unspeakable | jegulus

fading roses

chapter title: a rose for emily by the zombies

James and Mulciber left the train side by side. Snow was falling over  the train platform in slow, pirouetting flakes, spinning onto school  uniforms and gathering in piles around the edges of walkways, in  doorways, between the train tracks, a dusting of white like powdered  sugar covering even the muddiest, most ruined bits of snow. Some of the  first years were tipping their heads back to catch snowflakes on their  tongues, laughing and chattering in pairs of twos, clusters of threes.  James missed being a child. He missed the ease of childhood, and the  comfort of real friendship–the sort of friendship you can only find as a  half-formed thing. A child, shaping other children and being shaped in  return. Perhaps that always happened with friends, shaping each other  and trading parts of yourselves until you become distorted versions of  one another, stealing fragments and phrases to keep, but James felt like  a more permanent and less malleable creature than the creature he had  been when he was eleven. He felt like there were aspects of his nature  irrevocably set in stone, for better or worse. Severus was hiding in his  hair at James' other shoulder, enormous black eyes darting nervously  over everyone who passed by them beneath a sheet of greasy black hair.  Whenever anyone looked back at him he averted his attention like the eye  contact burned. James sighed.

"You'd probably have a bit  more luck in love if you didn't stand like that," James muttered, and  poked at his bent spine. "You're tall, but no one even realizes because  you're always standing like bloody Quasimodo—"

"I would  still be delighted to hex you." Severus spared him a very sour look,  slouching even more in protest. "You're getting too comfortable  insulting me."

"It's good advice." James narrowed his  eyes, looking him and down. "You were an easy target for a reason, I'm  trying to help you out."

"How incredibly generous of you,"  he said, dark eyebrows raised with disbelief. "I suspect you have to  work out as often as you do because if you missed a week your neck would  be too weak to support your massive fucking head."

"See,  the only way you can think to insult me is calling me fit." Spots of red  burned high on Snape's pallid cheeks. His embarrassment was as familiar  as Lily's, for an entirely different reason. Mulciber audibly sighed  and walked faster to join Avery and Sinistra, leaving them behind. James  kept talking, unashamed, smirking very mischievously. "I'm not an easy  target. You should consider taking my advice. I'm coming from a good  place right now. From the bottom of my heart, I really mean this: I  think your life would be better if you didn't skulk around like that  with shifty eyes, it makes people nervous."

"I have no desire to be popular," Severus said, with utter contempt. "I'm not vapid like you and your friends."

"You  think I'm vapid?" James asked, staring down at him, stopped in his  tracks. The other students streamed past them toward the carriages,  ducking under the hoods of their cloaks to hide their hair from the  snow, a pair of third years ran between them, chasing each other with  fistfuls of fresh powder, giggling. Everyone seemed to be in high  spirits. Everyone but them. Snape eyed him nervously, spindly arms  crossed over his chest. "Truly? Even now?"

"...no..." His voice was microscopic.

"So  why do you think I value the impression I make on other people so  highly? Why do you think I'm trying to help you make a better impression  on people too?" Severus was practically cowering with James' undivided  attention on him now that they were nearing school again, like he was  falling back into muscle memory. "If I'm not vapid."

"Ego?"  Severus' eyebrows steepled. "Vanity?" James scoffed. He unceremoniously  pulled him away from the busiest part of the platform to a quieter  place with less wind.