the one where the American meets the Marauders & the rest is water under the bridge
oc x remus lupin
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#3 jamespotter 1/9
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A mess of students poured out of the train doors. Within were small, jittery, children, no older than 11, as well as boisterous teens who more than compensated for the nervousness. The kids, who I inferred were around the sixth grade, were led away towards the dark, inviting lake, where they mounted small rowing boats and set off for a large castle. I wondered if we'd be going by water as well.
"Syd, come on! We're off to the feast!" Guess not. I took Peter's outstretched hand and set off in a light run to catch up to Sirius and James.
"There's just no way, you're mad!" James exclaimed. Sirius shrugged.
"Ask anyone, mate. Here, Syd," I looked up expectantly. "Who has the better seeker, the Arrows or the Catapults?"
"The better what?" Sirius snickered, James's mouth dropped open, Peter looked a bit nervous.
"Don't tell me you've never heard of quidditch!"
"Sorry? I'm a volleyball player!"
"What's volleyball?"
"Stupid muggle sport."
"Hey!"
"We've got so much to teach you, Carter."
We turned into a large dining hall. Huge tables were lined with fancy tablecloths and fragile china. I gazed upwards to find millions of stars twinkling back at me. Following the path of chandeliers and floating candles, my eyes fell on a stool placed at the front of the room. On top laid a beaten up hat. Off to the side sat a row of faculty members, chatting amongst themselves.
The students filed in noisily and took seats at one of the four tables. James, Sirius, and Peter began heading for the third one in and I followed behind them.
"Have you been sorted yet?"
"Huh?"
"Like into your house."
"Oh.. umm yes I did it with a man with a long beard. I think it starts with a G?"
"Gryffindor! That's our house!"
"Obviously she'd be a Gryffindor, it's the best house."
"'Course it is, I'm in it," Sirius winked and I rolled my eyes.
Sirius and Peter took seats across from James and I just as the pack of younger students came through the large doors. A few of them were dripping from head to toe and visibly shivering. Must have fallen in. A tall, severe-looking witch, with dark hair tied back into a tight, low bun approached the stool and the room went quiet. The hat, as if on cue, began chorusing through a song about people who lived centuries ago.
"The fucking thing's a soprano," I whispered under my breath. Apparently, I was not as discreet as I had thought, and the person to my right let out a small laugh. I looked up to find the boy from the train station failing to conceal his smile beside me. My cheeks flushed in embarrassment. "You weren't supposed to hear that."
