𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒 / 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐖𝐒 / 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐏𝐀𝐖𝐒

𝟎𝟐 - 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐠𝐬

𝐀𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝟐𝟖𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟓

You woke with a start, clutching the blankets on either side of your body and using them to pull yourself up into a sitting position. Dreams of cobblestone paths, tall burning torches, and the biting, vile taste of sea-spray blurred in and out of your mind. 

Your dreams always turned lucid in the weeks prior to school, even with nothing to fuel them. Once or twice a year you would dream of your sorting — the night that sealed your fate — and sometimes you swore you could still feel the weighted stares of your would-be classmates. But it's been five years since then and you were now on the crest of your sixth year at Hogwarts.

There was a candle burning at your bedside, illuminating the wooden tabletop that was cluttered with papers and books of all sizes. Your wand had been left to sit there while you napped and it rolled back and forth against the base of the candle-holder, coaxed into movement by the summer breeze that flew in through your open window. You moved to pull the blankets off of you and realized that there was something clutched in your right hand.

That's right, you remembered, lifting the slip of paper up to the light of the low-burning candle. You'd fallen asleep reading a letter from Andromeda. It had arrived late that afternoon in the talons of the Black's family owl. With a sleepy groan, you shifted to fold it back into a thin rectangle and placed it on the already dangerously tall stack on your bedside table.

Andromeda, or Andy as you preferred to call her, and her sisters had sent you constant invites to visit the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black over the summer months. All of which you graciously declined. You were hesitant to seek out the company of the Black family outside of Hogwarts where you wouldn't be protected by teachers or magical barriers. 

It wasn't that you feared Bella, Cissy, or Andy, but rather their relatives with whom you were less than familiar. Nonetheless you were always weary considering how Sirius often described his not-so-distant family.

Just as you suspected at the beginning of first year, he and James became inseparable throughout their time at Hogwarts. They, often accompanied by Remus and Peter, went on to wreak havoc nearly every day of the school year. And once you were old enough to understand, they let you in on a few of their pranks as well.

Eventually, talk in the corridors shifted away from the mystery of your house placement and instead to collectively cheering on or hating the boy that was James Fleamont Potter and his gang of misfits. Or how they preferred to call themselves; the Marauders.

There wasn't a day that went by that your mother didn't remind you of what an exceptional, beautiful young lady you had grown into. And sometimes you even bothered to believe her. Your parents didn't react the way you expected them to when you arrived home from first year with news that you had been placed in Slytherin. You expected them to cope the same way James did: One big freak-out followed by a smothering amount of Slytherin pride to prove that he still loved and supported you.

But there was no freak-out. Not even the slightest hint of surprise. The only sign that they'd actually heard you correctly was when you and James turned away to put your luggage in the trunk of the car and you caught your father shooting your mother with a quick knowing look.

Too afraid to question them any further, you let the memories of that moment stir in your belly all summer long before forgetting about it the split-second you returned for your second year. Then your third and forth. Now your fifth was well behind you and you were more than prepared to once again escape to Hogwarts for your second to last year before graduation.

You smiled, remembering how the wind felt on your face as you passed through the courtyard between classes and the all-nighters you would pull with the Black sisters in the nights proceeding a big test. It nearly made your hand tremble with excitement as you lifted your fingers to pinch the candle wick between them, extinguishing the small yellowed flame so you could return to sleep.