Carve Me Open / r.l. + s.b. /

Incendio

He loved to sit in the courtyard, hair damp with mist as the sky released rain droplets. He loved the rain, loved the way it smelled. It had rained a shit ton back in their fourth year; he wasn't surprised he smelled like a wet dog nine times out of ten.

Remus had smelled like books and chocolate since he'd met him. He spent so much time in the library he started smelling like the leather bindings. Don't even get Sirius started on Remus's chocolate consumption; it was borderline horrific how fast that boy could inhale a bark of chocolate on his own.

But now, years and years later, it was changing. Changing with him as he grew. What was once chocolate and leather had melded into something that was homey. Not something like apple and cinnamon; that was too cliché and motherly. No, it was warmth and jumper material. A hint of baby powder, just like the Cottage. It was mature and kind – if a scent could even come across as those things – and Sirius was living for it.

"Well, if we do duel, you're going to be the mediator," Peter commented. "You're the most neutral party we've got."

James snickered, "I wouldn't be so sure. He's quite fond of Pads, so I hear."

Remus opened his mouth to speak, feigning defensiveness, but Sirius beat him to it, "You've heard correctly, block head. It seems to me like the gossip at Hogwarts is finally right about something."

"Who said it came from gossip," James smirked, eyes shining darkly.

"Oh, don't flatter yourself," Peter scoffed. "You've got the deductive skills of a toddler."

"And you've got the IQ of a tablespoon of pepper, dickhead," James punched Peter's shoulder, a bit too hard, and the latter stumbled forward.

They teased and taunted each other down the block, Sirius complaining about the girls at Hogwarts and how they never got their information correct, excluding Lily. This was, of course, only because she got the inside scoop from the Marauders themselves.

"You know, Snape called her a mudblood the other day," James murmured solemnly.

Peter's face fell slightly, looking a bit disappointed and hurt, and Sirius knitted his brows together. He remembered a time when he would've gladly spat on a muggle-born's shoes and call them exactly what they were. What he'd been told they were. No good. Dirty blooded. Rotten. Inferior. That's what she was. Then. That's what everyone was who wasn't pureblooded like him. The Black's were better. So were the Nott's and the Goyle's. The Malfoy's. The Crabbe's. All of them. Better.

"I honestly don't know why she's still socializing with him," Remus sighed.

It was just breeding. Just about blood. If you didn't have clean blood, then you just ran out of luck. Your magic wasn't as strong, and you weren't as intelligent. There were some good looking Muggleborn's and half-bloods, but none of that mattered because, holistically, they weren't any better than moldy gum on the street.

That's what he was taught. There were a few other things about Squibs and dark creatures – people like Remus and Natasya. People who were different. Yet, Sirius was different. He was a Gryffindor. He was as straight as an infinity loop. He practiced light magic and protecting others. He was everything, minus the inferior blood status, the Sacred Twenty-Eight ridiculed.

Who's to say that Remus wasn't as good as him, if not better. The bloke was graduating top of his class. Not the top five or the top three. No. Number one. He was a werewolf. He was tainted. Before that, he was a half-blood. So, how, with such dirty blood, could he have been better than Sirius? Better than James? How could Lily be number four in their class and head girl? How could Peter get an award for most improved? How the fuck could any of this happen?