Chapter Text
The train whistle pierced the ears of all who stood on platform nine and three-quarters; James saw a few of the older kids flinch and nearly laughed. Arrogant for an eleven year old, he was quite prepared to have a laugh at everyone here. Shouldn't they be used to this by now? He could forgive the muggle-borns. Though not the ones above fourth year. That was just laughable.
Cocky as he was, this was his first time aboard the train- his father, Fleamont, was incessantly early for every occasion- a trait which earnt him a few laughs, and one that had also allowed him to earn such a magnificent amount of money. James, however, was not.
He'd just finished hauling his new trunk off the overhead rack when another dark haired boy entered, looking around his age.
'Gorgeous,' was James' first thought. He gave an easy wink, and the boy grinned back.
Distracted, he allowed the trunk to fall with a thump onto the floor, narrowly missing the tips of his converse. The boy let out a bark-like laugh and made to throw himself down upon the seat, leaving his trunk in the doorway, before James hauled him right back up again.
'What do you think you're doing? Help, nitwit!'
He stared incredulously.
'You dropped it!'
'Yeah, 'cus of you... anyway, what I'm getting out will be beneficial to the both of us,' grinned James, and a medium sized bag with the entwined letters 'J.F.P' plonked into the chair between them, spilling an array of instantly recognisable jokeshop tricks.
The other boy looked delighted, and held out a pale, long-fingered hand.
'Sirius. Blimey, you came prepared...'
Choosing to ignore the notably twat-like name, James proffered his stockier tanned one.
'James Potter. Got to get the year off to a good start. My mum was a prankster when she came here, and if I don't live up to her legacy she's not buying me the new Comet next season.'
They shook hands, and started rooting through the bag.
'My mum'd never let me near this shop. We don't usually go to Diagon Alley, the house elf gets stuff for us... not that I want that, or anything,' he added hastily, while James raised his eyebrows, 'mostly if they want... antiques, they get it through private buyers. Gits.'
Catching on, James reassured him: 'don't worry about that. My lot'd probably do the same if my dad didn't hate the idea of having a house elf.'
'Does he really?'
'Yeah, they had one when he was younger, but he liked being independent too much when he earnt his money... and mum didn't mind. At least I still don't have to do stuff. You don't have to pretend to hate your parents for it, anyway, doesn't make them gits.'
'They are though.'
'What?'
'Gits.'
'Oh.'
They sat in a momentary silence before the compartment door slid open again (as the Zonko's bag was quickly stowed under the seat) to admit a lank-haired, short boy, and a taller red-haired girl, both of whom looked distastefully at the trunk Sirius had left in the entrance. James cast an appraising eye over her before turning, sullen, to look out at his family on the platform. Both were scanning the train windows for him, and beamed when they caught his eye. He caught Sirius' reflection in the glass, looking glum, and looked around for a similarly dark-haired and handsome family, but couldn't find one. Perhaps Sirius just had the good genes.
The train started to chug away, and the redhead bumped past Sirius to get to the window. He could spot her family easily; they shared the same flaming hair, a darker red than that of the Weasleys, who his parents had had for dinner two weeks ago, and saw that while both her parents were thrilled to see her, her sister had turned away. He watched Redhead's smile waver.
Ten minutes into their journey, James and Sirius were still staring out of the window at the countryside flashing past. He wondered what Hogwarts would be like. Obviously it was remote, and he knew it was in Scotland- his parents had described a loch, or something. He'd mostly just focused on what they'd said about the lessons. Immersed in excitement for the transfiguration Ollivander had promised, he didn't look up until he heard the oily-haired boy venerating... Slytherin?
'Who wants to be in Slytherin? I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?' he asked Sirius, in a vain attempt to better his mood.
Unsmilingly, Sirius replied, 'my whole family have been in Slytherin.'
'Blimey... and I thought you seemed alright!'
His grim mood seemed to lift.
'Maybe I'll break the tradition. Where are you heading, if you've got the choice?'
At last. An ice-breaker. James mimed lifting a sword.
'Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart! Like my dad.'
The immense volume of Gryffindor memorabilia, dreams and princess-rescuing games were not going to waste.
The oily kid made an indistinct noise which James nonetheless recognised as disparagement. Unsurprising. He looked like he hadn't seen daylight (or clean water) in four years.
'Got a problem with that?'
He would have added some crueler comment about his skinny arms being unable to bear the weight of a sword, but the critical eye of Redhead and the stern tone of his mother in his head prohibited it.
'No,' he said (despite the classically Slytherin sneer), 'if you'd rather be brawny than brainy-'
'Where are you hoping to go, seeing as you're neither?' interjected Sirius. James congratulated himself on his excellent judge of character as he burst out laughing.
Redhead's lofty tone did not sober him up.
'Come on, Severus, let's find another compartment.'
Ah, well. With her tolerance of Severus and his ridiculous name, she'd probably end up in Hufflepuff or Slytherin herself. There would be other Gryffindors. He mocked her along with Sirius as she strode out with her nose in the air, and stuck his foot out as Sev- Snivellus, ha- passed.
'See ya, Snivellus!'
The compartment door slammed shut and the two collapsed into giggles. Sirius retrieved James' bag.
'What do you think? Do we get them first?'
'No, no, you've got to be tactical... if we get them now we know she'll just go find some prefect and we'll lose points before we've seen the bloody school. Find a nice secluded carriage of prospective Slytherins and let off a dungbomb.'
'Ahh... set the tone for the year, I see... so we just roll one in as we pass? Stick the door shut? It's what I used to do to my sister. Ha, she'll have no idea what's hit her once she's here...'
'You've got a sister? Don't know if I feel bad for you. I'm an only child myself. All the love.'
'Yeah, I got that,' Sirius grinned as James aimed a kick at him, 'count yourself lucky, anyway. She's depressed all the time and all she wants to do is follow the stupid rules. Probably marry one of our cousins at fifteen.'
'You're kidding!'
'Yeah... eighteen, maybe. Ancient and Most Inbred House of Black.'
He could have kicked himself.
'Should have known you were a Black. Snooty, probably got loads of girls trailing you onto the train...'
'You can talk! Should have seen them slobbering at you through the window!'
James gave his cockiest hair flick.
'Trust me, I did. We can be the paramours of Gryffindor tower together.'
'Ha! Assuming I even get in.'
'Rubbish, you're Gryffindor. Anyway, about this prank. I have a better idea than the proposed 'strolling innocently past'. My way, we get to witness the action...'
With a magnificent flourish he withdrew an opalescent, shimmering fabric from his trunk.
'Woah- where'd you get that?'
'You know what it is?' asked James, with no small measure of indignance. This was his most prized possession and would not pass without a great deal of envy.
'Oh, yeah, magical artifacts is like lesson one of Black Family Heritage. I think a great uncle made one at some point, I don't know, I never paid that much attention... anyway I recognise an invisibility cloak when I see one, and that's a bloody good one.'
Satisfied, James threw the invisibility cloak about his shoulders with the usual dramatic flair.
'Only got it a couple of weeks ago. It was my dad's, but Mum told me where the kitchens are, she'd be horrified if I didn't manage to scrounge a few illicit materials in my first term. You want some lunch, by the way?' he added, as a stooped witch shuffled into view.
'Yep. Can't wait to treat myself to sugar for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I shall do everything within my power to destroy my family's legacy here, and I'll do it all in the first week.'
'And I can't wait to introduce you to the wonder that is pringles. That kid of the Weasleys' brought it round, he gets loads of muggle stuff, magazines and everything. I think they live in a muggle village.'
'Really?!'
Sirius' delight seemed out of proportion.
'Could you get him to send you some stuff? I've always wanted to get into muggle shops but that's not happening with Mother around. Mission one is now established: collect as much muggle memorabilia as possible so I can glue it to my wall with a permanent sticking charm.'
'Nice. That's third year magic, isn't it?'
Sirius waved his hand dismissively.
'Yeah, but that's a nonissue. I will go above and beyond to piss off my mother.'
'Arthur's only like eight,' James laughed, 'I can't make him your... dealer, or something.'
'Irrelevant. Oh, she's here now, look...'
They spent a productive few minutes hoarding what appeared to be most of the food on the harassed-looking witch's trolley, before freeing her to the last few carriages in the train. Sirius was particularly entranced with the liquorice wands; a fact which disgusted James, who believed they should be studied in the Department of Mysteries.
Post-lunch, the operation began. Though both were reasonably tall for eleven year olds, Sirius the shorter, they could fit comfortably under the cloak without risk of exposing themselves. With everyone tidied away in their carriages to enjoy lunch in the sweltering heat, they could choose their victims.
'How about this lot?' suggested Sirius, peering in at a bored-looking crowd in unmarked robes.
'C'mon, they're first years.'
'So are we...'
'We need to pick people we know deserve it- oh, here we go. We could spare the first year.'
They shuffled under the cloak to examine an unruly crowd- mostly fifteen-year olds, with one uncomfortable looking first year in the corner.
'Perfect,' muttered Sirius, and began to draw a crude symbol on the breath-misted glass.
'Nice,' James said appreciatively.
A snobbish-looking boy with shoulder length, platinum blonde hair looked scornfully at the door. They could hear his muffled voice through the pane.
'Damn second-years have probably enchanted the compartments again.'
The moment he opened the door, James rolled the dungbomb inside; affording them the perfect opportunity to jam the door, lean back and enjoy the chaos.
'Ugh. Glad we got Lucius Malfoy.'
'You know him too?' enquired Sirius.
'Yeah, his father Abraxus is a big customer of my dad's... looks like we know why,' smirked James. 'What about you?'
'My mother won't shut up about the fact that he's probably the one going to marry my cousin. We're already horrifically interrelated. I can't imagine what abomination of a child their genes will make. Kind of glad Narcissa's not in there, though. She's not too bad. Andromeda doesn't start until next year.'
Unable to resist, James burst out: 'your family superstitious?'
'Very, why?'
'Oh... no reason... Sirius...'
'Oh ha, ha. You think I don't regret it a million more times than you?'
'Why? It's-'
James was cut off by the sound of the compartment door opening with a bang as the crowd of Slytherins sprinted out. They were followed swiftly by the short blonde first-year, who stumbled out with a cough. While both were doing impressively well at not cackling, the sight of the robes draped over his head was too much for the pair, who stripped off the cloak and fell about laughing.
'Was that you?!'
'Us? How could you ever... think such a thing,' Sirius wheezed.
'I'll stink for the feast!'
'Oh, come on, it's not so bad,' said James with sympathy, 'we can probably get rid of the smell.'
'You're first years. You don't know any more magic than I do.'
Sirius gave a dramatic sigh.
'You poor, sweet child. How you shall need us in the years to come.' He promptly swung his arm about the boy's shoulders, and guided him back to their compartment. James followed with the boy's trunk; it read 'P. Pettigrew'.
'So! P.Pettigrew. Which house will you be in?' James raised his fingers in imitation of a gun.
'It's Peter. And what does it matter to you?' he spoke in the familiar manner of privilege; neither Sirius nor James recognised this, too used to seeing it in themselves. It hardly endeared him to them, however.
'It matters everything!' cried Sirius. 'Should I be condemned to the lowly house of Slytherin, my mother might actually like me. Do you understand how catastrophic that would be for me?'
Peter blinked.
'Ravenclaw would involve putting effort in. Though I guess it wouldn't be so bad. I just don't care about it.'
'Too true,' sighed James, who cared far too much.
'I couldn't even contemplate Hufflepuff.'
'Hufflepuff's not bad!'
'That where you think you're going, then? To the house of sidekicks and duffers?'
'N-no! I just think that it's unfair, that's all.' Peter trailed off.
Sirius launched himself sideways onto the seat, stirring up decades of filth.
'Enlighten us, then. Go on!'
Peter glared at him.
'Fine. I'm just saying that they're not idiots, they're... they're people who have been unfairly treated just because they don't fit into the cool standards of the other houses! Helga Hufflepuff is the only one who's not prejudiced!'
'Prejudiced?' choked out James. 'My most loyal and unfairly treated friend, have you heard of Salazar Slytherin?'
'You know I have. And it isn't what I mean. Gryffindor wouldn't let someone in just because they're... they're chivalrous, or whatever. They have to be brave too.'
'Precisely. You know what, P.Pettigrew?' said James, leaning in with a mysterious smile.
Peter leaned an equal amount of distance backwards.
'I reckon, for that, you're definitely brave enough to get into Gryffindor. Who wants a pumpkin pasty?'