ᴍᴜɢɢʟᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇᴏʀʏ

➳ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐢𝐯𝐞 ~ 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞

What did come to mind was Keegan Trista and the fact that he had been smirking at Sirius during meal times (which as far as Remus was concerned –which he was: just concerned– seemed a little bit inappropriate). Keegan was a seventh year, muggleborn, Ravenclaw and seemingly a bed for Sirius to frequent whenever he was bored and feeling in the vagabond mood. That was just Sirius' way: always doing things for the kick and not for the consequence and more often than not, it ended up ruining people like Keegan Trista.

Remus shook his head, clearly thinking was also out the question too. James still wasn't back from his run and so he took the advantage of the empty bathroom.
The shower was on the perilous verge of ripping his skin off but maybe that's what he needed, a sort of new skin. All this thinking, and dreaming and tales had worn him to the point of wondering if he was trying to clean the dirt on his body or underneath.

When he emerged from the shower he still felt like he's rolled around in mud but there wasn't much to be done about that apart from taking his finger and wiping the words 'fuck off' in the condensation.

"I don't think I've ever seen you up at this time in all my years at Hogwarts," came a voice of a well trained accent perched on top of the bed closest to the window with the absence of a T-shirt (that particular garment had taken residence on the floor).

"Yeah well you know me: always breaking stereotypes."

James tittered, making a face that anyone that didn't know James might have mistook for genuine disappoint, "that's sarcasm. What did we say about sarcasm?" His tone sounded vaguely like one's might be when addressing a child accused of nicking a biscuit.

He grumbled, "no sarcasm before noon."
It was a long standing rule that had been put into place originally by Peter and Sirius and fully supported by James and Peter. The rule was fairly self explanatory: there was to be no sarcasm until such times as those sleep deprived were woken up enough as to deal with it. Wit, it appeared, was for the awake.

"Bingo. Now if you don't mind I need a shower." James clicked his fingers and pointed at Remus to indicate he had got it in one.

"What took you so long back up anyway? Aren't you usually back by now?" He spoke quietly to avoid an unwanted run in with the kind of Sirius Black that exists before seven o clock.

"I bumped in to Esme-Leigh," James shrugged before disappearing into the bathroom and not emerging until a groaning and grumbling Padfoot was rolling out of bed and whining like a toddler.

♣ ♣ ♣

(5th February 1977)

The truth was that technically bumping into Esme-Leigh while running was not the issue that kept him back at hand; they often ran together when they saw each other and it rarely effected the running time. It was more the conversation that they had while and after running that veered the course of things.

"You're here again?"

"I'm here everyday, Ez."

Esme jogged up till they were shoulder to shoulder. Her hair was a manageable dirty blonde and pulled into a severe ponytail. James noticed that, like him, she didn't wear her glasses while out for a run in the mornings.

And what a morning it was. Criminally cold, but the sky looked like the gods had spilt a watercolour of orange over the pale blue, looking like a five year old had been set loose with free reign over a canvas and yet there was an odd sort of majesty to it. Clouds danced shyly across the sun and protected the layer of frost that gave the grass a satisfying crunch under foot. It hadn't rained in a very long while, weeks in fact but still the morning was wet. The thaw was still working its magic on the iced over black lake in preparation for the inevitable spring although looking at the bitter blue above them it was hard to imagine any sort of warmth in the sunshine.