rex_sun | [blurb] Wet Bones [Harry Potter -6]

I'm alive! More Harry Potter stuff, though.

James stretches his legs and the tip of his shoe bumps into Remus' knee. It leaves a white little dust mark that Remus brushes off impatiently. James, he must say, is like a roughly-hewn but deep-bellied golden goblet.

"I suppose I don't even really have to do anything if I don't actually want to," the fifteen-year-old James says. He flops about restlessly, ever full of energy. He does not notice that Remus is taking now to hiding behind his book, but he does notice that Peter is looking with something like exasperation, jealousy, amusement, and admiration in one.

"That's very cool, Prongs!" Peter says sincerely. "I wish my family was half as rich."

James smiles, the complimented-and-pleased smile, the oh-I-already-know smile. He says, "Yes, we Potters aren't fools like many of the other pureblood families. We didn't and don't spend it foolishly." He points his finger into the air, as if presenting a most fascinating historical fact. "But we live well and we can do what we like because of it. You know, like I could have a fun job even if it didn't pay much."

James seems to consider this with a space-y look to the enchanted ceiling, a finger tapping on his chin. "But I suppose it would be better to have a job, whatever the money. Just to make sure my children and their children have money, too."

Peter nods as if he quite, quite agrees, yes, very sensible. Like he knows as much about James about the intricacies of being a rich pureblood with a duty to the family name. This is one of the few occasions that Peter gets very much on Remus' nerves-- and James is getting on his nerves too, especially as he glances down the table towards a certain redheaded lady and says a bit louder, perhaps without even realizing he is raising his voice, "Any wife of mine wouldn't have to work, though. She could do whatever she wanted."

Remus sets his book down and wipes his face. His palm drags his baggy eyes and irritates the little scratch on the side of his jaw. James reaches across the table and nudges Remus' plate closer to him. "Gonna eat?"

"I'm not feeling well,"Remus says by way of excuse, and leaves the hall.

Later on, James finds him sitting on his bed, face in his cool hands and a new book propped open. Remus glances through his fingers. James has a weird expression on his face. Remus winces, but James ignores it and sits on the bed beside Remus. He prods the book and accidentally loses Remus' page for him.

"How was your career meeting with McGonagall? I forgot to ask at dinner."

Remus runs a hand through his hair and stops looking at James. "McGonagall says I get pretty good grades, about an E in most subjects. She says being a prefect helps. I could maybe do a lot of things."

"So why are you still studying?" James laughs. It doesn't sound like his normal laugh. Remus knows what is tearing James up, but the fool will never admit it, arrogant little--

Remus takes a deep breath and puts his bitter, frustrated anger under a tight lock (where he puts everything else too--) "I want Os. I want top grades, not just good."

"But--"

Remus pushes. Maybe it'll make James go away while Remus is in such a bad mood. "Because McGonagall was lying. I know the truth, she knows it. I saw it in her eyes. And you know it too, don't you? There's nothing I could possibly do. School is pointless. I have no future."

James does not leave. Instead he does one of those things that manages to take Remus by surprise, one of those things that makes James his friend in the first place: he says, roughly, "Fuck that."

He waits until Remus looks up, and meets his gaze with that rare hardness. "Don't even worry about that shit. As long as I'm alive, you have a future. It's being my friend."

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