You're too old to lose it, too young to choose it
And the clock waits so patiently on your song
You walk past a café, but you don't eat when you've lived too long
Oh, no, no, no, you're a rock 'n' roll suicide.
Friday 28th June, 1974
Unsurprisingly, Sirius achieved obscenely high marks in everything except Astronomy without lifting so much as a finger to study. By this point, Remus wasn’t sure if Sirius genuinely did have some strange pureblood gift, or if he was just an unrecognised genius. Remus didn’t mind either way – he himself came top in Care of Magical Creatures, Runes and History of Magic – second highest in Arithmancy, after Sirius.
“Nicely done, kid!” Ferox slapped him on the back at breakfast, the morning after results came out. “My best student.”
“Thanks, professor,” Remus grinned, feeling dizzy with pleasure.
“I’ve a few books you might like to borrow over the summer – pop up to my office before you leave, eh?”
“Teacher’s pet!” Sirius teased, as the tall, jovial man walked away, whistling a jaunty tune. Remus didn’t respond – he was too pleased with himself.
“Can’t believe that’s it ‘til fourth year now.” James said, cleaning his glasses on his robes.
“Do you have to keep reminding me?” Sirius moaned, setting down his knife and fork.
“Plenty to do over the summer,” James replied, “It’ll fly by.”
“What are you doing over the summer?” Remus asked, suspiciously.
“Planning next year’s pranks, obviously,” Sirius said, a little bit too quickly. “Got to keep ahead of the curve, Remu my boy, we’ve a reputation to maintain.”
It was the last official day of term, so Remus decided ignore the fact that this was clearly a lie. He had all summer to be paranoid about the other three leaving him out; there was no need to worry yet.
After breakfast, he wanted to go straight to see Professor Ferox, but thought that might come across a bit too eager – plus, the other three would surely want to come with him, and Remus couldn’t stand the thought of Ferox meeting Sirius and James. He would no doubt be charmed by their natural born charisma, and wonder why he’d ever thought Remus was special at all.
The foursome went upstairs and packed – that is, James, Remus and Peter packed. Sirius bounced around the room trying to distract them, sending books and clothes flying, flicking his record player on and off.
“It’s getting done whether you like it or not,” James chastised, hands on his hips in a very good imitation of his mother.
“You’ll do it for me, like last year,” Sirius replied, standing on his bed and attempting to do pull-ups hanging off the bed frame. The ancient wooden beams creaked.
Remus closed his own trunk. His corner of the room looked very bare without the usual chaos of books, papers, quills and clothes strewn about it. He went over to the record player to have one last fond caress of his favourite album covers. Summers were so quiet, without Sirius’s music. Matron only ever liked to have the radio on once a week – for the Radio 3 Choral Evensong.
“Moony,” James said, suddenly, “Don’t you have to go and see Madam Pomfrey?”
“Er… yeah, but not right now…” Remus looked up, surprised.
“Well, I mean if you’ve finished packing, you may as well, right? When I’ve done Sirius’s stuff I was going to suggest we all go out for a go on our brooms, and you hate flying, so…”
