Chapter Text
I liked being unnoticed.
Not invisible, not forgotten - just… left alone. I didn’t need to be the top of the class, but I liked good marks. I didn’t need to be popular, but I liked the few friends I had. I liked reading in the library where it smelled like dust and parchment, walking the long corridors with my thoughts tucked neatly away, and knowing my name rarely made its way into anyone else’s mouth.
And most of all, I liked not being part of the chaos that always seemed to follow James Potter and his three loud, obnoxious shadows.
The Marauders.
It was hard to go a single day without hearing them. Their noise stretched to every corner of the castle - laughter ricocheting down a hallway, a commotion on the staircase, James Potter’s voice rising above everyone else’s like a hawk circling prey. Remus Lupin’s attempts to calm him - always gentle, always futile, always drowned out. Peter Pettigrew’s overeager nodding and quick, squeaking breaths as he scurried to keep up.
And Sirius Black. Always Sirius. Striding ahead of them as though the whole world should fall into step behind him.
It didn’t matter what they were doing - flying, fighting, sneaking out, setting off Dungbombs in the dungeons - they made sure everyone noticed.
I didn’t understand it. The need to be seen like that.
I was in the library the afternoon it started, tucked behind a high stack in the Potions section, copying notes from Lily Evans while Madam Pince dismembered students with her eyes for daring to breathe too loudly. Outside the windows, the September light went gold and thin. My quill scratched. The world was quiet in the way I liked it - contained, reasonable. I had almost made it through a paragraph on the volatility of hellebore when a shadow fell across my book.
“Eleanor Whittle?”
I looked up, startled. Remus Lupin stood there, clutching a battered copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi as if it might decide to bolt.
“Yes?” I said. My voice came out more like a question than I meant, which was irritating.
He smiled in the way he always did - softly, apologetically, as though occupying space was something he had negotiated for and wasn’t sure he was allowed.
“Sorry to interrupt. We - er - James and I wondered if we might ask you a favour.”
We. Of course.
I glanced around him on reflex, as if the rest might spring from behind the stacks like jack-in-the-boxes, but the aisle beyond Remus was empty.
“What kind of favour?” I asked carefully.
“Harmless,” he said too quickly. “Mostly harmless.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
Remus’s expression composed itself into something earnestly persuasive. “You’re good at Potions. Slughorn says you have ‘a sensible head for ratios,’ which is a ridiculous compliment, but accurate. We -” He hesitated, and that hesitation told me everything. He didn’t want to be the one asking. “We could use your help with a, er, demonstration.”
A demonstration. Absolutely not. My mouth prepared the word no, rehearsed the shape of it.
Then, in the stacks behind Remus, something thudded. A muffled “Ow,” followed by a hissed, “Shh, Pete,” and a faint, familiar snort.
My stomach sank. “They’re here, aren’t they.”
Remus winced. “If I say ‘no,’ would that help?”
It would not.
“I have to finish this chapter,” I said, annoyed at the way my pulse had picked up for no good reason. “And then I have Arithmancy.”
“You’ll still have Arithmancy after this,” said another voice, and James Potter leaned around Remus with a grin like he had invented mischief and licensed it to the rest of us. “Come on, Whittle, do your civic duty. Education. Advancement. Comedy.”
“James,” Remus said, “that is not -”
“Fine, moral uplift,” James amended. “It’s for the public good.”
“The public good,” I repeated. “I’m not sure Hogwarts has ever benefited from your version of public good.”
James put a hand on his heart. “Cruel. True, but cruel.” He tilted his head, scrutinizing my notes as if he might read them upside down and backwards. “Look, we’re not asking you to poison anyone. We just need a proper simmer, a right-tempered base, and someone Sluggy likes enough to borrow an ingredient from the cupboard.”
I blinked. “You want me to steal for you.”
“Borrow,” Remus said carefully. “Return the remainder.”
“And is Slughorn supposed to be delighted that I return the remainder of something I never asked for in the first place?”
James’s grin widened. “Now you’re getting it.”
I started to say no. I truly did. But Remus looked hopeful in that gentle way, and there was a prickly, traitorous part of me that was curious about the boys and their schemes. I didn’t want to be part of their chaos. I also didn’t want to be the exact, predictable person they expected me to be.
“Fine,” I said, closing my book with a decisive thump. “But I’m not getting detention for you. If we get caught, you can explain to Professor McGonagall that you coerced a muggle-born into a life of magical crime.”
James beamed. “Knew you were brilliant.”
Remus gave me a grateful look like I had just saved a kitten. From somewhere behind the books, Peter squeaked, “Is it safe to come out now?” and then popped into view, cheeks flushed, hair sticking up.
“Very stealthy,” I said dryly.
“Thank you,” he said, clearly unsure if I meant it.
Remus led the way out of the library with the careful air of a prefect-in-training, which he wasn’t, though someday he would be. James shouldered the door open with unnecessary flair.
And then - of course - he appeared.
Sirius Black lounged against the hallway wall. His tie was an insult to proper knots. He looked me over the way you might consider a chess piece - useful if moved correctly, annoying if not.
“So this is the girl who’s supposed to save us from blowing our eyebrows off,” he drawled.
“That’s me,” I said flatly. “Eyebrow preservation specialist.”
His grin flashed, sharp and unbothered.
Remus shot me an apologetic look. Peter just stared between us like he’d wandered into the middle of a play.
They led me down into one of the unused Potions rooms. It was dim and smelled of dust, the shelves lined with mismatched jars. A battered cauldron sat in the middle of the room like it was waiting for its next victim.
James clapped his hands together. “Here’s the vision: harmless, funny, something to lighten the mood when the Slytherins get too smug. But last time we tried, we nearly made a hole in the floor.”
“Nearly?” I repeated, horrified.
“Small hole,” Peter piped up. “It closed.”
I rubbed my forehead. “You lot are hopeless.”
“Which is why we need you,” Remus said, earnest.
Sirius dropped into a chair and sprawled like a prince, stretching his legs out as though daring me to trip on them. “So, Nor, what’s the verdict? You going to help, or give us a lecture about school rules?”
“It’s Eleanor,” I said.
“Nor’s shorter.”
“Well, I don't like Nor.”
Sirius’s grin only widened, like my irritation was a prize he’d just won. He leaned back in the chair, balancing it dangerously on two legs. “That’s the point. If you liked it, it wouldn’t be any fun.”
I stared at him. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet,” he said, eyes glinting, “here you are.”
James whistled cheerfully, before sweeping an arm toward the cauldron like he was unveiling treasure. “Here’s the problem. We tried to make a bubbling concoction last week -”
“And nearly blew a hole in the floor,” I supplied.
“Details,” James said. “Point is, we want something spectacular. Bubbles, foam, color. Something to give the Great Hall a laugh tomorrow morning.”
Remus nudged a few jars toward me. “We’ve got nettles, billywig wings, lacewing flies, and… whatever Peter grabbed without looking.”
Peter flushed, holding up a jar of something gray and squishy. “I thought it looked useful.”
“It looks like it died before it could be useful,” I said, pushing it back toward him. “No. We’re not touching that.”
Sirius slouched lower in his chair, watching me sort through the ingredients. “Bossy little thing, aren’t you?”
“Efficient,” I corrected.
“Bossy,” he said again, deliberately.
I ground my teeth and ignored him, turning my attention to the cauldron. The water inside was still from their last disastrous attempt, scum clinging to the rim. With a grimace, I dumped it out, filled it with fresh water, and set the burner to a low flame.
“Step one,” I said, pointedly loud. “We keep the heat low. That way it foams, not explodes.”
I turned slightly towards the boys. “Remus, you are on stirring duty. Peter, just stay put. Sirius and James, do as I say.”
James leaned on Peter’s shoulder, stage-whispering, “She’s terrifying.”
Remus stifled a laugh. Sirius tilted his head, eyes on me again - less mocking this time, more like he was trying to figure out how I’d managed to walk into their orbit and immediately set rules.
I ignored him and sprinkled in dried nettles. The potion shifted to a pale green, swirling lazily.
“Now, one of you grind the billywig wings. Carefully.”
“On it,” Sirius said before anyone else could move. He dragged the mortar toward him and began grinding, surprisingly precise. His sleeves were shoved up to his elbows, and I tried - unsuccessfully - not to notice how deftly his fingers moved.
When he passed me the powdered wings, our hands brushed. He smirked. I scowled.
“Add them slowly,” I said, tipping the powder into the cauldron. The potion hissed, then shimmered faintly, sending up a peppermint-scented wisp of steam.
Peter gasped. “It’s working!”
“Of course it’s working,” I said.
James gave a low whistle. “Merlin, she’s better than Slughorn.”
“Sluggy’s not a hard competition,” Sirius muttered, leaning back again.
Remus pressed his lips together like he was trying not to smile.
I stirred until the brew settled into a glowing sheen, then lowered the flame even more. The surface went glossy, opalescent. Perfect.
“There,” I said. “If you decant this into phials and enchant them to burst, you’ll get bubbles. Bright, harmless, gone in minutes.”
James actually looked impressed. “You’re a genius.”
“Practical,” I corrected again.
“Same thing,” Sirius said, watching me with that grin that looked like trouble wrapped in charm. “Admit it, Nor. You had fun.”
I shot him a glare, but there was laughter bubbling up in my chest I didn’t quite manage to smother.
Maybe, just maybe, I had.