Throw me a line, I'm sinking fast
Clutching at straws - can't make it
Havana sound we're trying,
hard edge, the hipster jiving
Last picture shows down the drive-in
You're so sheer - you're so chic;
Teenage rebel of the week
Sunday 4th January 1976
The rest of the Christmas break passed in a shaky, black and white sort of way. The Potters hosted a small gathering for New Year’s Eve, but very few people came. Many of their close circle were now working for Dumbledore, Mrs Potter explained, and busy with the war effort. Whatever that was. Their peripheral friends had either turned their backs on the Potters (“we’re blood traitors,” James proudly declared) or else were simply too frightened to associate themselves.
Moody would not hear of Mrs Potter taking Sirius to Diagon Alley, but he needed shoes to begin the new term in, so they all sloped down to the village one afternoon. There, Sirius had fallen madly in love with a pair of brand new black Doc Martens, with bright yellow laces. Remus was pretty jealous; his own pair had been knock-offs from down the market, and had fallen apart long ago.
On their way back from town, they’d passed a couple of punks - a very odd sight in this little country village, but Remus supposed there were teenagers everywhere. One of them had a row of heavy silver rings in the cartilage of one ear. The other had green hair.
Mrs Potter had forbidden any dyeing of hair, but the night before school was due to begin, Remus had relented after hours of Sirius’s begging, and helped him pierce one of his earlobes using his prefect pin and a potato. It had bled - a lot, but Sirius was thrilled.
Thus he presented himself before Remus the morning they were setting off for London - he had messed up his hair for volume, flipped it over one shoulder to show off his new gold earring, stood with his legs apart like a guitarist, hands in his pockets, big black bovver boots,
“Muggle insight,” he grinned at Remus, putting a cigarette between his teeth, “How do I look?”
“Like a twat.” James said.
“Like a rock star.” Remus said, groaning inwardly. He was doomed.
He had thought (hoped, really) that Sirius’s trauma might have cooled Remus’s considerable ardour towards his best friend. Might jolt him into realising that – as friendship was all they would ever have – he ought to focus his energies on just being a bloody good friend. But no. Sirius was a demi-god, and Remus was helpless to do anything but worship him. You silly, lovesick prat, he told himself.
At any rate, Remus was glad to be going back to Hogwarts, where lines were very clearly drawn, and there were exams to focus on.
Sirius turned heads at King’s Cross. Muggles didn’t give him half a glance, but wizards - or, more accurately, witches – stared. Mary came clacking over to him on the platform in a pair of turquoise suede boots with a heel that brought her up to his height.
“Hiya gorgeous!” She chirped, then hugged him fiercely, and Remus caught the look on his face over her shoulder. He looked pleased.
It must be nice, after a hard time, to hold someone in your arms like that. Especially someone as emotionally open as Mary. Remus allowed his own pain to peak, then subside, slowly, concentrating on smiling and listening to Marlene tell him all about her Christmas.
Once aboard, they bundled into their usual carriage, and Remus would be forever thankful to Lily, who suggested that he join her in patrolling the length of the train a few times.
