Chapter 200: A Day Out
"I remember this day," Remus Lupin said softly, a faint smile touching his lips. He took the photograph and held it up in front of Harry.
"This was taken the day the Marauders were formed," he added, his voice tinged with nostalgia. But when his eyes passed over Peter Pettigrew, his expression tightened slightly.
Noticing this, Sirius didn't say a word. He simply drew his wand and tapped lightly at Peter's figure in the photo.
The image flickered—and vanished.
Only the three of them remained, frozen in their bright, carefree laughter.
"Harry," Sirius said suddenly, as if remembering something, "I heard from Russell that you're pretty good at Quidditch?"
Harry lit up instantly, nodding with unmistakable pride. "Yeah! I'm the Seeker for Gryffindor now."
"Impressive," Lupin said with a warm smile—though it quickly shifted into a puzzled frown. "But… if I remember correctly, Hogwarts doesn't allow first-years to join the Quidditch team. How did you manage that?"
Harry straightened a little, clearly pleased. "It was kind of an accident. Professor McGonagall saw me fly and made an exception. Ron told me I'm the first first-year in a hundred years to join a team."
He went on to recount his clash with Draco Malfoy, describing everything in detail.
Sirius let out a cold, humorless chuckle. "The Malfoy family… nothing but opportunists. When the Dark Lord rose, they were eager to become Death Eaters. And when he fell—thanks to you—they scrambled to buy their way out of it."
His tone was sharp, but beneath it lingered something heavier—old anger, long remembered.
Sirius snorted with open disdain. "I know Lucius Malfoy. A hypocrite through and through. I imagine his son's no different."
"Exactly," Harry agreed at once.
"Harry, you've got backing now," Sirius said with a sharp grin. "If he gives you trouble, come find me."
That was very much like Sirius—never one to play by the rules.
Seeing the conversation veer off course, Remus quickly steered it back. "Do you remember that time James flew straight into Professor McGonagall's office on his broom? Lost fifty points for that."
"But he won the House Cup back on the very same broom," Sirius added.
He pulled another yellowed photograph from the tin box. In it, James Potter hung upside down on his broom in a storm, the Quaffle steady between his knees.
"The stands collapsed by three rows that day," Sirius said. "Professor Flitwick had to cast a Hover Charm on half the crowd."
Harry leaned closer and noticed a blurred shadow in the corner. With a quick magnifying charm, it sharpened into a younger Sirius mid-transformation into a black dog, panting happily.
Lupin flicked a coin from his sleeve. On its reverse was a tiny golden Snitch. "Training coin," he explained. "Toss it, and it randomly turns into a Quaffle or a Bludger."
The moment it hit the table, it swelled to full size. Harry instinctively ducked, making Sirius burst into laughter. "Inherited reflexes! James did the exact same thing the first time he saw a Bludger!"
"The night of the finals, we stole Snape's potion ingredients to celebrate," Sirius continued, still amused. "He got us back by slipping Vomiting Solution into our pumpkin juice. Peter spent two days in the hospital wing."
"And then your father used Accio to steal Snape's notebook," Lupin added, pulling out a scorched, blackened booklet from the sofa. "In retaliation, Snape hexed James's broom tail with a Severing Charm."
"You kept that?" Lupin said, surprised.
"Of course," Sirius replied smugly. "War trophy."
"Oh—here, I've got something for you." He suddenly stood and disappeared into his room, returning with a fresh piece of parchment. It looked like a detailed map of Hogwarts.
"The Marauder's Map," he said, spreading it across the table. "Our little invention. Shows secret passages—and everyone's name."
"You still had it?"
"No, I made this one recently. With the old template, it wasn't too hard."
The original, of course, was still with the Weasley twins.
Sirius tapped a dotted line near the kitchens with a teaspoon. "This shortcut to the Quidditch pitch? Your father dug it after being banned from matches."
The image seemed to come alive—seventeen-year-old James directing animated stone gargoyles to carry dirt while Peter cast Confundus Charms to distract the caretaker.
"We brewed stimulants here," Lupin said, pointing to a dark spot near the Whomping Willow. "Before the finals, James snuck out three nights in a row to practice the Wronski Feint."
Even now, Lupin felt a chill remembering those dives—James flying straight through the Willow's striking range without hesitation.
They truly hadn't feared death back then.
Harry sat quietly, sipping his tea. At first, hearing these stories about his parents had filled him with warmth. But as the memories piled up, so did something else—a quiet, growing ache.
This was all he had. Stories. Fragments of a life he'd never lived with them.
…
Meanwhile, Wednesday's black boots tapped crisply against the damp cobblestone street.
Russell walked half a step behind her, glancing at carts piled with old books and trinket stalls strung with wind chimes. The scent of freshly baked bread lingered in the air. Sunlight filtered through grey clouds, catching briefly on Wednesday's silver skull-shaped earrings—the ones he had just bought for her.
She liked them. So he bought them.
Wednesday paused at an antique stall, running her fingers over a cracked, timeworn cup. She crouched to inspect it more closely.
"Hello there, miss," the old vendor greeted warmly. "See anything you like?"
"No," she said flatly, standing up again. "They're all fakes."
A flicker of disappointment crossed her face—she'd been hoping for something unearthed from an ancient tomb.
From around the corner drifted the sweet scent of blueberry jam. An elderly woman in a floral headscarf was packing pies into paper bags.
Russell reached for some coins, but Wednesday had already picked up two bags. She tilted her head toward the side.
"Coffee."
She nodded toward a small outdoor café nearby, where a few students sat beneath a canvas awning, hurriedly copying homework.
Russell ordered two lattes and asked the barista to make skull-shaped latte art. He handed one to her.
They sat on chipped iron chairs. Russell watched the foam swirl lazily in his cup before glancing up.
"You seem pretty used to this place."
Wednesday tore open a pie wrapper. "Please. You do remember I lived in the Muggle world too, right?"
"Fair enough," he said with a faint smile. "Still… it's all pretty new to me."