All the Young Dudes ( Sirius' Perspective )

First Year : Scars

Friday 15th October 1971

For the next few days, Remus Lupin was impossible to pin down. In classes, he doggedly ignored all of Sirius’s attempts to catch his eye. At dinner, he struck up conversations with Peter (who seemed both flattered and slightly frightened by the attention) to avoid speaking with Sirius. In the common room, if Sirius sat next to him, he would immediately leap out of his chair and make some hurried excuse to rush off.

It drove Sirius mad.

When he complained to James about it, the other boy just shrugged neutrally.

“Yeah, but he’s always running off, that one—are you sure it’s something to do with you?”

Sirius couldn’t very well explain why he thought Remus was avoiding him, so he gave up whinging about it and turned his attention to planning an ambush.

His chance came the very next week, during their flying lesson. Most of the kids had some experience on a broom, although some had more than others—James was insufferable, darting about and showing off with fancy loops and sharp turns. Sirius felt a prick of jealousy at the effortless way his friend roamed the sky, even though he was quite good himself; he wasn’t entirely used to being shown up yet.

Although the majority of the class could handle the basics, it was another story entirely for the muggle-born students. None of them had ever flown before, and in their first lesson it had become quite clear that they were enormously uncomfortable on their brooms. Remus was the worst of them all, going pale as he rose into the air and gripping the handle with white knuckles.

So it was no surprise that Lupin looked a bit queasy as they changed into their scarlet flying kits and laced into thick boots before squelching out onto the pitch. It had rained the night before, turning the entire field into a muddy, swampy mess.

“Right, mount your brooms please, ladies and gentlemen,” Madam Hooch bellowed at the group, “Nice strong wind today, so I want you all to take good care. Potter, no showing off!”

This last comment just made James grin, firing him up. They all clambered onto their brooms.

“I’d like five clean laps around the pitch, then a good landing back here from each of you. Mind the puddle and remember to lean into the wind where possible. Use it to your advantage. Five points to whoever’s back first.” With that, the gruff witch raised her whistle to her lips and blew hard.

James and Sirius darted off, zooming ahead of the other students and racing around the pitch.

“You’ll never defeat me, Black!” James called dramatically, smiling like his face was going to split in two.

“Oi, Potter, no showing off!” Sirius shouted back, laughing. Below them, Hooch was booming through her megaphone, telling Remus to fly higher. When Sirius darted a glance back, he saw that the nervous boy was already falling far behind the rest of the class, clutching his broomstick and looking like he was about to be sick.

James pulled ahead a bit, crowing triumphantly, and Sirius nudged his broom forward, attention back on the race. The wind whipped through his hair, and for a moment he felt entirely untethered, giddy with freedom.

By the end of the first lap, it became clear that James was going to win. He was much better at turning, and pulled ahead with no problem. The two of them grew bored with the race halfway near the end of the second lap—the rest of the class was just finishing their first—and Potter began showing off, circling the towers of the empty spectator stands and zooming back to complete his laps with time to spare. Sirius cheered him on, flying a few loops on his own broom, but it was clear that this was Potter’s show.