Chapter Text
January 1977
James
Four trunks hit the dirt road almost simultaneously, with a thud and a cloud of dust that whisks away with the breeze. There’s an odd scent in the air. Both clean and fresh and also vaguely like a farm. Everything is green, trees towering around the small town in every direction.
“This is it?”
James turns to Sirius, who's got one eyebrow raised and his head cocked to the side as he takes in the town before them. A sign stands on the side of the road.
Welcome to Vernonia, Oregon
James pats Sirius on the shoulder before leaning down to pick-up his trunk once more. “Come on,” he says as he starts to walk toward the only traffic signal they can see from the edge of town. “Let’s find our new homes.”
James uses the folded map that came with his transfer packet and leads Sirius to his selected address first, Remus and Peter in tow. They walk about ten minutes to Peter’s new home, then another five to Remus’ host family. And then James is alone, in this strange American town that looks too small to have its own postal code. His host family is just a couple blocks from Remus’, so he takes his time, taking in his surroundings.
There’s farmland scattered about in the distance, and so much green in every direction. Most of the houses sit on land, leaving only a couple of homes per city street. Remus’ home even had gates and animals roaming around. There are more trucks parked on the roads than he’s seen people, and the buildings look worn. Red paint and white fences and the kind of classic American barns he’s seen in books here and there. A light trickle of rain begins just as he approaches the correct street.
This place is nothing like home. Nothing like Hogwarts.
He knocks on the door to his new temporary home, and for the first time he lets it sink in that he won’t see his parents for a long time. When the Head Master had suggested a protection program for the students, he never thought his parents would agree to sending their only son to some random corner of the world. But here he is, alone on a stranger’s doorsteps
A woman opens the front door of the two story house with flower beds in the windows and peeling blue paint on the wood. She looks much older than his parents, and wears a frilly apron over a checkered frock.
“You must be James,” she says, pulling him into a tight embrace.
“Welcome, son. Welcome,” a man with white hair says as he appears from what looks like a sitting room. They shake hands briefly, and James looks around at all the old wood furniture and the large American flag hanging above the sofa, and wonders if he should have done some research before convincing his best mates to follow him to this odd place.
“Thank you for having me,” James says a bit more awkwardly than his usual confidence would allow. He’s aware that all host families were offered a large sum of money to host the students, so he hesitates to accept their kindness as just that.
The woman, Mrs. Shaw, if his memory serves correct, waves him off. “It’s our pleasure, sugar. We were so excited to hear that a fancy European school was interested in having students do an abroad year. In Vernonia! Of all places!”
Her accent is so odd. Not quite like any American accent he’s heard before. But she exudes sweetness and maternal energy, and James can handle that, even if it’s tainted with the money they’ll receive each month.
He doesn’t say much at supper, and makes vague excuses about tiredness to be excused right after he’s washed his plate by hand. His new room is bare. Just a double bed with blue sheets and a heavy quilt, a dresser, and two bedside tables. No art, no moving posters, no photos. He doubts he’ll sleep well in a place so unfamiliar, without the sounds of his housemates whispering behind curtains and puttering about in the night.
James wakes the next morning exhausted, the weight of all these changes crushing his chest. While they were allowed to travel by portkey most of the way, the last four hours of their journey were by muggle bus. It was hot, and cramped, and bumpy through the vast nothingness of the state. He wishes he had a couple more days to acclimate. Prepare himself for what lies ahead.
No magic.
Something he’d never considered would be a possibility in his life. Take away the alien place, the war waging back at home, the fear of his parent’s safety, missing them - and the loss of his ability to use magic still feels the most difficult to accept. It’s such a part of him. Of all witches and wizards. He can already feel the phantom of where his wand would usually lay on a bedside table. It’s now buried in a secret compartment in his trunk. Ignored and useless, and firmly banned by the Ministry of Magic to use while they’re in the program.
James has never had to think too much about what clothes he’d need to wear each day. For six years he’s worn school robes to classes, so he pulls out his best trousers and a long sleeved red jumper and hopes it will blend in.
“I hope you slept well, dear,” Mrs. Shaw says as he pitters into their yellow wallpapered kitchen.
“I did, thanks Mrs. Shaw.” He didn’t, but he’s not in the mood for a stranger’s pity.
“Please hun, I told you already, call me Annie.”
Annie hands James a flaky pastry of some kind on a kitchen roll and smiles at him. “You sure we can’t drive you to the high school?”
James shakes his head, taking a bite of the warm gooey treat. The apple and cinnamon are divine, and something about the homemade food relaxes him just a bit.
“It’s only a short walk,” James replies after he swallows. “And I told the other transfer students we’d walk together.”
Ten minutes later, James is standing in a car park packed with trucks, Peter to his left, Sirius and Remus to his right. They all opted for similar clothes, except Remus, who seems to be wearing a brand new button down that has a plaid pattern similar to the one he’s seen on the locals.
They all eye Remus’ new shirt as they walk toward the double doors under the Vernonia High School sign. Just below, in smaller print, ‘home of the mighty loggers.’
“Not a word,” Remus says as he smooths the front of the material. “My host family insisted. You should see the hat they tried to make me wear. This was the compromise.”
James smirks but says nothing as they each stroll into a sea of students.
“What’s a logger?” Peter asks once they’re in the fluorescent coordinator.
“I looked it up last night,” Remus replies. Of course he did. “They’re people who cut down trees.”
Peter’s eyes narrow. “And that’s supposed to be intimidating?”
James chuckles and tunes out the rest of their banter. Eyes track them as they make their way down the corridor and attempt to find the main office where they’re to pick up their class schedules. A couple girls whisper at each other as James’ passes, giggling before turning away. The clothing here is strange. No uniform. Definitely no robes.
A lot of denim and flared patterned trousers. A lot of flannel. A healthy amount of these wide-brimmed hats Remus may or may not have been talking about before. A small girl runs by in bright coveralls over a floral print jumper.
An older woman with pure white curls hands each of them a parchment of class names and room numbers, a locker number, with a series of numbers beside it. James is disappointed to find his locker is the furthest away from his mates. But even with the distance, Sirius still stands behind James at his blue metal locker, staring at a circular contraption with a dial of numbers in matching confusion.
James pulls at the handle of his locker but it doesn’t budge. He tries turning the dial, right, then left, and nothing happens.
“How the hell are we meant to open these?”
James looks back at Sirius as if he’ll have the answer. Sirius tilts his head, then bangs his flat palm on the metal twice, drawing awkward attention from two girls nearby. They furrow their brows then snicker at each other and turn away. James swears he catches a whisper of “weirdo.” A term he’s never heard before but doesn’t sound like a compliment.
After a few painful minutes, Remus appears with a couple of assigned texts under his arm. He quickly pushes the large books into Sirius’ hands, snags the welcome parchment from James, then starts to turn the dial on his locker with precision. Three turns later, and the locker pops open, revealing a stack of books inside.
“How the bloody hell did you do that?” Sirius asks with a hint of jealousy and a bigger hint of impressed awe.
“I told my locker neighbor that we don’t have these in Britain,” he says pointing to the dial. “He showed me how to read the combination.”
“Brilliant,” James says at the same time Sirius says “What boy?”
James busies himself in his locker while Remus and Sirius begin to bicker. He lets his eyes fall to the double doors that lead out to the car park, waiting for more students to come through.
In the grand scheme of things, James is conscious that there is a war being fought back home. That’s what’s important. And he’s aware, somewhere in the more mature parts of his brain, that he should be worried about that every moment of every day.
And yet…
On this particular morning, as he waits next to his slightly bent, faded metal locker that rests between hundreds of other identical lockers, the war is a distant thought in James’ mind.
He’s waiting on something. Someone, in particular.
Finally, finally, the doors swing open, and in walks James’ biggest, if not self-made, problem. And, more honestly, his greatest desire. In a black long sleeved jumper, matching black trousers, and a bag slung over one shoulder, Regulus Black strolls onto the linoleum floor of the corridor in smooth strides.
James will swear up and down that he did this for Sirius. When he went to Regulus in the late hours of the library back at Hogwarts, his most earnest smile on his face and childlike hope in his heart, he wasn’t being selfish.
There were only weeks left until the entire school would be redistributed to muggle schools around the world.
“For their protection,” their head master and parents had all said. And James had no idea if this refugee program would last months or the entire year until school was complete. He only knew that he needed to convince his best mate’s younger brother to accept refuge in the same town as he did. And that Sirius needed this as well.
Sirius needs his little brother close. And Regulus needs the opportunity to see what life can be like for him away from the blood purity that nearly had him by its grip. He was being helpful. Truly, he was.
It has nothing to do with James’ small habit of stealing glances with Regulus across the great hall. Or that he would schedule his entire day around being in the library, in the same section, at the exact same time that Regulus planned to study.
That would be ridiculous.
James pretends not to notice Regulus’ entrance, nor the fact that Evan Rosier and Barty Crouch Jr. flank him on each side. They were not part of his plan to keep Regulus close.
“What in Merlin’s name,” Sirius whispers from behind James. James hears a slap before Remus’ low voice replies.
“We’re not to say that here, Sirius. Muggles don’t say that.”
James finally turns, and sees the white shock on Sirius’ face as his little brother passes the three of them.
He catches Regulus’ eyes for only a moment. And from the safety of Sirius and Remus being turned the other way, he doesn’t hold back the grin that takes over his face. Regulus doesn’t smile back. He would never. But he gives the three of them a single nod of acknowledgement as he leads his mates toward the office at the end of the hall, and that’s enough for James.
“Reggie,” Sirius calls out as he starts to follow him down the corridor.
James takes a step to follow Sirius, but he’s stopped by a firm arm holding him in place.
Remus looks him up and down, scrunching his face when his eyes land on James’.
Peter chooses this exact moment to join them at James’ locker, further blocking his attempt to follow Sirius.
“Was that Regulus?” Peter says in disbelief as he leans against the closed locker beside James’.
“James,” Remus says with stern curiosity, his arm still locked against James’ chest. “What did you do?”
Regulus
Two very tall, very broad boys stand at the edge of the round table Regulus had chosen to sit at. Regulus had placed his red plastic tray filled with bland looking food down gently, Barty and Evan both to his left. Regulus was just about to attempt to swallow some of the foreign mushy looking meal when the large pair of boys approached.
Regulus stares at their bright blue shirts with yellow script stating “Vernonia Loggers Football” on the front of each, and has to bite inside of his cheeks to keep from chuckling at the ridiculous mascot name. Loggers, he learned from the admission woman at the front office, are the workers who cut down trees in order to produce lumber to build structures. Not a very intimidating mascot. Nothing like the snake of Slytherin, or even the lion of Gryffindor.
“Can we help you?” Regulus says without looking up from his food.
“You’re in our seats,” one of the boys says as he crosses his arms and puffs out his chest.
“Didn’t realize lunch seats were assigned,” Regulus replies, finally bothering to look up at the intruders.
“Then you have a lot to learn about Vernonia,” the other boy says, narrowing his eyes. “Dunno how you do things in London, but here the seniors and athletes get the best tables.”
“Our school was in Scotland,” Evan adds unhelpfully.
Regulus tilts his head, assessing the two bullies who’ve decided to interrupt his pathetic lunch, then decides they’re not worth more of his breath. He turns to Barty, ignoring their presence completely. “How were your first classes,” he asks Barty casually, finally taking a bite of what seems to be mashed potatoes.
Barty smirks, gives one quick glance to the boys still standing awkwardly at the edge of the table, and returns his focus to Regulus. “Strange,” he says. “They expected us to have read an entire book already, as if we’d have known there was an assignment before arriving.”
A loud slap on the table draws Regulus’ attention back to the boys trying to stake their claim, along with several bystanders at tables nearby.
“Get the fuck up,” the slapper says, his face turning a bit red.
Regulus is about to stand, when a small blonde girl approaches the table, putting her dainty hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Come on, Johnny,” she says, pulling at his shirt a bit. “Come sit with us today.”
The boy, Johnny, looks at the girl, his face softening a bit at her sweet smile. “Babe, they’re in our spot.”
The girl’s eyes trails over Regulus, Barty, and Evan, before she flicks her long hair over her shoulder and turns Johnny toward her. “We’ll make a new senior table this year.”
Her voice drips with obvious honey, a put on if Regulus has ever seen one. But Johnny seems not to notice that he’s being manipulated, deflating his tense shoulders and following the girl toward a table in the center of the room. He throws a last glare back at Regulus. One that says this is far from over.
Good. Regulus could use some entertainment if he’s to truly live in this backwards town for months on end.
Because they’re a year younger, Regulus knows he won’t share any classes with his brother or James or their mates. At least that’s what he believes, until he walks into his last class of the day. Biology. A science of some kind.
The professor waves Regulus over as he enters the class filled with sturdy stations and black marble tops, students already filling most of them in pairs.
“You must be our Junior scholar,” he says, lowering his glasses.
Regulus isn’t sure what that means, so he says nothing.
At his elongated silence, the professor continues. “You’re the first junior student to be placed into a senior science class in years.”
Regulus nods, vaguely aware of the placement exam he was forced to take before he left Scotland. He remembers the science test, the calculations and measurements not so dissimilar from potions texts.
“I’m Mr. Banks,” he says. “There’s an open station in the back. He thought it’d be more comfortable for you to pair with another exchange student.”
Regulus’ eyes shift to the farthest station, where James is so obviously pretending to be busy reading a textbook that he almost cracks a smile at his ridiculousness. But he’s able to school his features to neutral as he strolls past three rows of curious eyes.
He lets his thick book slam to the marble station, assuming it will get James’ attention sufficiently.
James takes his time flipping one more page of his book, clearly not actually reading a single word. Then he looks up at Regulus, over exaggerated surprise on his handsome face.
“Oh!” James says with a hand over his chest like he’s just been truly frightened. “Regulus. Didn’t realize you’d be in this class.”
James leans an elbow down to the table, resting his cheek on a curled hand. “Guess we’re going to be lab partners then?”
Regulus rolls his eyes at James’ bravado, with no real attempt at hiding James’ excitement at his presence.
“And I suppose you had nothing to do with us getting paired together,” Regulus says dryly.
James inhales as if offended. “I would never. Purely coincidence.”
“I’m sure it is.”
Then Mr. Banks clears his throat, and Regulus moves his attention to its proper place at the front of the classroom. Despite feeling James' stare to his left, he keeps his focus forward, and his face the picture of indifference.
He’s doing well in his forced apathy, until James' hand slides over the shiny surface, and leaves a small, folded parchment by Regulus’ leaning elbow.
He looks at James from the corners of his eyes, but James is suddenly extremely focused on the lecture happening up front.
Regulus unfolds the paper slowly in his lap, reading the single sentence penned there.
I’m glad you’re here.
Regulus rolls his eyes but refolds the note carefully and stuffs it into his pocket. Despite James’ face still firmly on their professor, Regulus doesn’t miss the idiotic grin that takes over James’ face.