the cadence of part time poets

Chapter 8: Forms

Heartbreaker, soul shaker,
I've been told about you;
Steamroller, midnight stroller,
What they've been saying must be true;
Red-hot mama, velvet charmer,
Time's come to pay your dues...

- "Hair of the Dog" Nazareth, 1975

Thursday morning's Holy Communion was, as expected, a very dull affair. Remus might've tried to skive off all together had James not told him they took attendance and wrote letters to the families of students who skipped out, especially if you were daring enough to do so the first week. He reasoned that if he was going to make his escape from Hawkings appear genuine—or at least moderately surprising—letting his father know that he'd been out to lunch on the second day of school probably wasn't the best course of action. So, like the rest of his roommates, Remus hauled himself out of bed at 7AM that Thursday morning to listen to the priests drone on and on with their rites and prayers.

The hymns felt awkward and Remus couldn't remember any of them from the Sunday Eucharists he'd attended as a child. The other boys had no problem of course, apart from Peter who spent most of the time trying not to nod off on his feet. James and Sirius both seemed bored, occasionally whispering to one another behind boyish smirks or thumb-wrestling in the middle of the pew, but still they chanted and sung like everyone else. It was easy to pick out Sirius' voice during the singing and the Latin bits, but then he'd caught him staring during a reading of one of the Gospels and Remus spent the last half hour with his eyes trained on his shoes.

Avoiding Sirius might've proved more difficult due to their similar school schedules had Peter and James not appointed themselves as peacekeepers. Everywhere Remus went he was head-off by Peter, who had a better nose for tracking than his father's hounds. Despite Peter's best efforts, Remus managed to shake him off between Modern Foreign Languages and lunch, after he'd snuck off to have the fastest fag of his life. He told himself it was just to keep hold of the Remus he'd been back home in London, but Tomny, the cheeky bastard, would've called it nerves. Remus might've silently agreed. He'd never really smoked much on his own before that summer, but now having a cigarette between his fingers just felt calming. It meant he could shut up for a while and tune everything out, and everyone else around was expected to do the same.

No one seemed to have told James Potter that though.

He came around the side of the Flamel Building with his book bag tucked under one arm, his glasses lopsided on his face like they usually were, looking as friendly as ever. "There you are!" He cried, as Remus fumbled to drop his cigarette and crush it under his shoe. "Armie Bell told me he'd seen you crossing here after class."

As James approached Remus hacked a cough into his closed fist. He'd been so surprised by his sudden appearance that he'd inhaled straight into his lungs, burning a hole in his esophagus and making his eyes water.

"You really missed some funny stuff in chemistry. Slughorn made a lava lamp out of a coke bottle and then Sirius—" James paused, a funny look crossing his face as his nose wrinkled. "Remus are you smoking?"

Remus coughed into his fist again and obstinately shook his head.

"You are!" James said in a mixture of light shock and awe.

"So what," he snapped, hacking a few more times, "you gonna tell?"

"No," James started, almost laughing, "Pete's brother sneaks cigarettes in all the time from the village. Other stuff too, but he won't share that."

Finally able to breathe again, Remus suddenly felt more optimistic as he pressed his hands into his pockets and thumbed Tomny's zippo. "You smoke then?"