the cadence of part time poets

Chapter 42: Winter Aches

Have pity on the young man,
They ain't got nothin' in the world these days, I said;
They ain't got nothin'!
They got sweet fuck-all!

- "Young Man Blues" The Who, 1970

There was no denying it: he'd utterly wasted November. The prank with the lads had been proof of that. The time Remus had spent being mad at Sirius could've been put towards putting shits like Snape and Barty in their place. They could've been spent on music, or actually studying for his exams like he'd meant for. In reality, Remus had spent more time in the library than ever and yet between his constant worrying and bad mood, none of it had sunk in. It was the greatest waste of his sixteen years of life.

And so, as the November chill gave way to the fluffy snowfalls of December, Remus told himself he'd do better. He'd get some real studying done, hang out with his friends like he was meant to, not just because he was avoiding one of them. Except, the final month of term came with a few more unforeseen circumstances, one of which being the revelation that while he'd been off being bitter and snarly, James Potter had proved himself a more than capable guitarist. In fact, their first real practice session in the dorm had left Remus' jaw on the floor.

"I know right?!" Sirius said, practically vibrating with delight.

Remus could hardly believe it. Where Sirius' playing ranged from delicate and bewitching to furious and erratic, James had found a home right in the middle. He was charming and humble and yet his careful fingers danced up and down the strings as gracefully as a ballerina. It would've been captivating without any sound at all.

"Wow," Remus had said when James had drawn his song to a finish. "That was... amazing."

"Thanks, Moony," James smiled shyly.

Remus looked down at his lap, where the Fender sat abandoned between his legs. He suddenly felt the need to busy his fingers with anything other than playing.

"I think your E-string sounds a bit out of tune though," he said, gesturing to the acoustic, "how 'bout I—"

"Oh, no it's okay, I got it," James said, flipping the head toward himself and fiddling with the tuning keys.

"He picked that up fast too," Sirius said. "Looks like we'll have a real band soon!"

He hated himself for it, but the next time either of them asked him to play, Remus made up an excuse and escaped down to the common room.

This is what you wanted. If you're missing out, it's your own fault, a nasty voice would ring. Your fault! Your fault! La-la! La-la!

But he'd already missed out. When Andy's guitar had first shown up in the mail and James agreed to learn a few chords, he'd been just as excited as Sirius; they'd found yet another addition to the bolshie cult that was rock and roll. He had no idea at the time how their dynamic would shift. Now why that would bother him so badly in the first place, Remus still wasn't sure. What he was sure of, was the exact moment it became apparent that he no longer needed Sirius' extra tutelage with the bass.

After the stink-bomb incident, the school's supply of tomato juice, paste, pie—anything that could get the smell out—had been exhausted and the only four non-Salazar students who smelt of steaming rubbish had been effectively pinned for the prank. Sadly for those like Snape who were praying for a more public downfall, the Hawkings' statute of limitations had played in their favour. Rather than being hung from Castle Hall by their thumbs, each of them served a light two-week detention sentence with their forms teachers before they were freed to ensure they still had plenty of time to study for their examinations.