“So, summer?” James asked, over butterbeers in the Three Broomsticks on their last Hogsmeade weekend before exams.
Sirius and Remus groaned in unison.
“You know I can’t—” Remus started,
“They’ll never let me.” Sirius finished.
“I don’t see why, though,” James replied, innocently. “You both came for Christmas.”
“Yeah, but there’s some rule about me staying at St Edmund’s for the whole summer,” Remus shrugged. “While I’m there, I have to follow muggle law. You don’t get to visit anyone when you’re in care, unless they’re related.”
“And you know what my lot are like.” Sirius sighed, heavily. “Even after Christmas – and I think that was just to keep me out of the way, to be honest. Reg already told me I’m expected.”
“When did you speak to Regulus?” James looked up, surprised. Sirius shifted slightly on his stool, looking awkward,
“Er… the other day. Wasn’t worth mentioning, only saw him for a minute.”
“I’ll be there all summer, James,” Peter said, loudly.
Sirius rolled his eyes rather obviously, but James smiled and patted Peter’s knee,
“Yeah, great, mate – least I’ll have you, eh?”
“I might be able to swing a Diagon Alley trip,” Sirius said, perking up slightly, “I’ve thought about it, and if you brought the invisibility cloak then we might be able to work something out…”
The three of them began to chat excitedly about this plan – Remus let them. Ever since he’d put a stop to the animagus initiative the marauders had been at a bit of a loose end. They needed something to use their creative energy on, and it generally had to be at least mildly illegal.
“Moony,” James said suddenly, “Where is St. Edmund’s, exactly?”
“Epping Forest,” Remus supplied, promptly, “Why?”
“We could always come and visit you…”
“No.” Remus said this with such forcefulness that Sirius and Peter’s heads snapped up, alarmed. Remus swallowed dryly, “Just don’t, ok? It’s a bad idea.”
His insides churned – the humiliation he would feel when his friends saw how he lived; where he came from. It would be too much to bear. What would they say when they saw his dull grey muggle clothes, or the other boys’ rough faces and hard knuckles? The concrete blocks and the splintering portakabins and the scrubby patch of grass out front. They would pity him.
“I’ll write,” he said, hurriedly, hoping to allay them, “And you lot can tell me everything you get up to. Hopefully I can come to yours again at Christmas, Potter.”
“You might not,” Sirius said, suddenly, “Full moon’s on the twenty-ninth this December.”
Remus looked at him, oddly. He prided himself in having an excellent memory, but Sirius took the cake when it came to the moon cycles.
James laughed,
“How come you’ve memorised every bloody full moon until we’re fifty, but you can’t get above an ‘Acceptable’ in Astronomy?!”
“Some things are important to remember, some things aren’t,” Sirius shrugged, draining his tankard, “And messing up the constellations really annoys my parents. So.”
* * *
Mid-May, 1974
Remus yawned and closed his book. He’d done plenty. More than enough. Too much, if you were to ask Sirius. But then, it was all very well if you were lucky enough to have wealthy dead relatives. Someone with Remus’s prospects couldn’t afford to slack off.
