. Its typically steady rhythm skips like one of Sirius's well-thrown rocks skirts across the surface of the lake.
Completion. Safety. Companionship. True love.
He looks up from Sirius's delicate writing and tries to catch the other boy's eye. Sirius, however, is gazing rather intensely at the wood grain of his chair arm.
"Sirius," Remus whispers and Sirius jumps as if he's been shocked with a direct current of electricity.
"Sirius," Remus repeats and this time Sirius raises his face. His jaw is set and his face is portraying a practiced indifference, but there is a flicker in his eyes like the sky before lightening strikes. Remus knows this man-child like he knows the pulse of his own blood. Honestly, he's never seen Sirius this terrified in his life.
Instead of pointing this out, he says, "I need your right hand, my friend."
Remus knows the charm and he's not sure how. Maybe he was listening subconsciously when McGonagall and Sirius were speaking earlier. Or maybe, what his professors say about the power of love magic is true and his heart already knew the incantation. Remus, the rational person to his core, is surprised to find that he doubts the former very much.
Sirius offers both his hands to Remus with the insides of his wrists pointed skyward. His face is still unreadable, but his ready submission speaks of the level of his trust in his friend. Remus raises his wand over Sirius's right wrist and concentrates on the symbols that he needs to scorch onto Sirius's skin.
"Inurussi auxliliari nostri." To brand for the assistance of our people, he thinks.
Sirius twitches as the black lines trace onto his wrist. There is a nauseating aroma of burnt flesh lingering in the air under Remus's nose, but he keeps his composure as he surveys the clearly legible Runes.
He looks up at Sirius and searches his storm-heavy eyes. "Alright?" he asks with audible concern.
Sirius nods again and twitches the fingers of his left hand. Remus licks his lips and gazes down at the aristocratic hand. One finger bears the Black crest on his Signet ring. His fingertips wear the calluses of hours of bent over his violin's neck. And now, his wrists will bare his love for Remus Lupin.
Remus consults his magic and finds the concentration for the second spell from his own heart.
"Inurussi ad bonam frugem se recipere." To brand for the betterment of one's self, Remus knows effortlessly.
Again there is the sickening smell, but this time, Remus has nothing to do but look at the Runes seared onto his friend's skin. The areas around the burns are turning pink and blistering. The Runes themselves are charred black and look almost like tattoos. But Remus's eyes see little of this; he is concentrating on the Rune speaking of love. He cannot help but wonder if he is brave enough to declare his own feelings in such an outward display.
Then, McGonagall leans over Remus's lap and dabs at Sirius's wrists with what must be Essence of Murlap.
"Well done, Mr. Lupin," she says gently.
Sirius doesn't flinch when McGonagall treats his burns. He doesn't look away from Remus either.
Their lesson ends earlier than usual due to the drain of the magic preformed. They walk in silent, twined steps. The stone walls echo their footfalls. The temperature of the castle drops lower and lower as they descend the steps toward their dormitory.
"I didn't mean for you to find out this way," Sirius says at the same time that Remus says, "The feeling is mutual, you know."
Both boys stop walking. Sirius is facing Remus with an unguarded expression. There is hope flickering in the thunderclouds of Sirius's irises. Even still, Remus can smell the fear, a heady mix of burned tea leaves, urine, and saline.
"Mutual?" Sirius whispers, as if he a small boy who is hearing of the secrets of Father Christmas.
Remus remembers the bluntly worded letter he received from his father the day after his parents learned of the outcome of his Sorting.
Boys experiment with sex in boarding schools, and Hogwarts is no exception. When I was a lad, I heard tales of how the Slytherin House elder students would force themselves on the younger ones. Be wary of them, son. Be safe.
His father had been correct, of course. On his second night in the castle a huge, dumb fifth year named Kelton Goyle came into their dorm room to "introduce Lupin to the Slytherin rules for Half-Bloods."
As Goyle had advanced into the room, Sirius had stood up off his bed and marched toward the older boy. "Pardon me?" he had asked, with his posh drawl.
Goyle glared at him and moved to push Sirius. Sirius however, raised his left hand and showed Goyle his intricate Signet ring. Goyle froze and blinked furiously.
"Your mother is having tea at Mother's circle tomorrow, is she not? I could write her and let her know how kind you've been to my roommate and I by introducing us to Hogwarts. I could be specific." Even at twelve, Sirius was well versed in playing the game of high society politics.
Goyle had blanched, "I wouldn't touch you."
Sirius turned his head a fraction of an inch, and replied, "No one could prove that, now could they? And who is going to believe
you--a dirty-blooded, low-cultured fifth year--or me--an innocent, pure blooded, heir--in this little tale?" Goyle backed out of the room and begged apologies long after Sirius had shut the door.
"Thank you," Remus had said, and Sirius had waved it off.
"Stay away from him, he's trouble," was all that Sirius had offered.
Remus wishes that he could say that they were friends from that moment on, but it simply wasn't the case. They were simply too different, and it took time for them to overcome their communal lack of trust.
But in time, after their friendship had blossomed and secrets were discovered, they succumbed to the adventures of boarding school, like Remus had been warned of those first days. It was Remus who had made the first move, probably due to Sirius's utter unfamiliarity with affection. In time, however, straying hands and shared moments of gasps and thrusts had bloomed into something else.
Something clearly articulated on Sirius's wrist.
Remus smiles at Sirius and casts a suspicious eye around the hallway. Seeing no one he leans out and kisses Sirius's surprised mouth. Sirius returns the kiss happily and they continue their trek to their Common Room hand-in-hand.
-*-
On to Part Two