Hufflepuff, True and Unafraid of Toil

by SelkieReads

Summary:

After a nightmare year, Anwyn is happy just to keep her head down and get on with her O.W.Ls. But the announcement of the Triwizard Tournament brings new faces to Hogwarts, some of which claim to have old links to her family.

Who was her father? Why did her mother appear on Remus Lupin’s doorstep in the early hours of the morning, with no explanation and no willingness to discuss the matter further?

Perhaps Anwyn can unravel the mystery with the help of her new friend from Durmstrang. Or perhaps she’ll end up in even more trouble, without her Uncle Remus to drag her out this time. Because with Pettigrew’s trial approaching, Sirius Black’s freedom on the line, and his secret now a well known fact in the Wizarding World, Remus has got problems of his own to deal with.

Part 2 of the series, again trying to keep word-for-word canon scenes to a minimum. Slow burn wolfstar rekindling only at this point.

Chapter 1: The Quidditch World Cup

Notes:

If you’re new here, welcome! Thanks for joining us! This is part 2 of a series, so I would highly recommend you read Part 1 first, though it’s entirely up to you!

That being said, let’s get on with the story.

Anwyn hated Quidditch. Every match always ended up with her being dragged down to the pitch, getting soaked (it was Scotland after all) and then probably watching her house get well and truly trounced. She’d made her opinions on the matter abundantly clear. So the level of rapture that she was watching the Quidditch World Cup Final with was, quite frankly, embarrassing.

It was hard not to get caught up in the atmosphere though, the crowd was positively electric. And their school matches never had magical creatures storming the pitch, save for that one incident with the dementors last year that she’d missed. When her mother had told her that they had tickets to the final, she hadn’t expected to get ring side seats to a Leprechaun VS Veela grudge match.

“Wynnie, sit down before you get your eyebrows singed off,” her mother told her absently at her side, furiously scribbling away on the notepad in her hands.

Anwyn flushed, lowering herself back into her seat. She hadn’t quite remembered getting up, but it must have been some time during the mascot fight kicking off. She was so intent on the brawl that she’d missed a good chunk of gameplay, so she quickly pressed her binoculars to her face. She followed one of the Irish chasers as they dodged another ferocious bludger attack, spinning between the Bulgarian players with more finesse than she’d ever seen the best of the Hufflepuff chasers manage, and then gave a surprised grunt as someone jostled her arm, pressing the binoculars into her eye a little harder than she’d intended.

“Scuse me love,” the man squeezing past her said, and she lowered the binoculars to find him cradling a massive camera.

“You got the shots of the ref?” Her mum asked him, and he gave a grunt in response.

“A few. Those Veela were…distracting,”

Anwyn’s mum tutted. “You had one job Frankie—“

“Yeah well, if you think you can write and take photos, be my guest,” he shot back.

Anwyn stifled a groan, and raised her eyes back to the match. The duo’s constant bickering had been a fixture of their entire trip, from the moment they’d arrived at the campsite a few days ago, all the way through to the match itself. No doubt they’d be arguing on the way home too.

Just us girls, her mum had said when she’d gifted Anwyn the tickets. A birthday treat. Turns out that meant just us girls and her photographer, as well as a weekend spent in the media pit trying to catch interviews and snap front page photos. Just fab. The whole holiday had not been the spontaneous birthday surprise Anwyn had been led to believe it was, and judging my the trunk full of equipment the two of them had brought, and the location of their seats, the whole thing had been planned around her Mums work.

Still. At least it was a spectacle.

Anwyn’s neck was beginning to ache from looking up for so long, and there was a small headache beginning to pulse behind one eye from the sound, and lights, and the blurring speed at which the players were moving, so when the final whistle was blown to an uproar of applause, it was almost as if her head was going to explode. But there he was, Victor Krum, clutching the snitch. So what did that mean again? How many points was it? Bulgaria had won?

“IRELAND WIN!” Shouted the booming voice of the commentator.

Did they? Ok. That made no sense at all, but ok.

Anwyn climbed to her feet again, rushing to the front to watch as the Irish teams victory lap came to an end, and they directed their brooms down to land. The media box started to swarm, more and more photographers and reporters shoving in until Anwyn was pressed up against the railing, trying to avoid getting her toes trodden on.

“What’s going on?” Anwyn asked her Mum. “Why’s everyone freaking out?”

“The teams land here and head up to the Top Box,” she explained, fighting to keep her place at the front. “So naturally everyone wants to be here,”

Someone pressed in at Anwyn’s other side, and she turned to find a thin, perfectly put together blonde woman staring at them with something between curiosity and distaste. Judging by her mother’s face, she didn’t think much of the woman either.

“Bethan. This is your girl?” The woman asked, looking Anwyn up and down like she was a particularly poor example of a venomous tentacula.

“Yes, this is Anwyn,” her Mum replied,

A small smile tugged at the corner of the woman’s mouth, and she leaned down until she was hovering far too close to Anwyn’s face.

“A little birdy told me that your Uncle was suspended from teaching last year,” the woman said. “Care to give me a quote on the matter?”

An emerald green quill shot up from her bag, hovering above her notepad. The feather was long, and seemed to flick around it in anticipation, nearly poking Anwyn in the eye. She went to open her mouth to correct the woman, but her mother beat her to it.

“No comment Skeeter, that topic is not up for discussion. And your certainly not dragging my daughter into one of your sordid columns,”

Anwyn blinked in surprise. There was a venomous note in her Mums voice that she hadn’t heard in…she’d never for that matter. Skeeter didn’t seem to care. She just pursed her ruby lips, tutting, and the green quill floated back to her bag.

“Pity. Oh look, here come the Irish,”

And she was right. The front of the media box opened up, a small set of stairs descending onto the pitch, and a line of Emerald clad figures started to climb. The box exploded with noise, reporters clambering over each other to get the best shot, the best quote, shouting questions and praise as the players appeared among them.

“How does it feel—“

“Moran, Moran over here!”

“Give us a shot of the chasers—“

“Why do you think Krum forfeited—“

“How are you holding up Lynch—“

The last one was directed at the Seeker suspended between his two team mates, face somewhat mangled from plummeting into the pitch not once, but twice. He was grinning though, if somewhat dazed, and the two women on either side of him were laughing and thumping him on the back as they pushed through the crowd, faces alive with excitement. At that moment, staring these stars in the face, Anwyn could understand a little why quidditch fans hero worshiped them. She was already starting to do the same.

Last to climb the steps was the final Chaser, broom propped on his shoulder, an easy grin on his features. Troy, or so the reporters around her called him, and Anwyn felt her stomach do a sick little flutter when he looked her way. He was really quite handsome, in a rugged way, even with his hair glued to his forehead with sweat, kind of like a quidditch rock star—

He caught her eye, and sent her a nod on the way past. Anwyn’s knees went weak.

Her Mum caught her expression, and gave a flash of laughter, putting her arm around her shoulder.

“He’s far too old for you Wynnie, not to mention married. But I’ll buy you his poster from the merchandising stand,”

The heat that flashed across Anwyn’s cheeks nearly stung, and she floundered for an excuse. “I don’t— he’s not— I don’t want a poster—“

“Oh,” Her Mum replied with faux shock. “So you won’t want his autograph as well then?”

Anwyn nearly choked. “I didn’t say that,”

That produced another laugh from her mum, and she planted a kiss on the top of Anwyn’s head before letting go, and beginning to push forward. “Get ready, if you think this lot were rabid, wait until Krum gets here,”

She wasn’t wrong. By the time the Bulgarian team left, Anwyn felt battered and bruised, and was more than ready to return to the tent.

———

The celebrations went on well into the night, the Irish supporters making their excitement known through raucous singing, fireworks and even the odd Leprechaun flying low over head. Anwyn and her Mum sat outside of the tent, toasting marshmallows over the small fire that Bethan had conjured in a jar, and watched the bright displays burst overheard.

“Did you like Quidditch at school?” Anwyn asked, popping an oozing marshmallow in her mouth.

Her Mum gave a small chuckle. “Hated it. Used to avoid the matches until my friends dragged me along in sixth year, and then I was hooked,”

Anwyn’s interest was piqued. “What changed?”

“I saw your father play for Ravenclaw,”

Her Mum’s voice had a faraway quality to it, and the marshmallow on her stick was beginning to burn. She didn’t seem to notice.

“I didn’t know he played Quidditch!” Anwyn, turned in her seat to face her Mum directly. “What position?”

“Seeker. And he was really something. Could have played professionally if he’d wanted, but his Father wasn’t keen,”

Anwyn didn’t interrupt. It was very rare that she ever heard about her Dad, and her Mum seemed to be lost in whatever memories she was reliving. If she spoke now, it might break the spell.

“I was writing for the school paper at the time”, Her Mum continued. “That’s how we met. I managed to persuade him to agree to an interview. Didn’t think he’d notice me otherwise,”

She stopped speaking, watching the flickering of the fire in the glass jar, and Anwyn was desperate for her to continue, to tell her anything else, but nothing seemed to be forth coming.

“And he did? Notice you I mean— after that?”

“Oh yes,” Her Mum replied faintly, and then seemed to give herself a shake, looking up at Anwyn. “Anyway, we should probably call it a night. You look tired,”

Anwyn started to protest, but a treacherous yawn escaped, big enough to crack her jaw.

“That settles it, off to bed you,” her Mum said, holding back a yawn herself. “We’ve got an early rise tomorrow,”

“Are you coming in?” Anwyn asked, stretching her stiff back.

“No, I better go see where Frankie has gotten to. Probably trying to get into the Irish teams after party for paparazzi shots,”

Anwyn rolled her eyes, biting back a response, and dipped her head, giving her Mum a kiss on the cheek. “Alright then. Night,”

“Night sweetheart,”

Tired as she was, it took an age for Anwyn to finally doze off. Though it looked like a tiny two man tent from the outside, the interior was a modest size, with a main room comprising of a sunken conversation pit, and three individual bedrooms. Hers contained a full size single bed, and she snuggled into the duvets, watching the lights of the fireworks filter through the canvas, trying to block out the noise. She must have dozed off though, because she was suddenly jolted awake by a deafening sound.

The sound of screaming.

Anwyn sat bolt upright in bed, heart hammering away in her chest. Maybe she’d imagined it, or dreamt it, maybe—

Another scream, followed by a roar of flames. The tent wall illuminated beside her, an orange glow leaking through the canvas.

She scrambled at the little bedside table for her wand, grabbing her hoody and made for main room of the tent. It was empty, with no sign of her Mum or Frankie. By this point, Anwyn could feel the panic truly rising, a choking, clawing fear working its way into her throat. Where were they?

There was another explosion of light outside, this time brighter, closer. She gripped her wand tighter, and stuck her head out of the tent flap.

There were multiple tents on fire around her, great towering flames lighting up the sky. A couple sprinted past her, hand in hand, looking back over their shoulders at whatever was heading her way. Another ball of fire streamed through the air over head, and the woman screamed, ducking so low that they nearly stumbled. Anwyn stepped out of the tent, cold dread drawing her to the edge of the row, and looked down the field.

There were a huddle of dark robes figures, hoods up and faces masked with strange, skull like designs. Above them floated four figures, a man, woman and two children, spinning head over heels, limbs jerking in a weird puppet show dance. Anwyn’s stomach did an odd, sickening flip, a strangled noise escaping her throat, and she began to stumble backwards, away from the tent and towards the direction of the woods. Her foot caught in the guy rope of the tent neighbouring theirs, and she was sent sprawling across the grass, wand skittering out of her hand.

Hands grabbed at her, and she let out a squeal of fear, but she caught a familiar whiff of rose perfume and let herself be dragged to her feet.

“Quickly Anwyn,” her mother pressed her wand back into her hand, voice low but steady. “Take my hand, do not look back, and whatever you do, keep running, okay? No matter what happens!”

And then they were off, her mum half dragging her across the campsite, feet pounding on the uneven grass. A hot burn of a stitch had started in Anwyn’s side, and she was winded, but the balls of fire continued, as did the screams as more and more people joined their frenzied escape, panic and fear saturating the air. Anwyn would hardly breathe, her throat felt like it was closing, and her chest was aching, but she ran on, fingers clasping tightly at her mums.

They reached the edge of the forest, and her mum stopped, pulling her under the shade of the trees.

“Keep going, through the woods okay? Don’t stop running until it’s quiet,”

“Why— where— where are you going?” Anwyn forced out.

“I’ve got a job to do Wynnie, someone needs to document this,”

Anwyn grabbed at her Mums arms. “What no— Mum, you’re not an Auror! You can’t go back— those people— they they—“

“Deatheaters Anwyn. They’re deatheaters. And the world deserves to know that they’re still around,”

“Even worse!” She could hear the panic in her own voice now. “Mum, they could kill you, you can’t!”

“I’ve got to. I’ve got to go,” she began to prise Anwyn’s hands off, placing a kiss on her forehead. “Go now sweetheart. I’ll find you when it’s safe,”

And free from Anwyn’s grasp, she turned around, and started to run back the way they’d come.

Anwyn nearly crumbled on the spot. It was happening again, just like that night in the shack. She was leaving her family in danger, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She felt the bile rising in her throat, placing a hand on the tree beside her as her legs threatened to give in.

Another flash of fire lit the air, and the people around her shrieked.

Anwyn turned and ran into the forest.

———

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been running for, or how far she’d gone. It had only been after a good ten minutes of stumbling around blindly that she’d thought of cast Lumos, all worries of breaking the no magic outside Hogwarts rule going out the window. This was definitely extenuating circumstances.

There were other people around her; she could hear them as they hurried past, twigs snapping and panicked breaths echoing in the dark. Occasionally she’d hear the tearful voice of a child, or the slurs of some poor half drunk quidditch fan trying to work out what was going on. And every ten minutes a little pocket of light would appear, illuminating a huddled group.

The first one she spotted from afar, not far inside the tree line, watching the chaos outside. Draco Malfoy was far off enough that he didn’t spot her, especially as it had been before she’d lit her wand, and she veered off away from him. That was one person she couldn’t handle meeting right now.

She could have sworn she saw Hermione at one point, darting through the bushes, but she disappeared as quickly as she’d appeared, and Anwyn’s wasn’t sure if she’d hallucinated it. The forest had taken on a strange, dream light quality, bathed in the soft light of her wand, roots and branches snagging at her as she passed. It was like she’d stumbled into a cautionary tale about trespassing on faerie land.

She stopped to catch her breath, lungs heaving, and sunk down into the spongy moss at the base of a wide oak tree. The bark was hard behind her back, the damp, leafy smells of the forest filling her every breath, and she fought to control the black edges of panic encroaching on her vision. The dark, the screams, the trees, it all brought her back to that night a few months ago. The night she’d heard her Uncle Remus transform into a werewolf.

He still didn’t know that she’d heard the start of his transformation, at least she didn’t think he did. She hadn’t seen him since he’d left Hogwarts, only managing to have snippets of conversation via the book he’d given her for her birthday, a kind of instant owl post. And so the image of him in her head was still the exhausted, battered man who had apparated away from the gates. At least it was during her better moments. In her dreams he was a half man, half wolf beast of broken, tangled limbs, pupils dilated and jaw grotesquely distended as he scream and screamed and screamed, and then she’d wake in a pool of cold sweat, biting down on her lip to stop the shriek from making its way out of her mouth.

She could see those images in her head now. But her brain was conjuring more for her, her Mum, floating upside down above the death eaters heads, limbs jerking in unnatural angles. She stuffed her fist in her mouth, biting down on the knuckle in an attempt to distract her from the frantic breaths that were threatening to overwhelm her.

Not here. Not now.

She needed something to distract her.

What could she see? Not much, it was pretty dark.

What could she hear? Screams. Not very calming.

What could she smell? Moss, damp earth, the smell of the ground after rain. The slight scorched smell of burning, damn it…

What could she feel? The soft touch of moss, the tickle of grass on her bare shins. The rough wood of her wand still clenched in her hand.

Her breathing cleared a little, and she shut her eyes, focusing on the breaths entering and leaving her lungs. She was safe. Her mum would be safe.

There was a crunch of twigs to her left, and she spun her head, eyes shooting open. There were two figures approaching through the gloom. Anwyn gripped her wand tighter until she could make out a familiar, stupidly handsome face.

“Blackthorn, is that you?” Asked Cedric Diggory. “Are you alright?”

Anwyn scrambled to her feet, brushing the grass off her shorts. She must look an absolute mess, twigs in her hair and her face bright red .

“I—Im fine, just a bit lost,” she stuttered back. “Are you alright?”

“Just trying to keep moving,” Cedric raised his wand, looking around the woods. “Are you on your own?”

Anwyn tried to keep her voice steady. “Yeah, my Mum went back. She’s ah— she’s a reporter,”

Cedric gave a sympathetic look. “My dad’s in the ministry so he’s back there too. Why don’t you come with us? This is Roger,”

The boy beside him looked vaguely familiar, a Ravenclaw perhaps. He gave a halfhearted wave in Anwyn’s direction, and she was almost relieved to realise that he was just as scared as she was.

“Who were those people?” Roger asked, raising his lit wand so he could see better.

“Mum said they were death eaters,” Anwyn replied, trying to keep her voice steady. “You Know Who’s folk,”

“Makes sense,” said Cedric. “That was the poor muggle family that run the campsite above them,”

“Fucking hell,” Roger groaned, and Anwyn couldn’t help but agree with him. Those poor kids. It left a sick feeling in her stomach just thinking about it.

They hadn’t gotten much further into the woods when it happened. A strangled shout from somewhere behind them, the fizz of a spell, and then light bloomed over their heads, casting leafy shadows over them. Screams started up in all directions.

“What the hell was that?” Roger said, voice shaking.

“Come on,” Cedric adjusted the grip on his wand. “I don’t think we’re far from the tree line at the other side,”

They rushed forward, Anwyn struggling to keep up with the older boys, jumping over trees roots and through bushes until the undergrowth opened up to the open field that the Stadium stood in. Cedric turned on the spot, walking backwards as soon as they were clear of the trees, and his eyes widened in horror, face pale.

Dread heavy on her stomach, Anwyn turned around. Above the forest sat a great, screaming skull, snake twisting out of its mouth, writhing in the air. She didn’t have to ask what it was. Every child raised in the wizarding world had been told of the sheer, bone chilling fear of seeing such a sight above their house or the home of a loved one. All she could think about was her Mum, back in the campsite or the forest, back where those Deatheaters had been torturing that poor family.

Because floating above them was the Dark Mark. The sign of You Know Who.

Notes:

Goblet of Fire, here we goooooooo

Thank you to everyone sticking with Anwyn’s tale, hope you enjoy this next adventure!

Chapter 2: The Dark Mark

“Holy shit,” Roger uttered beside her, voice strangled by fear. “Is that—“

Anwyn was already walking back into the tree line, heart beating so loudly that it was nearly all she could hear. She came to a jarring halt as Cedric grabbed her arm.

“What are you doing? You can’t go back in!”

“My Mum is back there!” She replied, trying to shake him off. “I can’t leave her!”

“And you can’t just run blindly in, you’ve got no idea who cast that thing!” He shook his head, eyes flicking back along the tree line as his voice lowered. “Listen, I’m worried about my Dad too alright? But they told us to go, they wouldn’t want us bumbling back into danger,”

“So what, we just sit around and wait? Whoever cast that is in the forest, who’s to say they aren’t headed this way right now, and we’re standing right out in the open where they can see us!”

Cedric hesitated at that, his eyes flicking back to the tree line. He looked around at the other figures milling around, weary looking campers stumbling in shock and fear, and then made a frustrated noise in this throat.

“Right come on then. But we stay well clear of the mark, and if I say to run, you do it immediately, are we clear?”

Anwyn gave a half hearted smirk. “Ever the prefect. Yes we’re clear,”

“You two are mad,” Roger groaned, but with a panicked look around him, he followed anyway.

They stepped back into the gloom of the forest, and lit their wands, starting to to pick their way over the uneven ground. A tense hush had called over the place, the screaming having tapered off as everyone darted for cover.

“It’s actually head boy now,” Cedric said after a moment, shattering the silence. “Found out just before we left the house,”

“Congratulations,” Anwyn replied. “Let’s just hope we live long enough for you to wear the badge. We’ve not had a Hufflepuff head boy in a while right?”

“Nearly ten years apparently. Sprout’s going to be losing her mind,”

It was idle chatter, but it kept Anwyn’s mind off the growing nausea and dread that only got worse the further they got into the forest. She had a feeling that Cedric was just as nervous, and Roger had lapsed into a kind of terrified trance, jumping at every noise in the dark.

They’d been walking for a good half hour when they heard voices ahead, and Cedric held out his hand to stop the other two from progressing. The trees were tightly packed here, and it was difficult to tell which way they were going, where the dark mark was, and even if they were going in the right direction.

They crept forward through the bushes, extinguishing their wands, until they could see the glow of wandlight ahead, a cluster of figures standing around something on the ground. Anwyn strained her ears, trying to hear what they were saying, suddenly terrified that they were all looking at the body of whoever had been killed, that it was her Mum on the ground. When Cedric stood suddenly and forged forward she nearly let out a squeal of surprise.

“Dad!” He shouted, and one of the figures turned at the sound of his voice.

“Cedric!” The man replied, giving his son a firm slap on the back in greeting before turning back to the group. “If we’re done here, I think it’s time I take my son home,”

“Yes,” another man said. “Molly’s going to be frantic, we better get a move on. Ron, did you see where Fred—“

Ron? Anwyn scampered out of the bushes after Cedric, Roger spluttering behind her, and stepped into the circle. Sure enough, the ginger Gryffindor was there, as were Hermione and Harry, looking shaken but unharmed. There was no body on the floor, just a tiny, weeping house elf. The wizards and witches all turned at the motion, raising their wands before dropping them when they saw it was just another two students.

“Alright Anwyn?” Ron greeted, as if they’d merely bumped into each other in the street. “Fancy meeting you here,”

“Nothing would surprise me at this point,” Harry muttered.

“The Dark Mark—“ Anwyn started, directing her question at the tall ginger man who could only have been Ron’s dad. “Who was it—my Mum’s out here somewhere“

She realised that her question hadn’t been clear, but he obviously got the intent behind it.

“We’re not at liberty to discuss it, but I can say that there was no victim,” he had said gently. “We’re heading back to camp, why don’t you come with us and we’ll see if we can find your family— Anwyn was it?,”

She liked Mr Weasley instantly. He had a kindly face, and a calm demeanour that was exactly what she needed at that point in time when it felt like she would burst into tears just from the relief of hearing those words.

She fell into step beside Harry, noting that he was as dishevelled looking as she was.

“Crazy night huh?” She said weakly.

“Not the end to the day I was expecting,” he said. “Did you see the death eaters?”

“Yeah. Those poor muggles. What’s going to happen to them?”

“A strong memory charm I would think,” Mr Weasley said over his shoulder. “Hopefully they won’t have any lasting effects. We’ve got a big clean up ahead of us,”

“Who are you with Anwyn?” Hermione asked. “You mentioned your Mum?”

“Yeah she’s a reporter. So naturally she dived right back towards the action,”

“What about Professor Lupin?” Harry asked, and Anwyn noted that he still used the title.

“Quidditch isn’t really his thing. And Mum sold it to me as a ‘girls weekend’. Not exactly what I had planned,”

“Lupin?” Came a booming voice behind them, and Anwyn turned to find Cedric’s dad. “Yes, bad business that. Don’t know what Dumbledore was thinking letting a werewolf teach, when we heard at the department, well it certainly took us by surprise—“

“Dad,” Cedric hissed, shooting her an apologetic look. “That’s Anwyn’s uncle!”

“Is it?” Diggory looked at her appraisingly, and when he spoke again he at least sounded somewhat guilty. “Well, I’m sure he’s a fine man, but I see all sorts come through the department, and they’re not all suited for such a job—“

“Well he was,” Anwyn bit back, far too tired to be having this conversation. “Maybe if your department treated them with a little bit more humanity, more of them would be too,”

She sped up, cutting through the long grass to overtake Mr Weasley before she ended up picking a fight in Cedric’s Dad, and found that Harry, Ron and Hermione had followed her.

“That man is such a blow hard,” Ron moaned. “You should have heard him on the way here. Spent most of the time bragging about Cedric beating Harry at quidditch. Dad says he works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, so naturally he thinks he’s an expert. Prick,”

“He was awful to that house elf too,” Hermione said her voice shaking. “She was so upset and scared, and he just treated her like a criminal,”

“Yeah what was that about?” Anwyn asked. “Why was there a random house elf?”

“We found her with Harry’s wand. They think she cast a dark mark,”

“You’re kidding—“

“No,” said Harry glumly. “I dropped it and she seemingly picked it up. And the mark came from my wand,”

“Holy shit Harry,” she replied. “You really are a magnet for weird stuff aren’t you,”

“Apparently so,”

“There’s no way a house elf did it though…right?”

“She could have been ordered to. Some of them are a lot worse off than the Hogwarts ones,”

“It’s barbaric,” Hermione said, her voice trembling with anger. “And the fact that all those wizards think they can treat her like that, just because she’s not human—“

The trees began to thin, the smell of smoke in the air growing stronger and stronger, until they stepped out into the camping field. Most of the fires were out, with just a few red embers still glowing in the burnt out patches, but Anwyn’s view of the field was quickly swamped by a press of bodies when the milling crowd spotted the ministry officials.

“What’s going on—“

“Who was it? Did you get him—“

“Barry Mullins, Daily Prophet, can you gives us—“

“I’ll see you later,” Anwyn shouted over the noise. “Going to go find my mum,”

“Send me an owl when you get home,” Harry said, and she nodded in response.

Anwyn shoved through the press of bodies, further into the campsite, searching for the one person she was desperate to see. It was difficult to spot anyone in the crowd, and harder still to pick out voices as everyone clammeded for news or called out for missing loved ones.

“Wynnie?” She heard a call somewhere to her left, and turned to frantically look, but couldn’t spot the source.

“Mum?” She shouted, started to push her way through the crowd.

Faces turned her way, some streaked with tears, others ash stained and neutral, numb, and she continued to squeeze past, cursing her mother’s lack of height, and her own similar stature that she’d inherited from her. But through the parting bodies she finally spotted a familiar sandy coloured bob and denim jacket.

“Mum!”

The woman turned at the sound of Anwyn’s voice, face breaking into a relieved smile as she stepped forward to embrace her.

“Oh there you are sweetheart, I was so worried! Are you alright? You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards!”

“I’ve just spent my night in a forest,” Anwyn said weakly. “So you’re not far off. Are you okay? When I saw the mark—“ she started to choke up.

Her mum took her face in her hands, kissing her repeatedly on the forehead. “I’m completely fine, I’m so sorry I scared you! What do you say to us getting out of here? I think I’ve had my fill of quidditch,”

Anwyn gave a shaky laugh, nodding as she wiped at her eyes, and held on tight to her Mum’s arm as she snaked through the crowd in the direction of their tent.

The sun was beginning to rise as they crossed the field, great black towers of smoke silhouetted against the red sky, the metal poles of broken tents sticking up out of the earth like old bones. It felt something like walking across and old battlefield, a strange hush across the place as if the entire camp site was holding its breath. A figure in the distance started to wave to them, and as they approached a massive camera around his neck identified him as Frankie the photographer. He immediately fell into step beside her Mum, launching straight into his update.

“Five or six main ringleaders I heard, got shots of them as they tore through camp. I’ve also heard rumours the dark mark was a house elf, Crouch’s no less—“

“You’re kidding?”

“Can’t make this stuff up. I say we swing past his house before the crowds get there—“

“I can’t Frankie, I’ve got to get Anwyn home,”

The photographer gave a frustrated sigh, finally looking at Anwyn for the first time since her arrived. “Can’t you just— I dunno, bring her along?”

“She’s just spent the night running through the woods, I’m not dragging her—“

“If we miss this opportunity, you know someone else will take it—“

Anwyn padded along behind her Mum, only half listening, exhaustion catching up with her, walking on autopilot, so when her Mum stopped dead in front of her, she slammed into her back.

“Oh shit,” Anwyn heard her mutter, and immediately looked past her arm. Her mum barely ever swore.

Their tent, or what remained of it, sat in a smoking, scorched out pile.

“There goes my favourite jumper,” her Mum said lightly, and Anwyn goggled at her.

“How can you be so calm?” She asked. “We could have been in there!”

“But we weren’t love,” her Mum replied, picking at the remains with her toe. “There’s no point crying over spilt milk,”

Anwyn let out a barely contain scoffed and her mum turned back to her.

“Oh don’t look at me like that,” she moaned.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re my mother and I’m the naughty child. You’ve been spending far too much time with your uncle,” she looked at Frankie again, who was waiting impatiently for them to get a move on, and gave a sigh, making a decision. “Speaking of which, we better get a move on. I’d like to get to Wales before Remus sees the news and has a meltdown,”

At that, Anwyn perked up, feeling a flicker of something other than stress. “We’re going to Shepherds Lane,”

“Yes,” her Mum replied, clearing up the remains of their tent with a few practices waves of her wand. “Now come along. If we go now we might be able to beat the queue for the designated apparition spot. Frankie, I’ll see you later,”

———

They did not, as a matter of fact, beat the queue for the apparition spot, in fact it was a full two hours of waiting before they were even close to leaving. The queue wound back on itself, and frequently burst into stressed arguments between witches and wizards desperate to get as far away from the place as possible, with exhausted aurors trying to keep peace as much as they could.

When Anwyn finally felt the tug of side-along apparition in her navel, and stumbled into the grassy, perfumed garden of Shepherds Lane, she could have wept. The cottage looked exactly as she remembered it, a sleepy run down old thing, ivy climbing up the back wall and weeds growing out of the chimney. Warm and comfortable and inviting. Home.

There was a light on in the kitchen window, and Anwyn spotted a flash of movement in the room beyond before the back door of the cottage was violently wrenched open. Remus launched himself out and down the path, hair askew from sleep, still decked out in his pinstripe pyjamas and a threadbare dressing gown.

“Oh thank Merlin!” he uttered, reaching her Mum first and giving her a hurried hug and a peck on the cheek before turning to Anwyn.

She didn’t have a chance to say hello before he had her in a crushing hug, scooping her up until her feet were no longer touching the floor. She could feel his heart hammering in his chest, and after recovering from the shock she clasped her hands behind his neck, taking comfort in the solidity and the realisation that they really were home, safe, and away from the terror of last night.

”When I read the Prophet—“ He said, voice strained as he put her down again, holding her at arms length. “—well I feared the worst. You’re alright? You’re both alright?”

“Fine,” said her Mum. “Absolutely exhausted, but fine. I really need to be getting back though—“

“What?!” Anwyn exclaimed, whipping around. “You can’t be serious?!”

“The story is far from over Wynnie—“

“You could have died last night and I wouldn’t have even known!” Anwyn replied furiously. “And now you’re just going to dump me and run? You’re unbelievable!

Remus looked between the pair of them. “Bethan? What does she mean?”

Her Mum opened her mouth to respond, but the rage was already bubbling up in Anwyn, fear and exhaustion pushing her over the edge. “I mean she ran off last night and left me in the forest, just so she could get some headline news!”

“That is not entirely true—“

“Then what else were you doing? Last time I checked you weren’t an Auror Mum! I thought that Dark Mark was for you, I thought—“ her voice broke, and she shook her head, too angry and upset to continue the thought.

“The people under those masks are members of our community Anwyn! The public deserve to know—“

“And what do I deserve?” Anwyn shot back, horribly aware of the whine in her voice that made her sound like a child. “Do I not deserve five minutes of your time after thinking you’d been murdered?! Five minutes where the entire world doesn’t revolve around some stupid article?!”

Her Mum opened her mouth to reply, but only seemed to manage a frustrated sigh, shaking her head as she threw up her hands in defeat.

“It’s fine,” Anwyn gritted out through clenched teeth. “Go back and get your headline. I’m going to bed,”

She stormed past the two of them, ignoring the sounds of protest, straight through the still open door, and in a cathartic act of teen fury, slammed it shut behind her.

———

She could see them arguing through the kitchen window, golden dawn light filtering through the leaves of the plum tree at the end of the garden. Though the familial likeness was there, they couldn’t have looked more different, her Mum doing all of her talking with exasperated arm movements while Remus stood leaning back on one leg, arms crossed tightly against his chest.

When he finally returned to the house, alone but seemingly calm, he found Anwyn at the kitchen table, reading the discarded Daily Prophet that he’d left there, furiously wiping away tears from her face before he could see them. She watched as he filled the kettle with water from the tap, sitting it down on the gas hob to boil, clearly thinking. Whenever Remus had something to mull over, he’d do tasks the muggle way. Just stalling for time, he’d once joked.

The kettle began to bubble away, and he pottered around the cupboards, finding two mugs and dragging the tea caddy across the surface to plonk two tea bags into the bottom. He looked, Anwyn noticed with relief, much better than the last time she’d seen him, the scratch on his face having healed to a new, thin scar, and the bags under his eyes less pronounced. A weight lifted slightly from her chest, and she realised that in a way, she’d been dreading seeing him, dreading seeing how badly the events of the end of term might still be effecting him.

He finally turned around, leaning back on the counter, and gave her a small smile. “Alright?” He asked quietly.

Anwyn gave a silent nod.

“Sorry,” she sniffed. “I didn’t want to spend my first day back here crying,”

The kettle began to emit a high pitched squeal, and he took it off the burner, pouring water into the two cups.

“Well,” he said, sniffing the open bottle of milk that he took from the fridge. “We weren’t expecting you to arrive straight from a death eater attack. So I think it’s quite reasonable given the circumstances,”

Remus placed a steaming hot cup of tea down in front of her, giving her a one armed hug as he did, and placed a kiss on the top of her head.

“At least three sugars in that please,” he told her, turning back to his own mug. “For the shock,”

Anwyn did as she was told, ladling sugar in from the caddy on the table. The first sip of tea was sweet enough to send a toddler into a hyperactive meltdown.

“Did you have nice time at least? Before everything went a bit mad last night?” Remus asked, cradling his own mug.

Anwyn pushed back off the table, balancing the chair on its back legs as she swung her feet absently.

“Yeah I guess,” she said, staring off into space. “The stadium was really impressive. And even I could appreciate how good the teams were, they put the house cup to shame,”

“I sense a ‘but’ there,”

She shrugged. “I guess I was just looking forward to spending some time with Mum. But it kind of revolved around her job again,”

Remus made a noise of affirmation. “I think this was your Mum’s way of sharing a little of what she does with you. So you can see why she enjoys it so much,”

“Yeah you’re probably right,” Anwyn said glumly. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, they were really good seats. It’s just a shame that we had to have her photographer tag along—“

CRACK

Anwyn let out a small shriek, the chair disappearing out from under her as she landed in a heap on the kitchen tiles. The impact sent a jarring pain right through her tailbone and up her spine. She was already blindly scrambling for her wand in her pocket when she realised that they had been joined by someone at the other side of the kitchen table.

“Sirius,” Remus said weakly, hooking his hands under her arms to help haul her to her feet. “What have I said about apparating indoors?”

“I’ll worry about your house rules when my Godson isn’t in danger!” Sirius replied, slamming a second daily prophet down on the table.

The ex-convict was looking far healthier than the last time she’d seen him. Though his frame was still thin, his hollowed out cheeks had filled out a little, and the dark circles under his eyes had lifted, showing something of the handsome man he must have been before everything had gone wrong. He was, however, staring at Remus with an intensity not far off that which he’d shown when trying to persuade them of Pettigrew’s guilt.

“Did you get clearance to come here?” Remus asked, the worry evident in his voice.

“Why do you think I’m here three hours after the Prophet? They made me fill out a thousand forms for an “unplanned visit”,” he made large quotation marks in the air. “Fucking bastards,”

“Sirius, please, mind the language in front of Wyn—“

The other man seemed to finally notice she was there, his face softening a little as his eyes landed in her, but there was still an urgency to his voice.

“Anwyn, good, you’re alright. Did you see—“

“Harry? Yes, he’s fine, they’re all safe. They were heading for a portkey back home last time I saw them,”

Sirius visibly deflated, letting out a long, ragged breath, and pulled out one of the chairs from the kitchen table, sitting down heavily.

“What did you mean by unplanned visit? The Aurors are still watching you?” Anwyn asked, rubbing her elbow where it had cracked off the floor. She righted her chair, and slid back into it.

He nodded glumly. “They’ve got me in a safe house until the trial,”

“I thought you were going to be living here?”

“It’s apparently not a suitable solution, given the recent updates,” he replied, his tone making it perfectly clear what be thought of that decision.

Anwyn’s brow crinkled in confusion as she shot Remus a look. “Recent updates—“

“Are you hungry Wyn?” Remus interrupted, suddenly opening the cupboard behind him. “I don’t have much in but there’s some cereal, or toast—“

“I’ll have some toast,” Sirius piped up. “Stress makes me hungry,”

Anwyn didn’t miss the look Remus shot him, or the way Sirius completely ignored it, but at this point she was too tired to push further. There would be plenty of time to worm whatever was going on out of Remus later.

“I’ll just have some cereal,” she finally yawned. “And then I really am going to bed. After a shower, I think I have half the forest in my hair,”

A small smile flickered across Remus’s face as he handed her a bowl. “I didn’t want to say, I thought it might be a new fashion choice,”

Anwyn tried to fire a glare his way, but her face betrayed her, a smile curling the corners of her mouth.

“So what exactly happened last night?” Sirius asked, drumming his fingers on the newspaper. “Did you see anything?”

“Perhaps— ,” Remus said, placing a bowl and the milk down in front of her. “—she doesn’t want to talk about it right now,”

“It’s fine,” Anwyn shook her head, taking another sip of her tea which had mercilessly landed upright when she’d fallen, only spilling a small about on the table. “I didn’t see much. I just woke up to screaming, and there were already a load of tents on fire. And then I spotted the death eaters. They were all robed up with masks on, and they were levitating the poor muggle family above their heads, I’ve never seen anything like it,”

Sirius swore under his breath, and Anwyn expected Remus to correct him, but no reprimand came.

“Mum dragged me to the edge of the forest, and then she told me to run. And I didn’t see much until we reached the other side—“

“We?” Sirius asked.

“I bumped into Cedric Diggory, one the Hufflepuff prefects. And a Ravenclaw boy, Roger,” she said absently. “Anyway, we just kept going through the forest, it was really dark and there were loads of folk running. And then we heard someone cast something, and everyone started screaming, and that’s when we spotted the Dark Mark,”

Anwyn trailed off, a creeping dread crawling up her spine at the thought of the great, grinning skull in the sky. She didn’t notice how mechanically her fingernails were drumming against the side of her mug until Remus out a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Apparently they think a house elf cast it? And it was using Harry’s wand—“

That was apparently the completely wrong thing to say, as Sirius’ brow shot right up, the calm demeanour that he’d been sinking into completely vanishing.

“Har—Harry’s wand? How did an elf get Harry’s wand?”

“He said he dropped it,” she shrugged. “It was pretty chaotic in the woods. He can probably tell you more when he gets home,”

Sirius began to drum his fingers on the table. “I knew he’d be involved somehow, I just knew it—“

“I’d say you can borrow my owl but— well he’s back in London,” Anwyn offered, immediately feeling the need to diffuse Sirius’ frustrated tension. It put her on edge.

“We’ll figure something out. Why don’t you go have that shower Wyn,” Remus said gently. “You look exhausted,”

She gave a quiet not, slipping off the chair, and then remembered a vital point. “Ah shit, my bag! It was in the tent when it went up, I’ve not got anything with me,”

Remus’ was very still. “What do you mean ‘went up’?”

“As in bang. Fireball. Everything torched,”

He pinched the bridge of this nose, screwing his eyes shut. “Merlin give me strength— were you in it Wyn? Are you sure you’re—“

“No, no it was after we left it. We came back to get our stuff and found it burnt to a crisp. All my spare clothes were in there,”

She felt a slight flare of satisfaction. See Mum? It was a big deal.

“There’s still some clothes in the cupboard in your room,” Remus sighed. “And your Mum said she’d bring your trunk over later,”

“Alright,” she said stifling a yawn. “Night then. Or morning. Or—whatever,”

She gave Remus a one armed hug on the way past, shooting Sirius a shy smile on her way to the stairs as he dragged her untouched bowl of cereal towards him, and started digging in. Stress clearly was making him hungry.

After a brief, hot soak, she stomped up the familiar, tight staircase, steps creaking under her feet as she went, and then pushed open the door to her tiny bedroom. The curtains were open, dust motes dancing in the morning sun, but she pulled them shut, kicking off her shoes in the process. Her bed under the eaves had fresh sheets on; Remus always had it prepared in the event of her arriving out of the blue, and she burrowed into them, finally feeling like she could properly relax for the first time in months.

She was asleep the instant her head hit the pillow.

Notes:

I was so nostalgic for a Shepherds Lane chapter, I’ve been looking forward to this one for weeks! We’ll be spending a bit of time here before Wyn goes back to Hogwarts, I think some family fluff is deserved after the hellish end to her year.

Chapter 3: Boxes and Bad News

Anwyn awoke to the creaking of footsteps on the old staircase, followed by a light knock on her bedroom door. The hinges were old and rusted, sqeaking when pushed open, and she lifted her head from under the duvet cover, eyes still crusted shut and bleary.

There were muffled steps on the carpet, and something clunked down on the little shelf beside her pillow. She cracked her eyes further to find a steaming mug of tea before the mattress sunk under the weight of someone sitting down on the edge of it.

“I didn’t want to wake you, but you won’t sleep tonight if I let you snooze any longer,” Remus said.

Anwyn yawned turning over so she could prop herself on one elbow.

“What time is it?” Her voice was cracked, dry with sleep.

“Just after three,”

She gave a huff of surprise, rubbing at her eyes before reaching for her tea. It was hot, less sugary than her one this morning, but just exactly as she liked it.

“Your Mum will be over shortly. She’s bringing a takeaway,”

Anwyn frowned. Her Mum usually brought home a takeaway on the nights she’d worked late and was feeling particularly guilty. “Peace offering?”

“Perhaps,” Remus smiled. “Try not to be too hard on her,”

“Are you taking your own advice? I saw you two arguing this morning you know,”

He winced, rubbing self consciously at the stubble on his cheek. “Well it’s my job to fight your corner,”

“You shouldn’t have to against my own Mum!” Anwyn exclaimed, a little too enthusiastically as her tea splashed over the rim and onto her duvet. She sat up further, propping herself up on the pillows to avoid further spillages.

“You forget she’s my sister,” he said ruefully. “We’ve been arguing since before you were born. We could have competed on a national level, we were that good at it,”

Anwyn gave a snort of laughter, pausing before taking another sip. “Then you’ll need to teach me how to win. Give up your secrets,”

Remus smile started to slip a little, replaced by the lines between his brow that usually indicated that he was worrying about something.

“Are you sure you’re alright? Last night must have been quite the shock,”

Anwyn nodded. “I just don’t know how you all lived like that. When You Know Who was around I mean. That was just some of his old fan club and I still thought we were going to die…“ she trailed off, watching the steam from her mug, and swallowed hard.

“I won’t pretend it was easy,” Remus said quietly. “Quite the opposite. But we were fighting so that one day our children didn’t have to experience that same fear. And we knew it would be worth it, whatever the price,”

Anwyn drummed her fingers against the side of her mug, brow furrowing as she considered his words. He made it sound so noble. Perhaps it was a Gryffindor thing. But when those death eaters had appeared last night, and her Mum had told her to run, she’d done it immediately. Something about that left shame bubbling in her chest.

“A sickle for your thoughts?” Remus asked, pulling her from her pondering.

Anwyn chewed at her lip. “I guess I just wished I was braver. Like you, and Mum. And Sirius. It feels like I just spend half my time being scared and useless,”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

She nodded, looking back up at him.

“I am frequently still terrified,” he told her, voice gentle. “I was terrified this morning, when I saw the paper and I didn’t know where you were. I was terrified last term, when I realised we’d ran out of time and the Wolfsbane was gone. And when you came out of the Lake. I was terrified when I found you in that bathroom and I had no idea how to help you. Merlin, I nearly had a heart attack when your Mum left you with me for the first time. And I spent every day, nearly paralysed with fear while Voldemort was in power. We all did. But being scared and being brave aren’t mutually exclusive. In fact acting even when fear grips you is the strongest form of courage there is,”

She chewed on her bottom lip, frowning a little as she mulled over what he was telling her. Remus reached forward, tucking one of her wayward tangles of curls behind her ear.

“Besides Wyn,” he added as he stood. “You’re fifteen years old. If you weren’t scared when faced with Death Eaters, I’d think you were mad,”

She huffed out a little amused breath, lifting the mug back to her lips as he reached for the door handle, but a small, worming worry that had planted itself in the back of her head made her call out to stop him.

“Do you think they’re back? The Death Eaters I mean?”

Remus stood in the doorway for a second, his fingers tapping lightly on the wood where he gripped it, but he shot he an easy smile.

“They’re dying out Wyn. I think this was more than likely one last hurrah for a group facing extinction. I doubt we’ll be hearing from them again,”

She gave a nod, and with a final smile he disappeared back down the stairs, closing the door behind him.

But the little knot of worry was still there.

———

She found an old pair of jeans that still fitted somewhat around the waist, but now sat as ankle grazers, and a t-shirt that had not been cropped the last time she work it, but certainly was now. Perhaps she had grown over the last year after all. Though not particularly cold, it was overcast, and the only hoody she had available was covered in dirt and leaves, so she resolved to do the only sensible option left. Raid Remus’ wardrobe.

There were voices in the sitting room when she clumped down the stairs, and she found Remus and Sirius in a furious game of wizards chess, both staring at the board like it was matter of life and death. Sirius had his hand over his mouth, clearly trying to puzzle out his next move, and didn’t look up when she entered. Anwyn hesitated a moment on the bottom step. She hadn’t expected him to still be here.

It was odd, having him in the house. For as long as Anwyn could remember, it had always just been her and Remus, with the odd evening where her Mum stuck around long enough for tea. They hardly ever had visitors, even her Grandad had only popped in a handful of times, and that had been when she was much younger. Having a stranger in the house was near unheard of.

But he wasn’t a stranger, was he? Anwyn had technically befriended him over the course of her fourth year, even if he had been in dog form. He’d dragged her out of the lake. Pulled her from shrieking shack when she’d been too dumb with grief to see sense. And most importantly Remus had know him for years. He’d been someone he’d trusted emphatically, trusted enough that his apparent betrayal had clearly left a lasting mark on her uncle. So she swallowed her nerves, and approached the sofa.

“Have you heard from Harry?” She asked, and he nodded absently.

“Got an owl from him about an hour ago. They got home mid morning,”

“Are you going to see him?”

Sirius finally looked up from the board. His expression was hard to read, but his frown gave away something of his thoughts.

“He seems to be enjoying his time at the Weasley’s. I don’t want to intrude. I’m not too sure how they’d feel about…well, me. Showing up at their door,”

Anwyn hovered at the side of the table, anxious not to put her foot in it, say the wrong thing. “You haven’t seen him? All summer I mean?”

He shook his head, attention returning to the chess board. “I’m not allowed near his muggle family. Until after the trial at least,”

His voice carried a resigned note to it, and Anwyn shot a look across the table at Remus. He was watching Sirius with a face she knew well, concern pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“What if…what if I invited him here?” She asked. ”He can come and stay for a few days and you can visit him before he goes back to school?”

Sirius seemed to straighten slightly. “That could work. We wouldn’t be intruding?”

“Not at all,” Remus replied. “In fact I think it’s an excellent idea,”

“I’ll write to him as soon as Mum gets here with my owl,” Anwyn said, relief flooding her. She’d managed a whole conversation without freezing up with social anxiety. “I was supposed to send him a letter when I got back anyway,”

She turned to leave, a slight bounce returning to her step, and then she paused, looking over Sirius’ shoulder to the chessboard. The pieces on the other side were arranged in a familiar formation, one that had brought her own chess based demise in the past.

“Send your bishop to C4,” she told him.

He considered her advice for a moment, and then gave a bark of laughter, shifting the piece across the board, taking out a knight in the process in a splintering crack of wood. “Check!”

“Wyn you traitor!” Remus exclaimed.

She stuck her tongue out in response, and then turned down the narrow corridor towards his room.

“I’m nicking one of your shirts,”

“What?” He said absently, still stinging from her betrayal as he surveyed his options on the board

“I said I’m stealing one of your shirts,”

She pushed open the bedroom door, just as she heard him shout something, the sound of frantic scrambling coming from the sitting room. It was dark inside, the curtains still drawn, so she didn’t immediately spot the cardboard box at her feet until she slammed her big toe into it.

“Ow! What the fuck—“

Her eyes adjusted to the gloom, and she saw them. Stacks of packed cardboard boxes, all with labels scrawled on the side. Some were open, piles of books spilling out of the top, others had already been sealed and labelled; “kitchen”, “sitting room,” “misc”.

There were hurried footsteps in the halls, and Remus skidded to a halt behind her, cursing under his breath.

“Remus…what’s going on?” She turned slowly on the spot.

“I was going to tell you Anwyn, I just wanted to let you settle in a bit after last night,” he said in a pained voice that immediately put her on edge.

“Tell me what? Remus, tell me what?!”

He sighed, shoulders visibly falling as he rubbed at his face. “The landlord hasn’t renewed the lease. We’ve got to be out by the end of the month,”

“By the end of the— Remus that’s in two weeks?!” She all but screeched. “What are— where are you going to go?”

“Something will come up,” he replied, but by the tone of his voice she wasn’t sure if he was trying to persuade her or himself.

“Oh shit the twins were right,” she said, grasping her hair at the roots as she started to pace. “That’s— that’s what they said, they said you’d lose your job and then you’d lose the house, and you’d be homeless, I can’t— I can’t leave you without anywhere to stay—“

“Wyn—“

“Where are you going to go? How can you find somewhere in two weeks? Is it— is it the money? I can talk to Mum, maybe she has enough in savings and we can talking to the landlord—“

“Anwyn—“

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner, we could have helped, we could have—“

“Anwyn!” Remus grabbed her by the shoulders, stopping the frantic pacing. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine. It’s nothing I’ve not handled before alright? This isn’t your fault!”

“But—“

“No buts. This is why I didn’t want to mention it just yet, you’re not at fault. This is not your problem to worry about, do you hear me?”

Anwyn gave a half hearted nod, and he let go, only for her to start pacing once more, though at a slower rate. She finally sat down heavily on the edge of his bed, cradling her head in her hands.

“I really am sorry—“

The bed groaned as he sat down beside her. “Stop apologising. Did you ring up the landlord and offer to buy the cottage out from under me?”

She lifted her head, brow furrowing. “No?”

“Then you’re not to blame, are you?”

“So someone’s buying it?”

Remus nodded. “The muggles have been going mad for holiday homes in the area. I think the landlord got an offer far better than my sporadic rent payments and couldn’t refuse it,”

“But you’re the reason this place even looks half liveable,” Anwyn said furiously. “I bet the landlord was quite happy to take the money for the second bedroom that magically appeared!”

“Yes, well,” Remus said morosely. “That’s landlords for you,”

Anwyn sighed, watching his face carefully. He seemed tired, beaten, and he wore the same expression he always did when they spoke about his condition, or his job, one of quiet, painful acceptance.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” She asked quietly. “You can move in with me and Mum if you haven’t found anywhere. Or what about Sirius, would they let you stay with him?”

“I will be fine. The safe house is out of the question, he’s not allowed permanent guests. And your Mum has already made me a similar offer, should I not find anything before the move date,”

“She already knows?” Anwyn said incredulously. “Am I literally the last person on earth to find out?”

Remus winced. “Not literally…but yes she knows,”

Anwyn’s gaze returned to her feet as she gave a frustrated sigh. “I’m not a kid anymore Remus, you can’t just hide stuff like this from me. What if I hadn’t turned up today, would you have even told me?”

“Of course!” He assured her. “I was going to visit before you left for school if I didn’t see you,”

“Oh, so a few days before the house was gone? How comforting,”

She put her head back into her hands, and they sat in silence for a few seconds, Anwyn ruminating in despair for a moment as Remus’ knee started to bounce as it always did when he was agitated.

“I can understand if you’re angry with me,” he finally said.

She shut her eyes for a few seconds. “I’m not angry,”

“It wouldn’t be an unreasonable reaction,” he pressed on. “It’s your home too,”

It was wasn’t it. Whenever she was homesick at Hogwarts, it was very rarely the flat in London she dreamt off, the cosy nest at Shepherds Lane coming to mind far more often. So many of her fondest memories were here. Baking in the kitchen at Christmas, long summer nights reading on the sofa, even that year she’s fallen off her first broom. She’d go away to Hogwarts and she’d never see the place again. It felt like losing a friend.

Anwyn sat up and slumped against his arm, and he brought it up and around her shoulders, giving her a tight squeeze while he kissed the top of her head.

“I’ll miss this place,” she muttered.

“Me too,” he replied with a sigh. “But you are outgrowing that room. Maybe it’s time for something a little bigger,”

“Just as long as there’s no marble,” Anwyn replied, thinking of Thornhill hall with a shiver.

Remus let out a small huff of amusement. “I wouldn’t worry about that. I think marble might be a little out of my price range,”

Anwyn finally stood with a sigh, looking around the room at the stack of boxes, hands on her hips. “Can I still borrow a shirt? I don’t even know where to start,”

“Umm…” Remus opened one of the boxes at his feet, and then let the cardboard flap back down again before trying the next. “I think— ah yes here you go. They might be a little wrinkled,”

“Nothing new there then,”

Anwyn caught the checked flannel that he chucked her way, a soft brown with tan and orange running through it, criss crossed by creases, and slipped her arms in, rolling up the balloon like sleeves until her hands could poke out the ends.

“Come on,” she said in a tired voice. “Maybe watching Sirius beat you at chess will cheer me up,”

“Unlikely,” Remus replied. “He cheats. He always cheats,”

———

Even trouncing Sirius at chess was not enough of a distraction to keep Remus’ mind off his niece’s sudden decent into silence.

She’d been nervous when she’d arrived downstairs, he could tell by the slight tremor in her voice, the way her eyes had darted anywhere but Sirius’ face when she’d spoken to him, but she’d caught him off guard with her offer to write to Harry. The kind of thoughtful act that kindled pride in his chest. And perhaps, for a second, he’d been foolish enough to think that the anxiety that had plagued her all year had gone for good. That was, until she found the boxes.

He should have hidden them better. Should have locked his bedroom door, but he would have had to tell her eventually. And now she’s squirrelled herself away in the corner, apparently writing her letters although he hadn’t spotted much quill movement happening. She just seemed to be spending her time looking around the sitting room, as if committing it to memory. The sight was enough to trigger a familiar bubbling of guilt. She didn’t deserve this. She deserved a home, not to be dragged around the country because he couldn’t hold down a job.

After nearly two hours of watching her for signs of cracks, Remus finally gave up, and did what he did best in times of stress. Went and boiled the kettle.

He was leaning on the kitchen counter, watching the plum tree swaying the breeze when the kettle started to shriek so he didn’t hear Sirius come in, and physically jerked as he felt the hand rest on the back of his shoulder.

“Just me,” Sirius said, but he removed his hand, and Remus felt the void of its absence.

He leaned against the counter, facing the other way with his arms crossed, and Remus turned to match him.

“She didn’t take it well then?” Sirius asked quietly, keeping his voice low to avoid it floating through to the sitting room.

“About as well as I could expect,” Remus replied with a sigh. “At least I didn’t make her cry,”

“Not a high bar to aim for,” Sirius replied with a small smirk.

Remus shook his head, looking at his feet. “I just don’t know Pads. I feel like I’m mucking up her life. Messing up my own, I can deal with, but hers—“

“Hey,” Sirius interrupted him, bumping shoulders. “You’re doing a fine job. This is just another hurdle, but we’ll get through it,”

We. He’d said we. The word sent a warmth through Remus’ chest that he hadn’t felt in years, and he felt it spreading to his face, a small smile forcing its way there too. The smile Sirius returned nearly stopped his heart on his chest.

Sirius moved to grab the shrill kettle, which had been completely abandoned, and then paused at the window. “Oh here comes trouble,”

Bethan stood in the garden, having just apparated. She had Anwyn’s trunk in one hand, her owl’s cage in the other, and a bag of takeaway food was tucked haphazardly under one arm. By the time Remus had opened the door to help, she’d already produced her wand, levitating most of the burden, talking as she came through the back door, an infuriating tactic she always used when they’d argued where she just didn’t acknowledge that any disagreement had occurred. She stopped short as soon as she saw that the house did not just comprise of Lupins.

“Sorry I’m late, the queue at that place was out the door, still, it’s the the best muggle takeaway around so it should be worth it—oh,“

“Bethan,” Sirius gave her a nod of greeting, voice tight.

“Sirius,” she replied, blinking a few times to clear the shock from her face. “You’re ah— you’re looking well,”

They stood in a silent stalemate for a few seconds before Anwyn appeared, stepping forward to grab Gwyn’s floating cage. The barn owl have a small hoot of greeting, and spread his wings.

“Did you get the details you needed Mum?” She asked as she popped open the cage door, and he could tell from the strained tone of her voice that she was still angry, but trying to be civil.

Bethan glanced over at her, shock clearly evident on her face that she wasn’t being lectured by her daughter again, but nodded. “A fair amount. It seems it was Crouch’s house elf that cast the dark mark after all, though for what purpose, your guess is as good as mine,”

“Crouch?” Sirius asked. “Barty Crouch?”

“The one and the same,” she replied.

Sirius swore under his breath.

“What?” Remus asked, feeling a twang of unease as he took the bag of food off his sister. “What’s wrong?”

“Crouch was supposed to be leading the trial. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s delayed further for this,”

“Pettigrew’s trial?” Bethan asked, perking up a little. “So he’s leading it is he? Who else is on the team?”

Before Sirius could answer, Anwyn’s head had already shot up from where she was tying Harry’s letter to her owl’s foot.

“Mum. Don’t,”

“What?!” She exclaimed. “I’m just asking!”

“He’s not another one of your articles waiting to be written!” Anwyn snapped back.

She marched to the open door, holding her arm out, and Gwyn gave her hair an affectionate nibble before launching himself out into the garden.

“Always on the defensive,” Bethan muttered to Remus as she watched her daughter. “Where has this teen attitude come from?”

“Wyn is right,” Remus said quietly. “Sirius is here as my guest. Nothing we talk about in here can leave these walls,”

Bethan looked between the two of them, spluttering a little, and her frown deepened into something approaching hurt. “I swear, I leave Anwyn here for a few minutes and you two are already ganging up on me! I promise I’m not going to try and interview you Sirius. There, are we happy? Can we eat now? I’m starving!”

She marched towards the kitchen table, pulling out a chair with a shriek of wood against the stone floor, and sat down expectantly. Remus turned to find Anwyn shutting the back door with a dull thud. She shot him a look that was somewhere between trepidation and agitation. He returned it taking a deep, calming breath.

It was going to be a long night.

Chapter 4: Picnics and Plums

The last time Remus had been forced to move, Anwyn had only been ten, and so she hadn’t quite registered the seriousness of the situation. She had vague memories of cardboard boxes and quiet conversations between Remus and her Mum, but as far as she’d been aware, she’d left his little bedsit in Croydon and the next time she’d been bundled off to him they had arrived through the dusty fireplace of Shepherd’s Lane.

It had been bucketing down with rain that night, a fierce Welsh storm that hammered at the window of her newly created bedroom, the wind making the eaves creak above her. Every groan, every crack had her cowering under the duvet, imaging all manner of horrible creature crawling across the old tiles above her head. It was pitch black too, gone were the streetlights outside, replaced by an inky darkness that could have hidden any number of horrors.

At first she’d merely hid her head under the sheets, hands over her ears. She was ten after all, far too old to go running downstairs to complain about the monsters at the window. But the wind didn’t let up, the thin glass shaking in the window frame, until unable to stand it any longer, she’d slipped out of bed and padded downstairs.

Remus’ bedroom door was cracked open, he always left it that way so he could hear if she needed him, and she had managed to squeeze her way through without creaking the hinges. His room as as dark as hers had been, and her mind played tricks on her, the bundle of clothes in the corner a shadowy figure, the fireplace a yawning, dark maw. Another gust of furious wind hammered a torrent of rain off the window, and she’d flinched, before burrowing her way under the duvet.

There had been a sharp intake of breath as her icy feet brushed his ankles, and she’d curled tight in a ball, hoping that she hadn’t woken him enough to send her back to bed, but a scratchy voice came from the dark.

“Wyn…what’s wrong,”

“Nothing,” she’d squeaked back.

There was another pause as his half asleep brain processed, and then he muttered, turning over onto his back. “You should be in bed,”

She had been about to make an excuse when the window gave a particularly harsh rattle, wind screaming against the side of the house, and she’d flinched, a small squeal escaping her throat.

“Just the wind,” he’d mumbled, rolling onto his side to face her, but he’d pulled the duvet right up to her chin, and it seemed that any thought of sending her back upstairs had gone.

“There’s lots of strange noises in my room,” she’d said, immediately feeling foolish, but he didn’t chastise her.

“It’s an old house,” he said instead. “It shifts with the wind. There’s nothing to be scared of,”

She’d burrowed her head into the pillow, pulling her knees up to her chest, and listened to the wind outside. Sure enough, she could hear the house groan a little every time it picked up, a shifting of old beams. After a moment another noise joined it, a soft snoring from the other side of the bed. The house didn’t sound so different from it, in fact it was like Shepherds Lane was snoring itself. She’d finally drifted off there, listening to the house breath, a sound that would eventually become as comforting and homely as a hot chocolate on cold winters day. A sound she was going to miss.

Anwyn stared at Remus’ cracked bedroom door. He still slept with it open like that, even now that she was far past the age of crawling under the blankets when she was spooked on the night. Would the next place feel as alive as Shepherds Lane? For all its rundown state, it was home. She couldn’t imagine anywhere else feeling the same. With a sigh, she carefully wrapped the clock from the mantle piece in an old towel, and placed it in the cardboard box at her feet.

The sitting room looked empty, a shell of the cosy bolt hole it once was. The books were all gone from the shelves, the fireplace now cleared completely. All that was left was the woollen throws on the sofa, left to make the place a little more comfortable for their guest. Still, at least that was something. Perhaps having Harry stay would take her mind of it. She’d been up since the early hours, unable to sleep, so the idea of having something a little bit less miserable to do than packing up their life was enticing.

She heard the squeak of hinges as Remus’ bedroom door opened, followed by the shuffle of feet on the carpet, and looked up to find him doing a particularly good impression of a zombie as he disappeared into the bathroom with a tired wave of greeting. The sound of water came as the shower started, and she decided that she’d had enough of packing for now. Her stomach gave a grumble. Time for breakfast.

She chucked some bacon in the pan, throwing a couple of teabags in empty mugs while it started to sizzle on the stove, and looked around the kitchen. The majority of the cupboards still needed to be packed, although Remus had assured her that he could do it with magic in a few seconds, and that it wasn’t something she needed to worry about, but—

CRACK

Anwyn knocked the closest mug off the counter as she flinched, it shattering at her feet in a spray of porcelain.

“Merlin’s beard Sirius, you scared the shit out of me!” She breathed, bending down to pick up the pieces and the stray tea bag.

“Sorry,” he grinned apologetically, before pulling his wand from his back pocket. With a flick of the wrist, the mug was back in one piece, sitting on the counter once more. “Is that bacon I smell?”

Anwyn gave a resigned sigh, but couldn’t help smiling. “I’ll stick another few rashers in the pan,”

By the time Remus appeared, freshly shaven and hair still damp from the shower, Anwyn was buttering three fresh rolls for the slightly overdone bacon, tea steaming in mugs. He didn’t notice Sirius at first, who was crouched on the floor sniffing the milk to see if it was fresh, and Anwyn couldn’t help but notice the way he quickly flattened down his flyaway hair when the other man popped up.

“Morning Moony,”

“You’re here early,” Remus replied. “Did the smell of bacon tempt you?”

“He apparated indoors again,” Anwyn said without looking up, voice monotone, and she heard a scoff behind her.

“Tattletale. When’s Harry due?”

Anwyn shot a quick look at the clock on the wall. “In the next half hour. Better light the fire,”

“I’ll get it,” Remus said, grabbing his tea and disappearing through to the sitting room.

At one minute past ten, the fireplace burst into large, green flames, and a figure stepped out. Anwyn recognised the ginger man immediately, Mr Weasley, who brushed himself down and held his hand out to Remus.

“Remus, it’s been a while,” he said with a smile, before turning to Sirius. He gave the man a slightly terse nod, hesitating, and then offered a hand shake to him too.

“Arthur,” Sirius replied, voice polite. “How’s the family?”

“Well, thank you,” he seemed to hesitate again, clearing his throat. “Adjusting alright? I imagine it’s not the easiest transition,”

Sirius gave a tight smile. “A couple more of Anwyn’s bacon sandwiches and I’ll be right at home,”

They were saved from any further awkward small talk by the fire glowing green for a second time, a slightly soot covered and disoriented Harry stumbled out to look around the room, his eyes landing on his Godfather.

“Sirius,” he said with a grin, and stepped forward, embracing the man who had equally as large a smile plastered across his face.

“Tea Arthur?” Remus asked, but the ginger man shook his head.

“I best be off, they’re expecting me at the office. Enjoy yourself Harry,”

With another polite smile, Mr Weasley stepped back into the fireplace, and disappeared in a flash of green.

“Thanks for having me Professor,” Harry turned to Remus. “I really appreciate it,”

“Please Harry, I’m not your teacher any more,” he replied with a smile. “Just Remus will do,”

“You want the tour?” Anwyn asked, and she was ready bounce off through the house as the self appointed guide, but she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Perhaps we should let Harry and Sirius catch up first Wyn. You can help me with the sandwiches,”

“I already made the bacon rolls!” She exclaimed.

Remus shot her an exasperated look, raising an eyebrow, and disappeared into the kitchen. With a sigh she followed, and left the other two to their reunion.

———

Unlike her first night at Shepherd’s Lane, it was a glorious day. They spread out the blankets from the back of the sofa across the grass under the plum tree where the sun could still hit them but they’d be sheltered from the wind. Remus sat the gramophone out on one of the kitchen chairs, and it was soon spinning away, the crackle of their favourite records floating across the garden as they carried chipped plates laden with sandwiches and frosted cakes out to the grass, a bounce in Anwyn’s step as the familiar chords and the heat of the day lifted the stress off her shoulders .

Sirius had paused as he went to throw himself down on the grass, head titled as he listened to song that Anwyn was already humming away at.

“Is this Fleetwood Mac?” He asked, surprise evident on his features.

“Yes,” said Remus levering himself to the ground. “It’s a few years old by now, but they’re still going. And you’re still due me a replacement for the album you frisbeed across the living room,”

“Uncle Vernon refuses to listen to this kind of stuff,” Harry replied. “Says he doesn’t like any of that rock nonsense,”

Sirius gave a bark of a laugh. “They’re hardly the most hardcore of bands. I’ll have to give you a crash course in good music Harry,”

They munched on ham and cheese sandwiches while Sirius quizzed Remus on all of the bands from his youth that were still touring, and the conversation inevitably turned to the antics of their school days, Harry soaking up tales of his Dad like a man in a drought. Anwyn listened with rapt attention, legs crossed beneath her as she threaded daisies in a long chain. Most of them were stories she hadn’t heard either.

Full and content, conversation then turned to Harry’s quidditch prospects in the coming season, specifically which of Krum’s moves he was planning on trying, and before Anwyn knew it Sirius was on his feet.

“Have you got a broom Remus?”

“In the cupboard under the stairs,” Remus replied warily. “Why do you ask? Oh I know that face, I don’t like that face—”

Sirius grinned, and then hurried off towards the house. He wasn’t away long before he reappeared with a the battered old broom over one shoulder.

“Please don’t break any bones Harry,” Remus moaned as Harry sprung up from the rug. “I’m not sending you back to the Weasley’s with broken bones,”

“Come on Moony,” Sirius replied. “You’ve seen Harry fly, there’s no chance of that,”

“Yeah but he usually flies on a broom that wasn’t made in the late 1700s,” Anwyn laughed. “That old things not good for much more than sweeping,”

“Go on Harry, prove them wrong. Let’s see this Wronksi feint,”

And Harry was in the air, albeit with a bit of wobble as the broom bucked a little.

“You’re not wrong,” he shouted down, giving it a few test circles of the garden. “This thing is temperamental!”

Remus moved the gramophone further under the tree, muttering about accidents waiting to happen, and Anwyn stacked the plates on the grass so she could lie right back, propping herself on her elbows so she could watch Harry swing past. The old broom stuttered mid air. It was a far cry from his Firebolt, but he flipped forward and shot towards the ground.

“Oh Merlin I can’t watch,” Anwyn whined, covering her eyes, and peaked between her fingers just in time to see Harry pull the broom up before it hit the ground.

The old broom jolted, and he hopped off with a laugh, landing with a roll to break his fall.

“I don’t like this Sirius,” Remus called beside her, but his complaint was promptly ignored as the other man offered his godson his hand, pulling him off the grass for another attempt.

“Have we still got wards up?” Anwyn muttered, watching the boy rise back into the sky.

“Yes,” came the reluctant reply.

“Well that’s something. At least the muggles won’t see him break his neck,”

There was a groan beside her as Remus lowered himself onto the blanket, and she looked over, shielding her eyes against the sun.

“Hip bothering you again?”

“I’m just getting old,” he grumbled, as he leaned back, propping himself on one arm as he watched Harry swoop over head to catch the apple Sirius had started throwing his way.

The boy caught it with a whoop, floating back down to the ground. When he landed, he slid off the broom, and offered it to Sirius who gave a bark of laughter before climbing on.

“I have an interview,” Remus told her quietly. “On Friday,”

Anwyn’s head snapped round. “Really? Remus that’s great! Where?”

“An adult literacy course. It’s in Newport so we wouldn’t have to leave Wales. It’s not much but…it’s something,”

“It sounds perfect,” she said brightly. “We already know you’re good at teaching. A few muggles will be easy,”

He made a noise of affirmation, but he didn’t sound sure.

“What’s wrong?” Anwyn asked. “Don’t you want the job?”

“Ahh it’s nothing,” he waved her away, clearing his throat. “There’s a little house near the centre up for rent. I thought we could take a look after my interview,”

Anwyn sat up. “I can come too?”

“Of course,” he smiled. “It’s going to be your home as well,”

There was a peel of laughter overhead, and Sirius whipped past, going far faster than he probably should have on the old thing.

“He’s just showing off now,” Remus muttered, smile quirking at his lips.

“So what’s the house like?”

There was no response. His eyes were still fixed on the broom above, watching as Sirius did a little loop de loop above the garden.

“Remus,”

“Hmm?” He said absently, still not entirely listening.

“Remus!”

He jumped a little, looking back at her. Anwyn couldn’t be sure, but it seemed like his cheeks looked a little flushed as he cleared his throat again. Perhaps it was just the sun.

“Sorry, what was that?” He asked.

She narrowed her eyes a little, pouting, and then shot him a lop sided smile.

“You’re sunburnt,”

“Am I?” He touched the bridge of his nose. “Perhaps a little,”

“Here, this will completely the look,”

Anwyn picked up one of the many daisy chain crowns she’d fashioned during lunch and draped it over his grey streaked hair. It sat at an odd angle, a few of the flowers drooping down his forehead.

“Oh how kind,” he said with a faux polite tone. “But surely you should be sporting your own crown?”

She picked up another, looping it around her own head where it caught in the wind tangled curls.

“Much better,” Remus gave her a lazy smile.

They lounged until clouds started to cover the sun, the wind picking up chilling Anwyn without its rays. She grabbed one of the discarded blankets, wrapping them around her shoulders, but the change in weather made the old broom too unpredictable for even Sirius, and they returned to the ground.

“Very fetching,” Sirius said as he spotted their matching crowns of daisies. “Don’t I get one?”

Anwyn held another one aloft between two fingers, and he knelt in front of her like a knight of old, head bowed. She placed the daisy chain over his dark hair, and he sprung back up with a grin, looking years younger than she’d seen him since they met, a rare glimmer of the man he might have been before Azkaban.

“I suppose we better get tidied up before this turns to rain,” Remus said, looking up at the threatening sky.

Sirius held his hand out in offering, and Remus took it, levering himself to his feet with a grunt. Anwyn couldn’t help but notice how he favoured one side, but he stretched his back and seemed to loosen up a little before pulling out his wand to levitate the stack of plates. She went to stand to help but he waved her back.

“We’ve got this. You two enjoy the sun while it lasts,”

She sunk back down, crossing her legs beneath her, and the daisy chain crown fell from her hair as the wind buffeted them.

“This place is really nice Anwyn,” Harry said, sitting down on the blanket. “Must be a nice place to spend the summer,”

“Thanks. But we’ve only got another week here,” she replied glumly, absently picking at the daisies petals.

“You’re moving?”

“Not by choice. We lost the house,”

“You’re kidding?” He grimaced. “Sorry,”

She shrugged. “It is what it is. I’m more worried about where Remus is going to go,”

Harry frowned. “He’s not found a new job yet?”

“He’s got an interview but nothing concrete yet. It’s hard finding something in the wizarding world,”

“He shouldn’t have had to leave,” Harry said emphatically. “Who knows who we’ll end up with this year,”

“Can’t be any crazier than Lockhart right?” She said, and then frowned. “I probably just jinxed that,”

The wind picked up again, blowing the rest of the daisies from Anwyn’s lap. The tree above them creaked, a few loose leaves falling down on their heads, and one of the blankets whipped up and into their faces, eliciting a surprised burst of laughter as it took off down the garden.

Anwyn stood, stretching her arms above her head with a groan before placing her hands on her hips and looking up into the branches while Harry retrieved the stray blanket from the bushes.

“I’m going to miss the plum harvest this year. The first few years we were here, before Hogwarts that is, Remus would gather them up and we’d be living off plum jam and crumble for weeks,”

Harry stood too, gathering up the blankets into a heap. “Plum crumble sounds pretty good right now,”

“I don’t think they’ll be ripe enough yet. Unless…”

She stretched her neck right back, squinting against the sun at the branches above. It was laden with plums, the branches drooping under the weight, but most of them were still pale, green, and would be rock solid. About half way up however, there was a promising cluster of plump purple fruit.

“Oh there we go,” she muttered, turning to Harry. “Give me a leg up will you?”

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” He asked nervously.

“I used to climb this thing all the time when I was younger. Easy peasy,”

“I am not taking the blame if you break a leg,”

“Oh where’s your sense of adventure Potter! Weren’t you literally just nose diving on a death trap two minutes ago?”

“Alright…” he said, still not sounding sure, but he dropped the blankets and linked his fingers together to make a step up for her.

She placed one foot on his hands, and with a grunt he helped her to scramble up the trunk and towards the lower branches. She couldn’t quite pull herself up, and her foot fumbled, stepping into his shoulder in an effort to get higher.

“Oi, watch it!” Came a grumble from below.

“Stop complaining, I’m getting you your crumble aren’t I?”

“I don’t think we can make a crumble out of three pieces of fruit,”

“Just push will you!”

With a final shove from below, Anwyn got enough purchase on the lower branches and clambered into the bows of the tree. Now that she was there, it seemed much higher than she remembered, and it swayed in the breeze, but she swallowed hard, determined to actually be brave for once, and started to climb. The tree groaned under her. The branches were thinner than she remembered too, and she tested the next few with careful steps, the wood creaking as she put her weight on it.

“You got them?” Harry called from below.

“Just about,”

The plums were just ahead, the leaves rustling as she stuck her hand out above her, fingers brushing the soft fruit. If she could just reach another inch. Anwyn shifted her foot, stretching her arm as far as it would go, and—

There was a crack below her.

———

Remus tipped the dirty dishes into the sink, giving a light wave of his wand to start the brush scrubbing at them, and leaned on the counter, looking out of the window into the garden where the two teens lounged in the sun. It was good for the both of them. Some down time after the madness of last year, a place just to relax and enjoy their summer.

“He looks just like James,” Sirius said behind him, where he was leaning against the table with his arms crossed. “I can’t get over it,”

Remus made a noise of confirmation. “Sometimes I’d spot him in the corridors and think it was him for a second. I kept catching myself going to use the wrong name in class,”

There was a peal of laughter outside, the two teenagers chasing after a wayward blanket that had been caught by the wind.

“I’ve missed so much,” Sirius said with a sigh, joining him at the window. “I should have been here to see them grow up,”

“You’re here now,” Remus replied softly. “That’s what matters,”

Sirius didn’t look convinced. “Harry needed me. I was blind to it at the time. But I should have left Peter to the aurors. Explained to Dumbledore what had happened. Told you. I was no good to him locked up in Azkaban,”

“I can’t pretend I wouldn’t have done the same,” Remus said. “Had I known what he’d done. I would have wanted him dead,”

“Did you want me dead?” Sirius’ voice was barely a whisper.

Remus looked away, unable to meet his eyes as his stomach plummeted. He hadn’t know what he wanted. It had taken so long for the shock to ware off when he’d heard the news, and yes, he’d been angry, furious even, but the grief had been worse, much worse. The last marauder left. Alone once again.

“Sorry,” Sirius cleared his throat. “You don’t have to answer that,”

“I’m as guilty as you are,” Remus said instead. “I could have reached out to him. Been in his life. I was too scared I’d just ruin it. I should of seen that it was more selfish of me to stay away,”

“You had Wyn to worry about,” Sirius said, but Remus was already shaking his head.

“That’s not an excuse. I was just being a coward. Merlin, I even tried to palm her off on McGonagall,” he turned quickly to Sirius. “Don’t tell her that, she wouldn’t understand. She’ll only just worry,”

Sirius gave a reassuring nod, his gaze returning to the garden. The two teens were standing now, staring up at the tree above them. Anwyn seemed to be pointing at something in the upper branches.

“His scars been hurting,” Sirius told him quietly. “And he’s been having odd dreams,”

Remus’ head whipped round. “Do you think it’s anything to do with what happened at the World Cup,”

Sirius shook his head. “I don’t know what to think. But the sooner this trial is over the better. I don’t like the idea of him disappearing off to Hogwarts and I can’t get there if something happens,”

Remus turned back to the window, watching as Anwyn balanced on the boy’s cupped hands, reaching into the branches of the plum tree and pulling herself up.

“We should make Harry a book like Wyn’s” he said after a second. “Something he can contact us with in an emergency,”

Sirius nodded. “It wouldn’t definitely be a start,”

“Perhaps the dreams are exactly that. Just dreams—“

There was a loud crack from the garden, followed by a shriek, and Anwyn came plummeting back out of the tree, landing on top of Harry below. Remus was already throwing open the kitchen door before he’d registered what had happened, heart in his throat as rushed over to the tangle of limbs on the grass.

But instead of tears, or screams, the sound that came to him was laughter, loud and exuberant, the type he hadn’t heard come out of his niece in what felt like years. Harry was joining her as they managed to untangle themselves, lying back in the long grass as they tried to catch their breaths.

“Wyn,” Remus said weakly. “Are you alright?”

She couldn’t reply from laughing so hard, but a hand came up in the air, one thumb sticking up in confirmation, and Remus deflated, running a hand through his hair with a shaky sigh. There was something else in Anwyn’s other hand, and as she sat up she held it aloft.

“Plum anyone?”

And before he knew it, she and Harry had descended back into hysterics.

Notes:

This is up there as one of the longer chapters I’ve written for this series and it’s mainly family fluff and plums. I have no regrets.

I’m fairly conscious of the fact that this year we won’t get as much time with Remus so I’m letting them have some downtime before the real action starts. It lets me do some character building too so hopefully it pays off.

Fun fact, the album they were listening to was Tango In the Night, which came out in 1987, so Sirius would have still been in Azkaban. Let’s say it was Remus’ copy of Rumours that got frisbeed.

Chapter 5: From Newport to London

The little muggle cafe was packed. Anwyn was tucked into a table in the corner, backpack shoved in at her feet to try and avoid taking up as much room as possible, but even then she felt mildly claustrophobic.

The business man beside her was talking into odd black brick with an antennae sticking out the top that she could only guess was some sort of new muggle phone, and he kept jabbing his elbow in her direction when his conversation became more animated. A tired looking woman sat at the table in front of her, toddler jammed into a high chair screaming his head off, and there was a gaggle of teens a few tables down that kept looking in her direction before bursting into peals of laughter. It all totalled up into an oppressive bundle of nerves that left her self conscious and unable to concentrate.

She sipped at the cooling drink in front of her, something that she’d never tried before but was a surprising combination of coffee and hot chocolate, and tried to concentrate on the book she’d brought. But no matter how captivating the tale of the Welsh wizard in a moving castle was, she found herself reading the same line over and over again, foot bouncing repetitively under the table.

The bells above the door jingled as it swung open, and a familiar figure stepped in, dressed in his best suit and tie, freshly pressed if a little faded. Remus looked around the cafe for her, and she raised a hand to wave him over. He flashed a smile her way before heading to the counter to order a drink.

“How’d it go?” She asked immediately as he pulled out his chair, sitting a frothy looking coffee on the table.

He gave what seemed to be a nonchalant shrug as he sat down, but the way he tapped at the coffee cup suggested that he was more nervous than he was trying to appear. “Hard to say. I think I answered everything to the best of ability. What’s that you’re drinking?”

“I think they called it a mocha,” she said. “Want to try it?”

Remus accepted the mug, taking a sip before giving a hum of appreciation. “Very nice. You’re going to be bouncing off the walls with that much caffeine however,”

“I’m on my best behaviour!” She retorted, taking the mug back.

Remus smirked back, raising an eyebrow as he took another sip of coffee.

“When will you hear back? About the job I mean,”

“Probably next week I’d think,” he replied. “In the meantime, we can swing past and view that house, and drop in at Diagon Alley tomorrow to pick up your school supplies,”

“If Mum remembers to bring my letter,” Anwyn grumbled.

The teens along the row let out another burst of laughter, and Anwyn glanced over to see them quickly looking away from her. She fidgeted with her hair, pushing a wayward curl behind her ear, and fixed her eyes on her mug. Perhaps she was being paranoid, perhaps they were just sharing a joke between friends, but in her slightly ratty jumper and old leggings she couldn’t help but feel like they were laughing at her.

“It’s a little busy in here,” Remus said gently, and she looked up to find he was watching her with a frown. “Shall we get some fresh air?”

Anwyn nodded eagerly, grabbing her bag from the floor and dropping her book into it, before draining the last of the coffee in her cup, wiping away the chocolate moustache that it left.

The street outside was just as busy as the cafe, a hustle and bustle of shoppers and business folk on their lunch break. There were women pushing prams, pensioners with walking sticks, groups of teens loitering about and buskers with guitars and a sparse amount of change in their caps. Remus rifled in his pocket for a few spare muggle coins, dropping them in the cup of one of the men they passed, before heading off down the street.

It was a lot to take in. Though she’d partly grown up in London, her mother usually frequented the same small area, the streets becoming as familiar to Anwyn by now as the halls of Hogwarts, but Newport was very different. She strained her neck to look at the old buildings above the shops, listening to buzz of conversation around her, marvelling at how different the accents were here compared to the ones she’s was used to from the north, and hurried after Remus, dodging shoppers as she went. A man in a tracksuit brushed past her, his shoulder hitting hers, and she stumbled to the kerb, letting out a small squeak as a bus whipped past her only inches away.

Remus turned at the sound. “Come on you, keep up,”

“How do you know where you’re going?” She asked as she hurried to his side, latching onto his arm. The girls in the cafe would probably have laughed at her for being such a baby, but she no longer cared, the busy street setting her nerves jangling.

“I’ve had a few jobs in Newport before,” he said. “And I lived in a flat above the newsagents a few streets over,”

She frowned. “I don’t remember that,”

“It was before you came to stay with me in Bristol,” he said. “And I wasn’t there long,”

She didn’t press him for further details, even though it sounded like there was a story there. The tale probably ended the same way they often did; with Remus losing his job, failing to pay the rent and having to move on.

They stopped at a bus stop at the end of the high street, and a white and green double decker turned up a few minutes later. Anwyn hung around at the bottom of the stairs while Remus paid for their tickets, and then he gave her a gentle shove towards the seats near the back of the bus. There were two empty, and she slid in beside the window, trying to ignore the smell of stale alcohol from the man in front and the screeching of the baby behind them. The window didn’t seem to open either, and the heat was oppressive within minutes of them sitting down, sweat beginning to bead on Anwyn’s back.

“How far have we got to go?” Anwyn asked

“A few stops. Should only be about fifteen minutes,”

She suppressed a groan and pressed her forehead against the window, trying to get find way to cool down.

After a very sweaty fifeteen minutes, Remus finally pressed the button on the seat in front of them, a shrill bell ringing at the side of the bus. He got up and started making his way to the front, and Anwyn followed, only to rocket into his back when the driver slammed the breaks on to stop.

“Steady on,” he said grabbing her with one hand while holding onto the bar beside him with the other.

“I hate buses,” she muttered miserably.

The street they’d been dropped off on was less built up than the town centre, a row of run down looking terraced houses in brown brick, weeds sticking out of the cracks between the pavements. They stopped in front of a mid terrace, a sad little building squashed between its neighbours, and Remus stepped forward to knock on the door.

There was a moment of silence, then the sound of someone grabbing the handle, and it swung open to reveal a short woman in a pinstriped suit and skirt, clipboard in hand.

“Hello, are you here for the viewing?” She asked with a friendly smile. “Can I take your name?”

“John Lupin,” Remus replied, and Anwyn noted the use of his middle name instead.

“Fantastic, I have you here,” she said, ticking an entry on her clipboard. “If you’d just like to follow me,”

She stepped back and let them in through the door, the house immediately opening up into a small, cramped sitting room with a staircase going up to the upper floor.

“We have one reception room down here, the kitchen is out the back, and then two bedrooms and a bathroom on the upper floor,” the woman told them. “I’ll leave you to have a little look around, but if you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask,”

“Thank you,” Remus replied with a smile, and then waved Anwyn over from where she was hovering in the doorway.

The living room was…dated. The carpet was an ugly thing of brown swirls, an old gas fire sitting under the staircase, and the walls were stained orange with nicotine, the smell still pervasive in the air. The place was empty of furniture other than a trio of wooden flying birds on the wall, but it was hard to imagine them squeezing much more than a sofa in. Anwyn looked at the patchy wood chipped ceiling, trying to ignore the growing sense of despair in her chest, and stepped through into the kitchen.

It was equally as run down, the work surface stained with years of food and cigarettes, the gas stove top entrained with grime. She looked out through the back window to the garden beyond, a tiny square of uneven paving slabs, dandelions and grass growing between them. There were no other plants, no colours. Just a collapsed washing line and an old armchair mouldering away in the corner against the wall.

Upstairs wasn’t much better. The little bathroom sported a hideous green bath with matching toilet and sink, not far off the colour of a bogey flavoured Berty Botts. The two bedrooms sat back to back, both lined with carpets as ugly as the one downstairs. The smallest, which Anwyn guessed would be hers, was a dark little space, a patch of mould growing in the corner, and she thought longingly of the sun that would burst through the window of her bedroom in Shepherds Lane. Soon she would never see it again. Perhaps that was the moment that the reality of the situation really hit, and she felt her bottom lip start to wobble, biting down on it to distract herself.

“So what do we think?” The letting agent was saying downstairs, and Anwyn crept over to the top step, waiting to hear Remus’ answer.

“It’s certainly something to think about,” he said politely, but she could hear the hesitation in his voice.

“It really is the perfect little fixer upper,” the woman continued, and Anwyn got the idea that this was a well practiced line. “Plenty of space, and it’s within walking distance of the high school for your daughter,”

Anwyn waited on him correcting the woman, but it didn’t come.

“She goes to a boarding school,” he replied instead. “So she’ll just be here during the holidays,”

“Oh how lovely!” came the reply, her tone surprised. From what Anwyn had heard, muggle boarding schools often came with a hefty price tag, and the letting agent was probably wondering why they’d be looking for a dump like this. “So will it just be yourself for most of the year?”

“Perhaps,” Remus replied with a note of hesitation. “My ah…friend might be joining us,”

There it was again, that odd, strangled tone to his voice. Remus was weird around Sirius, and the topic of his old friend. Anwyn found herself frowning, straining to listen for more, but he didn’t elaborate. She wasn’t sure if she should be concerned, but he didn’t seem upset as such. It was just…odd.

She realised that the banister under her hand was sticky, and with a disgusted grimace she wiped it on her jumper, clomping down the stairs to announce her presence. Remus seemed relieved to see her, happy to be saved from small talk, and gave her a thin lipped smile.

“Ready to go,”

She nodded wordlessly, and he shook hands with the letting against once more.

“Thank you for your time,” he said. “I’ll be in touch,”

They didn’t speak until the door clicked shut behind them, and Remus turned to look back at the building, his brow furrowing as he squinted against the grey light of the day.

“What do you think,” he asked her. “Honest answers only,”

She considered lying. Considered being as chipper as possible, keeping the conversation light for sake of comfort, but the scowl on his face prompted her to tell the truth.

“Honestly? I hate it,”

“Me too,” he replied with a sigh. “It can be a backup plan if we don’t find anything else. Shepherds Lane was hardly perfect when I found it, maybe it would scrub up well,”

“I don’t think any amount of magic will help the place,”

He ran his hand through his hair, tucking the other in his pocket. “Come on then. Time to head back,”

“We don’t have to get the bus again so we?” Anwyn asked with a note of dread, but he just chuckled.

“No. Let’s find a quiet spot and take the quick route home,”

They found such a spot behind a row of garages the next street over, tucking themselves behind the massive bins in the corner. If any muggle had passed at that point, they probably would have wondered what on earth they were up to, but the place was dead, the only movement coming from a tabby cat that cut its way across the street.

“Hold on tight,” Remus told her, sticking out his hand.

She took it in a firm grip. “Can’t be any worse than that bus,” she muttered.

He quirked an eyebrow, a small smile turning the corner of his mouth. “We’ll see if your still saying that after apparating with a stomach full of coffee,”

Anwyn opened her mouth to reply, but there was a sharp tug under her ribs, like she’d been pulled bodily off her feet, and the world rushed around her ears.

———

When Anwyn padded down the stairs the next day, she found her Mum already drinking tea in the kitchen, whatever conversation she had been having with Remus coming to an awkward standstill as Anwyn appeared in the doorway. She hated when they did this, it was terribly obvious when they’d been discussing something that she wasn’t included in, and it left her feeling like paranoid, an outsider in her own family.

She scowled at the two of them as she fetched a bowl from the cupboard, noting that the dishes still hadn’t been packed away for moving and they only had a few days left. By Tuesday they would be out of the house, and by Thursday she’d be on the train to Hogwarts, leaving Shepherds Lane behind for the last time.

Her mother took in her surly expression, clicking her tongue between her teeth. “Looks like someone got out on the wrong side of bed,”

“Not possible, it’s against a wall,” Anwyn replied without turning around, pouring cornflakes into her bowl. She wasn’t a big fan of them, but they were cheap, so she wouldn’t complain.

“Sleep well?” Remus asked.

She gave a grunt on return. “Not particularly,”

“Too much caffeine,” she could hear the smile in his voice, but couldn’t quite bring herself to return this mornings playful banter. Last night had been full of dreams of that mouldy bedroom, clutching at sheets stinking of nicotine as she heard Remus shriek and break in the room next door.

The milk was still sitting on the counter from their tea, so she poured a glug in and grabbed a spoon, finally turning around to lean against the worktop and munch on her cereal. The smile was still on Remus’ face but there was a little worry line between his brows as he watched her carefully. This wasn’t anything new, since she’d arrived this summer at Shepherds Lane she’d felt like he was always watching her, gauging her reactions, perhaps waiting for her to have another breakdown like the one last year. Until now it had made her feel safe, like there was a safety net below her waiting to catch her if she needed it, but today it just felt stifling. Like he expected her to fail.

“Ready for Diagon Alley?” Her mum asked, ignoring her daughters bad mood.

Anwyn gave a silent shrug in response.

“Have you arranged to meet any of your friends?”

She hesitated, and then shook her head, still silent. She’d considered inviting Sarah or Russell, and both had been in contact during the holidays but their owls felt stilted, forced. It just wasn’t the same.

“Are you going to be in this mood all day?” Her mum asked with an exasperated sigh.

Anwyn shot her a glare, crunching on her cereal. “I’m not in a mood,”

Her mum scoffed, but didn’t reply, taking a sip of her tea instead.

Anwyn took another mouthful of cornflakes, a little bubble of guilt growing in her gut as it always did when she was grumpy, and instead turned to Remus, forcing her voice to sound a little lighter. “Is Sirius coming with us today?”

He shook his head, giving her a pained look. “He’s not too keen on the crowds at the moment. They either avoid him like the plague or mob him for interviews, nothing in between,”

“Why would Sirius be coming?” Her mum asked, looking confused.

Anwyn shrugged. “I dunno, he’s just been hanging out here a lot. I thought he might want a day out,”

“Oh has he?” She raised an eyebrow, a small smile curling her mouth, and looked over at her brother. “Fancy that,”

Again, for an instant, Anwyn could have sworn that Remus had flushed red, but he turned away, pouring the left overs of his tea down the sink, and cleared his throat.

“You better jump in the shower Anwyn if we want to beat the crowds,”

“You say that every year and we never beat them,” she replied, but sat her half finished bowl of cereal down on the counter top.

“Oh, hold on a minute before you go,” her Mum stopped her, stepping forward to the kitchen table and picking up an envelope. “Open your letter,”

Anwyn recognised the seal immediately; Hogwarts. It was addressed to their flat in London, having arrived while they were at the quidditch and been promptly forgotten about on return.The letter wasn’t particularly thick, and there was no tell tale jingle of a badge in the envelope, though that wasn’t much of a surprise. Anwyn did not have any expectations of becoming a prefect after last years nightmare, and Sarah had already written gushing about her appointment. There could only be one boy and girl chosen to be prefect per house, and Sarah was Hufflepuff’s. A good choice, but one that still stung a little. Both her dad and Remus had held the title, and she’d entertained the hope that she might follow in their footsteps, but it wasn’t going to happen.

She slid her thumb under the wax seal and cracked the envelope open. There were two letters inside, one a list of the equipment she’d need for the coming year, another the results of her fourth year exams. She discarded the list on the counter for now, unfolding her results while she held her breath.

They were of…mixed success. Herbology and Potions had both awarded her an Outstanding mark, while the rest were a scattering of Acceptables, save for two.

“Well,” Anwyn said despondently. “I failed Transfiguration,”

She stared at the P for Poor in the list, as if it would change if she willed it hard enough, and then her eyes drifted to the only other stand out mark, her eyes widening. Anwyn’s head shot up to look at Remus.

“Exceeds Expectation in Defence Against the Dark Arts?!” She exclaimed. “Are you sure?!”

He gave her a warm smile. “You performed very well in your examination Wyn. It perhaps went a little sideways at one point, but you adapted. It’s well deserved,”

She looked back down at the page, letters swimming a little in her vision as she swallowed past the lump in her throat. Perhaps if Remus had been able to stay on she’d actually pass her OWLs. But thanks to her, that was not a possibility.

“Don’t worry about transfiguration Wynnie,” her mother told her, mistaking the cause of her silence. “You’ve got all year to practice. And McGonagall is very supportive if you just ask when you need help,”

“Easier said than done,” Anwyn muttered. Asking for help had been the hardest test of all last year.

“What’s on your equipment list?” Her mum asked, and she picked up the abandoned letter.

It was the usual fair, yet another volume of the Standard Book of Spells and some potions ingredients, though Anwyn noted the lack of a new DADA textbook. Perhaps her new teacher wouldn’t be so bad if they approved of Remus’ choice last year. But there was one item at the bottom of the list that had her frowning.

“Dress robes?” She read aloud. “Why do I need dress robes?”

When she looked up her mother was smiling, a knowing kind of smirk that suggested she’d been waiting for Anwyn to find out about this requirement.

“What?” She asked her. “Why are you smiling like that, do you know?”

“Well…” her mum replied, looking smug. “What do you think you’d need them for?”

“I dunno. A party or something?”

“Or a ball,” Remus suggested, though he looked as equally confused as she felt. “It’s not a common event in fifth year as far as I’m aware though, at least we didn’t have one,”

“Yes, there’s not been a ball at Hogwarts for a while. In fact the last one would have been the Yule Ball,” the way she emphasised the title made Anwyn think it was supposed to be important, but she was none the wiser.

“Am I supposed to know what that is?”

“Historically it was the ball thrown at Christmas for students from the three schools during the Triwizard Cup,” Remus explained. “Though there’s not been one of those since the 1700s—“

Anwyn watched as he cut himself off, head titling as he seemed to catch on to something. His brow lowered, eyes widening as he looked at his sister.

“Oh!” She exclaimed. “I think we have a winner!”

“You can’t be serious Bethan,” he said, voice strained as she shot Anwyn a worried look. “They cancelled the tournament for a reason, the whole thing was a death trap,”

Anwyn’s mum shrugged. “Just repeating what I’ve heard. But judging my the amount of people I’ve had confirming it, it’s very much going ahead,”

“What’s going ahead?” Anwyn asked, thoroughly lost.

Her mum turned, a small smile on her face. “You Anwyn, are about to witness the first Triwizard Cup in nearly two hundred years. A year of cross school competition and collaboration. I’m really quite jealous, it’ll be something to behold,”

Anwyn immediately felt the cold pit of dread begin in her stomach. Competition was not her forte. Collaboration hadn’t been too great for her either this last year.

Without another word, she gave a sigh, and dropped the letter on the counter before marching off for her shower.

She may as well get Diagon Alley out of the way before worrying about what sort of disaster the next year was going to be.

———

“What about this one?” Her Mum asked, holding out a gown of black velvet.

“Too dark,”

“This one?”

She looked across at the scarlet satin piece now being offered.

“Absolutely not. Too Gryffindor,”

It felt like they’d been in Madam Malkins all day, but it had been in fact, just under an hour. The dress robes section had been a corner of the shop that Anwyn had never really paid attention to before, but they were more than making up for that today, dragging out half of the stock in a tortuous attempt to find something passable. She turned town an emerald robe, a huge dress with many layers of sapphire gauze, and a plain white one that looked far too much like a wedding dress for Anwyn’s liking, until she was thoroughly fed up of shopping, and was thinking lovingly of the rows of ice cream flavours that would be on offer in Fortescue’s.

“How about this?”

Her Mum had pulled another dress from the row, and Anwyn was already opening her mouth to refuse it when she stopped, taking it in for a second. It was a floor length gown of a dusty mauve, a soft satin material with a cloak of delegate lace that dropped from the shoulders into twin trains on either side. She chewed on her lip for a second, trying to picture herself in such a beautiful dress, but couldn’t imagine it.

“Alright,” She said reluctantly. “I’ll try it on,”

They left Remus sitting on the chair outside, chin perched on his hands as he leaned forward looking terribly bored, and disappeared behind one the curtains. There were far too many buttons on the back, and Anwyn could already feel herself getting frustrated at just how long it took to get the thing on, but after a good few minutes of struggling, her mother whipped back the curtain and stepped out.

Madam Malkin had passed in a pair of low heels for her to try with the dress, but small as they were her ankles still wobbled dangerously as she stepped up onto the platform. Anwyn’s Mum had grabbed Remus’ attention, dragging him from his seat, and they both stood looking at her, completely silent.

She looked between their faces, and realised with dawning horror that both of them had a far away look, eyes brimming with glassy films.

“Oh no,” Anwyn said, taking both of their expressions in. “What are you doing? Don’t— don’t do that!”

Her mum looped her arm through Remus’, dabbing at her eyes with her other hand. “Oh I can’t believe it, look at my little girl,”

“Mum, you are being so embarrassing right now—“

“Isn’t she perfect Remus? Why does she have to grow up so fast?”

“It’s just a dress! It’s literally just a dress, come on—“

Anwyn could feel the heat rising from her chest, up her throat and into her cheeks, and knew that she was probably a bright, tomato red. She looked around the shop to the other student on the step beside her who looked likely to be a first year, and was far too wrapped up in their own excitement to notice her family’s displays of embarrassing affection.

“You look beautiful Wyn,” Remus said simply, far more restrained than her mother’s gushing but the slightly thick quality to his voice made somehow just as bad. “Do you like it?”

She turned on the work to face the mirror in front of her, wobbling slightly on the heels as she tried not to tread on the pooling satin. It was certainly something. The dress itself was gorgeous, and she loved the way it hung, a waterfall of colour all the way to the floor. Now she looked at it properly, she noticed that the lace of the trains spread across the collar bones and onto her chest too, delicate embroidery that must have taken ages. But something didn’t seem quite right, and as she stared in the mirror she realised what it was. There was no way she could pull something like this off. As elegant as the dress was, she was still plain old Anwyn, cheeks a little too round, freckles a little too bold across her slightly too crooked nose. Her curls were a tangled mess that had been caught by the wind outside, something like a birds nest, and even with the heels she looked short, frumpy. Simply put, the dress was beautiful, but she ruined the whole image.

“I think it’s the one,” her mother said before she could reply, and immediately started talking to Madam Malkin who was had finished measuring the first year.

“4 galleons—“ she heard the woman say, and she immediately spun around on the spot, ankle threatening to snap in the heels.

“That’s too much, we can’t—“

“Nonsense,” her mother said. “It’s your first ball, you should have the dress you want,”

“I don’t even know if I want it,” she lied, glancing over to Remus. How could they spend so much when they didn’t even know if Remus had a house next week?

“We’ll take it,” her Mum said to Malkin, completely ignoring her daughters protests.

“Mum!” Anwyn picked up the trailing dress, hurriedly stepping down off the platform.

Her foot wobbled as she set the heel down, ankle burning as it folded and she stumbled forward, stopped from falling on her face only by Remus who stepped forward and grabbed her arm.

“Careful,” he told her gently.

She viciously kicked the heels off. “I can’t take it. It’s far too much,”

“Wyn, do you like the dress?”

She hesitated. “Yes,”

“Then you should get it,” he told her quietly, his hand still holding her arm. “You deserve a dress that you like,”

She didn’t vocalise what she was thinking. That she didn’t deserve it, didn’t suit it. That regardless of how nice the dress was, it would never look good on her. That she was feeling a horrible mixture of ungrateful and guilty, that this was just another point of anxiety on her list of things to worry about this week, and that she’d much rather just stay at home, forget about Hogwarts or being a witch, and sleep until all of her problems had disappeared. But she didn’t say any of that. Instead, she just picked up the trailing dress once more.

“I’m going to get changed,”

Remus watched her go, the ever present crease of concern folding between his brows.

Notes:

I was originally going to start this chapter in a costa, but then I realised that I didn’t know if they even existed in Wales in 1994, so that went out the window. I also spent way too long googling “Newport wales bus 1994” to get the colour right because apparently I am that obsessed with meaningless details.

I also realise that we only ever hear about students getting their OWL and NEWT exam results in the post, but I wanted Anwyn to have a bit of a reveal at home, and it’s never actually ever stated when the other years get theirs, so I’ve decided to roll with it.

This is another mammoth chapter that apparently came from no where. I really wanted to start poking at Anwyn’s feelings around Remus’ poverty though, as at fifteen I think she’d be really starting to become aware of exactly how it impacts him and the family. L

Chapter 6: Leaving Shepherd’s Lane

The posters were down, rolled up in her trunk for safe keeping. The sheets had been stripped off the bed, wardrobe door hanging open to reveal an empty shell inside, all of her clothes packed. She’d checked under the bed, in the drawers and behind the door. Had even rescued a book that had slid down between her mattress and the wall. But she couldn’t put it off any longer. Her little attic bedroom was empty. She had to say goodbye.

The bed creaked as she sat down heavily on the mattress, resting her chin in her hands. The dust was frantically dancing in the beams of sunlight, disturbed by her packing and cleaning, and it tickled at her nose and nipped at her eyes. At least that was the reason she told herself for the tears that threatened at the edge of them. Just dust. Nothing more.

She’d opened her first Hogwarts letter in this room, sitting exactly where she did now before jumping on the bed to celebrate. She’d hosted sleep overs with Sarah, coughed her guts up with a particularly nasty case of the flu. Cried over her favourite Wyrd Sisters member leaving. Listened with rapt attention to Bilbo’s flight from the dragon under the halls of Erabor. Laughed and laughed when Remus had squealed a little too loudly at the giant spider he’d been removing from the eaves.

She’d lived a life here, a good one. And it was over.

There was a knock on her ajar door, and it creaked opened, revealing her uncle standing in the door frame.

“Thought I might find you here. Are you ready?”

She exhaled deeply, giving a silent nod and climbing to her feet. It couldn’t be delayed any further. She couldn’t change the past.

The door shut behind her, her hand clasping the smooth round handle for a few moments as she silently said goodbye. Remus didn’t interrupt her, waiting on the stairs until she’d completed her little ritual, and then clapped a hand on her shoulder. She was grateful that he didn’t try and get her to talk about it, she was trying very hard to keep her emotions in check and that might have just pushed her over the edge.

Downstairs was a bustle of movement, a train of cardboard boxes floating down the hallway from Remus’ room out to the back garden, directed by Sirius like some sort of strange orchestral conductor. Her mother was equally busy in the kitchen, ordering plates and bowls so they could finally float themselves down into yet more boxes. She turned when Anwyn entered, her wand pointed at a mop that was scouring the tiled floor, and gave a sympathetic cluck when she saw her daughters miserable face.

“Oh Wynnie,” she said, holding her arms open. “The first big move is always the worst,”

Anwyn wrapped her arms around her Mum’s waist, propping her head on her shoulder, breathing in the scent of rose. She was nearly the same height now, and if she kept growing she’d soon tower over her.

“I was homesick for months when I moved out of your Nain and Taid’s,” she said, her accent slipping into the strange half Welsh half English twang it always did when she used welsh words. “It’ll pass petal. It always does,”

“Where did you go? When you moved out?”

“Oh you know,” her Mum said, her voice non-commital, as it always was when Anwyn asked about the early days of her marriage. “Here are there around Europe,”

There was a strange crash from above them, and Anwyn let go of her Mum, poking her head out of the door to find Remus coming back down the stairs, his sleeve rolled up to elbows and a determined look on his face.

“What was that?” She asked, casting a nervous look to the second floor

“I just removed your room,” he said, stuffing his wand into his back pocket. “It’s not on the letting agreement, I checked. Let’s see how the landlord gets on when the buyers find out it’s a single bedroom again,”

Anwyn let out a disbelieving laugh, and took the stairs two at a time, but the door to her bedroom was no longer there. Instead stood a simple hardwood one, a lock on the outside. She turned the handle, swinging it open, and sure enough, her bedroom had gone, replaced by a tight, cramped attic space, ceiling much lower than it had been before, massive con webs hanging from the rafters. A drip drip of water sounded in the corner.

“Ruthless Remus,” she said in an astonished voice as she came back down the stairs. “Absolutely ruthless,”

“That’s the last of the boxes,” Sirius appeared in the kitchen doorway, spinning his wand absently in one hand. “Ready to go?”

Remus sighed. “Yes. Let’s get it over with,”

The four of them stepped into the garden, and Remus locked the back door behind them, slipping the keys under the empty plant pot beside the drainpipe. The majority of the boxes had already disappeared, leaving behind one large cardboard box which Sirius lifted into his arms with a grunt.

“Where is everything?” Anwyn asked. There was no way he could have moved it all already.

“In here,” He nodded to the box in his arms. “Shrinking charms are very handy when packing,”

Anwyn looked back at Shepherds Lane, committing every crack, every weed, every leaf of ivy to memory. The plum tree, hanging now with fruit, the wildflowers and the swallows darting low after the little flies and bugs that buzzed over head. The sleepy little windows, the crooked chimney.

There was a loud crack beside her, and Sirius disappeared with his cardboard box. Remus looked up forlornly at his old house, and Anwyn thought that he looked particularly tired, drained in that moment. There was another crack and space twisted around him as he too disappeared.

“Our turn Wynnie,” her mum said softly beside her.

She reached out, wrapping herself around her mums arm, and wiped at her eyes, hard. Her stomach jolted, and the garden blurred as Anwyn left Shepherds Lane for the last time.

———

They sat in cushions in the sitting room rug, a makeshift indoor picnic that would be much drier than sitting in the drizzle that was currently soaking London outside. Anwyn’s mum had popped out to grab food, soggy newspaper wrapped parcels of fish and chips, declaring it far too busy of a day for any of them to think about cooking.

The smell of the salt and vinegar filled the room, and in the moments that Anwyn didn’t think too hard, it almost felt like a little holiday. Almost.

“So how long were you in that house?” Sirius asked, popping a chunk of battered fish in his mouth. He ate slowly, savouring every bite, and Anwyn found herself wondering again how good proper food must taste to him, even some as greasy as their current meal.

Remus chewed on a chip, one eye cracked shut as he thought. “It must have been about five years now,”

“That’s a good run,”

“I remember when you first moved in,” Anwyn’s Mum said. “There was that leak in the bathroom ceiling that always threatened to fill the sink,”

Remus made a noise of affirmation. “Took me two months to figure out where it was coming from. I think that roof was made more of magic than of tiles by the time I was done,”

“Still, it wasn’t half as bad as the bedsit in Aberdeen,”

“Aberdeen?” Anwyn asked, piping up for the first time. “I don’t remember Aberdeen,”

“No?” Her mum asked, looking surprised. “I seem to remember you befriending the neighbours cat. You cried your eyes out when I came to pick you up,”

Anwyn flushed red, feeling the heat in her cheeks, but a small smile had forced its way onto her face. “Mr Spots,”

“That’s the one!”

Remus gave a burst of laughter. “I caught you feeding him crisps on the stairs. That cat was twice the size by the time we left.”

“Oh, so feeding stray animals is a long running past time is it?” Sirius asked with a wolfish grin.

“Just the ones that look especially sad,”

There was a tap on the window, a short, frantic rhythm on the glass, and Anwyn turned to see a small owl sitting on the windowsill outside.

“Oh what does Frankie want,” her mum muttered, clambering to her feet. The owl hopped in as she opened the window, jumping up and down frantically, and then nipped at her fingers “Oh give it here you little—“

She slid a small note off his leg, and Anwyn knew immediately what was about to follow by the way her eyes widened.

“I’m popping out,” she said quickly, rolling the letter up and stuffing it in the pocket of her cardigan. “Won’t be long,”

“This late?” Anwyn asked, looking at the clock on the mantlepiece. “Mum it’s eight o’clock at night—“

“News doesn’t wait for morning I’m afraid Wynnie. Be good. All of you,” she flashed Sirius a pointed look, and then disappeared out of the door before her daughter could protest any further.

———

Anwyn woke early the next day, ridiculously early, unable to sleep for any longer, and spent three hours lying in bed waiting on the rest of the house to wake up. She went over her homework, checking she hadn’t missed anything. Packed and then repacked her trunk, the boxes dress robes sending a thrill of panic through her every time she looked at them. Tried finishing the book she was reading, but didn’t manage more than a few pages. By the time she finally heard her mother’s heels on the hallway outside her door, she’d been up for hours, and was practically vibrating with nervous energy.

Anwyn flung open her bedroom door. “Mum—“

“Sorry Wynnie, I’m on my way out,”

“But I need to talk to you—“

“When I get back, I promise. Make sure you eat breakfast alright?”

The front door shut behind her, and Anwyn was left staring down the corridor, working the joints of her hand until they began to pop.

She went back to her room. Looked in the trunk at the dress again. The sight of it made the breath catch in her throat, so she slammed the lid shut once more, and tried to read another page of her book.

An hour passed with no progress.

So she went to the kitchen. Made two cups of tea, and filled a bowl with cereal which was destined to lay untouched. Nudged her way through the cracked sitting room door where she found Remus still sleeping on the sofa, blankets trailing onto the floor, a soft snore escaping his open mouth. Anwyn sat his mug down on the side table beside his head, and he snorted awake.

“Morning,” she muttered, sitting down on the rocking chair in the corner.

He gave something of a grunt in response that might have been words, and rubbed at his face before slowly sitting up. There was a stiffness to his movements, and he winced, working a thumb into his neck.

“Comfortable?”

“I’ve had worse,”

“You can have my bed when I go,” Anwyn said, taking a sip of her tea. “Just don’t raid my secret chocolate stash,”

Remus raised an eyebrows, reaching for his tea. “And where would I find such a stash?”

She flashed a small smile. “I’m not telling you that, then it definitely wouldn’t be a secret,”

He returned her smile, and then sat back in the sofa, still looking half asleep. “Where’s your Mum?”

“Out,”

He didn’t miss the slight bite to Anwyn’s tone.

“What do you want to do today then,”

She shrugged. “I don’t mind,”

“You’ve done all your homework?”

Anwyn nodded.

“And you’re all packed?”

Another nod. The rocking chair began to shift back and forward, back and forward, a constant motion that she wasn’t even particularly aware of. It clunked on the wooden floorboards below her, a repetitive click that echoed around the room.

Remus sighed, sitting his tea back down on the table. “Come on then. Let’s go a walk before we’re both driven mad with cabin fever,”

But the fresh air didn’t help, nor did the exercise. Still the nerves grew in Anwyn, the looming train journey hanging over her like a giant wall of foreboding.

They’d just walked back in the front door when Anwyn heard the shrill ring from further into the house, an odd jangling that she hadn’t heard before. She spied her mothers shoes back in place by the door, her jacket hanging up, and realised she must have returned while they were out, but the ringing continued, unanswered. Remus, half way through taking his own shoes off, hobbled through with one foot in a sock, the other still laced up, and the noise stopped. When she heard him talking she finally realised it was a muggle telephone.

“Yes, speaking. Ahh, thank you for getting in touch,” he said, and then there was pause. When he spoke again his voice sounded flat. “Of course. Thank you for letting me know,”

She heard the click of the receiver, but he didn’t return with other shoe. Anwyn passed through to the sitting room, finding him standing at the window looking out onto the street.

“Everything okay?” She asked quietly.

He turned, giving her a thin lipped, tired smile. “Just the literacy job. I was unsuccessful this time,”

“But you were perfect for it!” She exclaimed. “What’s their problem?”

He shrugged. “Someone else with more experience. No matter, something else with come up,”

She could tell her was just being optimistic for her sake, and as he sunk down into the sofa to take his other shoe off, she couldn’t help but notice the slump of his shoulders. She wanted to reassure him, keep positive, but her mind was quickly unravelling into panic.

“What are you going to do?”

“Just keep looking, it’s all I can do,”

“For something in Wales? What about the Newport house?”

He chucked his shoe down on the ground, resting his elbows on his knees. “I thought be you didn’t like it anyway? Now you won’t be stuck in that place,”

“It’s not about what I like,” her voice was growing in volume. “Where are you going to go—“

“I don’t know Wyn, somewhere else,” he retorted, starting to sound a little exasperated.

“Have you got any more interviews—“

He pinched the bridge of his nose, shutting his eyes as he cut her off. “Anwyn, can we stop with the questions for just a second?”

Her mouth closed with an audible snap, feeling about two feet tall. So he was angry with her, rightly so. It was her fault that the news had gotten out, her fault he was in this situation in the first place.

Remus sat back with a sigh, doing a double take as he spotted her stricken face. When he spoke again his voice was softer. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap,”

“S’alright,” she replied quietly, still hovering in the doorway. Perhaps she should just go to her room, give him some peace.

The doorbell ringing interrupted her thoughts, and she left him in the sitting room to go and answer it. It swung open to reveal Sirius clothed in muggle garb, a pair of dark jeans and an old battered leather jacket thrown over a T-shirt. He had sunglasses pushed up against his hair, and if she hadn’t been in such a panic she would have thought that he actually looked pretty cool.

“Yes,” he said smiling. “Your eyes do not deceive you. I did not apparate inside the house this time. Are you proud of me?”

Anwyn attempted a smile, but couldn’t manage it, and he immediately caught her expression, grin slipping off his own face.

“What’s wrong Anwyn?” He asked, brow dropping, the jovial tone immediately leaving his voice.

“Remus didn’t get the Newport job,”

He sighed, stepping through the open door, and Anwyn shut it behind him, “Where is he?”

“Sitting room,” she replied.

He strode down the hall, taking the first door on his left, and Anwyn could hear him greet her uncle from where she still stood by the door. She hesitated for a moment before creeping towards the sitting room door, hovering outside where they couldn’t see her.

“—it was what, only 12 hours a week anyway?” Sirius was saying.

“Yes. I’d have needed something else to fill the rest of the week just to make rent. But it was something,”

“Then it wasn’t the right fit,” Sirius replied confidently. “You’re far too qualified to be juggling multiple jobs Remus,”

“Qualifications don’t come into it Sirius, you know that,”

Only 12 hours. He hadn’t told her that. Barely enough to scrape by, and he’d have been scrambling for something else. Why hadn’t he said? Why hadn’t he told her how hard he was struggling to find something, anything.

A cold, familiar panic was rising in her chest. She could feel it in her breaths. They were coming short and fast, a staccato of gasps set against the rhythm of her pounding heart. Anwyn marched past the sitting room, continuing straight down the hallway, and threw herself into her bedroom.

The dress robes sat packed into a neat cardboard box, piled on top of her school robes, books and cauldron. She slid the lid off, fingers lightly tracing the edge of the lace trim, and then slammed the lid back on, resisting the urge to hurl the entire thing across the room. Instead, she scooped the box up, flying from her room and turning to the door at the end of the hall.

“Mum,” Anwyn said as she walked into the office without knocking. “I need to talk to you,”

“Hello sweetheart,” her Mum said, clearly distracted. She had a freshly opened letter in front of her, and was scribbling notes into her open notepad.

“Mum!” Anwyn said again, a little more forcefully.

Her mum finally looked up, dragging her eyes from the letter, and took in her daughters appearance. Wayward hair. Eyes red rimmed, filled with panic. Dress robe box tight in her arms.

“Wynnie, whatever’s the matter?” She asked, clearly taken aback.

“I want you to take the dress back,”

Her mum’s brow furrowed. “Why is there something wrong with it?”

“We spent four galleons on it, that’s what’s wrong!”

She began to turn back to the letter. “Wynnie, we’ve been over this—“

“No! No we’ve not!” Anwyn snapped back, a dangerous wobble in her voice. “Because you never listen to me!”

Her mum gave a frustrated sigh, pulling her glasses from her face, folding them up and sitting them on the table. “Alright,” she said, voice brusque. “I’m listening,”

Anwyn exhaled a shaky breath, turning to shut the door to her Mum’s office fully. When she turned back, her Mum was silent, watching her with a raised eyebrow.

“I can’t keep the dress. Not when Remus is basically homeless,”

“Is that what this is about?” Her Mum exclaimed. “Sweetheart he’s fine! I’m not about to chuck him out on the street—“

“He’s not fine!” Anwyn interrupted, her voice cracking. “How is any of this fine?! He’s lost his house, he’s lost his job, and I’m— I’m buying some extortionate dress that will probably get worn once!”

Her Mum sighed, regarding her for a few moments. “Anwyn, do you know how many times your uncle has lost his job? Or had to move?”

Anwyn felt herself immediately begin to bristle. “That’s not his fault—“

“No,” her Mum replied, sounding defeated. She raised a hand, rubbing at the bridge of her nose, looking every bit like her brother in that moment. “No it’s not. I would never suggest it was,”

“Then why—“

“Because this is just how this family works! We batten down the hatches for a bit, and we’ll come out the other side, we always do. Don’t let it hold you back from enjoying yourself. You’ve got to try not to worry about it—“

Anwyn’s temper bubbled over. “Not everything can— can be swept away with an ‘it’s okay Wynnie, don’t worry about it!’” She shouted, her voice taking on a forced affectation as she imitated her mother. “Because I do worry about it! And I can’t believe you don’t care!”

“Now that’s not fair—,” her mothers voice was rising in volume to meet her. “I never said—“

“No, you didn’t, because you never said anything! You never talk about what’s happened. You never ask how he’s doing, how I’m doing! I nearly lost my mind last year and you barely even mentioned it—“

“I didn’t know you wanted to speak about it! I thought you’d want to forget the whole sorry thing! Picking away at these things never helps, you’ve just got to keep moving forward—“

“Oh, like you’ve done with Dad!?”

Anwyn felt a vicious stab of satisfaction as her Mum visibly flinched, her shiny exterior finally cracking. At that point she didn’t care if her words were hurtful. Just as long as they made an impact. And it certainly did just that.

“That is quite enough Anwyn,” her mother replied, a dangerous note to her voice. “I understand that you’re upset but you will not take that tone with me,”

“And there you go, just brushing it under the rug again—“

“Right,” her mum bit out. “Go to your room. I’ve had enough of this—“

“You had enough of me a long time ago, that’s why you’re never here—“

“YOUR ROOM ANWYN. NOW!”

Anwyn chucked the dress robe box on the floor, no longer caring if its contents fell out, and stumbled back for the door handle. It slipped under her sweaty palm, and she dragged a sleeve across her eyes as she finally turned it.

She slammed the door of her room hard enough that is shook in it’s frame.

———

“Listen Moony, you’ll find something. You always do. Until then, you’ve got a roof over your head. And I can’t pretend that it’s not good to have you in London,”

“I wish I had your optimism,” Remus replied, ignoring the small clench of his heart. “I can’t stay here forever. Bethan has a life of her own—“

“One that barely ever brings her home by the looks of it,” Sirius interrupted.

Remus didn’t reply immediately, bouncing his knee. “I need to be out by the moon. I can’t— this place isn’t suitable,”

“And if you don’t find a place of your own by then?” Sirius asked, brow folding.

He shrugged. “There are some secluded spots I’ve found over the years. An island in the Hebrides perhaps, if it’s still uninhabited,”

“By yourself?”

There was a strained note to Sirius’ voice that made Remus look up.

“I have no choice in the matter,”

Sirius hesitated, crossing his arms. “I could come too. Keep you company. Like the old days,”

Remus sighed, shaking his head. As tempting as the offer was, it wouldn’t work. “And how would you get that cleared with the aurors? A jaunt off to the hills with a werewolf? It’s not a good look Sirius—“

“I don’t give a shit about that Remus, it shouldn’t come into it—“

“But it will,” he said imploringly. “It always will. Look how long it took them to process your request to come here? To a perfectly normal witch’s residence. No, I’ll not have you putting the trial at risk for me, you’ve sacrificed enough,”

Sirius made a frustrated noise in his throat, but didn’t argue, turning to look out the window instead. When he spoke again, there was a lightness to his voice, but it sounded forced.

“I’m coming to the station tomorrow. I uh— I requested it a few weeks ago,”

“What? Are you— are you sure?”

He turned back to Remus. “Completely. I want to see Harry off. I told him he could live with me and I’ve barely even seen him this summer. The least I can do is see him on the train,”

“Alright,” Remus said, sitting back. “If you’re sure. You can meet us here and come with us. Although I’ll warn you, Anwyn and Bethan get positively frantic in the morning. Speaking of which, where is she?”

Sirius looked out into the hall. “She was right there, just behind me,”

Remus rose off the sofa, crossing to the door to look out. It was empty, but there were raised voices from the door at the end. Bethan’s office. It was shut tight.

And the voices were growing louder. A flicker of unease ran through Remus, quickly followed by the harder crush of guilt. He should have lied. Covered his own anxiety better, stopped it leaking into her. Anwyn was already on edge today, that much was obvious. The last thing they needed now was her and Bethan falling out.

The door was wrenched open, his niece flying out into the hallway. Her eyes were red, but there was a stiffness to her jaw, and she didn’t look at him, immediately hurling herself into her bedroom and slamming the door behind her.

Remus watched it for a second in stunned silence, and then hurried down the hallway to Bethan’s office.

“What was that all about? Is she alright?”

“No Remus,” Bethan said, picking up her glasses from the desk and sliding them back onto her nose with a visibly shaking hand. “She most certainly is not,”

“I can speak to her if you want—”

“Leave her be. She’s grounded,”

His brow lowered further. “Grounded? Bethan, it’s the night before she goes back to school—“

“And so I should just let her get away with how she was speaking to me?” His sister retorted. “You love to remind me that I should be parenting, so here we are. I’m parenting! But by all means, sweep in and undermine me like you usually do,”

Sirius appeared in the doorway of the sitting room. “What’s all the shouting about?”

“Oh, stay out of this Sirius!” Bethan snapped.

“Bethan!“ Remus admonished, the shock evident on his face.

“No no, please let her finish Remus, I’m sure we’re about to get another fantastic explanation as always,” Sirius replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm folding his arms against his chest. “Please don’t let me interrupt your ranting Bethan,”

“Why are you even here?” She scoffed.

“I’m giving Remus some moral support, perhaps you should try it sometime—“

“What do you think I’ve been doing for the past twelve years?!” She exclaimed.

“A pretty shit job by the looks of it,”

Remus looked between the two of them, completely perplexed at how the situation had devolved so quickly, and raise his hands in a placating gesture.

“Can we just take two steps back for a second please,” he asked. “Both of you,”

He shot Sirius a pleading look, who gave an exasperated sigh but relented, ducking back into the sitting room without another word. Remus turned to Bethan, but she already had her hand on her study door.

“I have work to do,” she said dully, and then she swung the door shut in his face.

Remus stood in the hallway, study door shut to one side, Anwyn’s bedroom door shut to the other, and rubbed a slow, heavy hand across his face. He wasn’t sure just how the afternoon had managed to crash and burn as completely as it had, but one thing was certain. Getting everyone out of the door on time tomorrow was going to be practically impossible.

———

Anwyn could not sleep. Though she knew it would be an early start tomorrow, her mind would not rest, a never ending exhaustive list of worries playing over and over every time she shut her eyes. She hadn’t left her room since she’s blown up at her Mum, and as was routine, she’d gone through all of her usual stages; boiling anger, crushing guilt, painful misery, and finally exhaustion. But still she couldn’t sleep.

The oppressive heat of the night did nothing to help. Even with the cracked window the heat in her room was stifling, and it did nothing to help her issues sleeping. When she did nod off, it was the sparse, disturbed sleep with odd fever like dreams, a familiar chorus of snapping bones and screams that seemed to haunt her nights now. When she woke for the third time, drenched in sweat and tangled in her blankets, she finally decided to give up. Her mouth was dry, and a cool glass of water sounded like just the thing she needed.

She didn’t bother with slippers, it was too hot and she could be quieter bare foot anyway. Anwyn slipped out of her bedroom, pausing to listen for any sound of movement. She was fairly certain bumping into her Mum wouldn’t help the situation, but she tiptoed past her Mum’s room without issue. She slunk passed the cracked door to the sitting room too, ducking into tiny kitchen, and chose not to switch any lights on. The street lights were shining in anyway, and she made every effort to take the glass from the cupboard as quietly as possible, only turning the kitchen tap on so a small amount of water dribbled out of it.

Despite her care, when she stepped back out of the kitchen a voice stopped her. It was then she noticed a very faint glow from the sitting room, near indistinguishable from the street lights, and she poked her head around the door to find Remus awake, sitting in the window seat with a book, his wand glowing dully in one hand. His makeshift bed on the sofa was a mess of covers, slept in but ultimately abandoned.

“What are you doing up?” His voice was near a whisper. “Can’t sleep?”

She shook her head, sliding through the cracked door into the room. “Neither can you apparently,”

He huffed out a frustrated breath. “It’s far too hot. I don’t know how Londoners survive the summer,”

Anwyn crossed the room, sliding onto the window seat and pulling her legs up against her chest. She balanced the glass of water on her knees, and noticed belatedly that it was already growing warm from her hands.

“What are you reading?” She asked quietly.

“I think it’s one of your old History of Magic textbooks. I was hoping it would be the perfect thing to make me nod off,”

Anwyn smirked. “They do have that effect,”

“Not tonight apparently,”

She looked out of the window, suddenly self conscious after her argument, and perhaps a little ashamed of herself. The thin arc of the newly waxing moon hung above the rooftops.

“How about you?” Remus asked “Is it just the heat that’s bothering you?”

Anwyn took a moment to reply.

“I shouldn’t have blown up at Mum,” she muttered finally not turning around from the window. “She just…does my head in,”

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked quietly.

There was another long pause, a moment in which Anwyn weighed up either divulging all, or just going back to bed. She brought one of her hands up and began to idly chew her fingernail.

“How much did you tell her?” She blurted instead, turning to look at him. “About last year?”

“All of it,” he replied, looking somewhat apologetic. “She’s your mother Anwyn, I had to tell her,”

“No, no that’s fine,” she said. ”I’m not angry that you told her, it’s just…she’s never mentioned it. Like at all,”

Remus grimaced. “Your Mum isn’t great with…difficult topics. But it doesn’t mean she doesn’t care,”

“Feels like she doesn’t,” Anwyn murmured.

“Well—,” he hesitated. “She…struggled with my…problem. When we were younger. Didn’t want to talk about it, or acknowledge it. She still avoids the topic when she can. But it didn’t stop her bringing me home bagfuls of Honeydukes during the holidays. Or hexing third years that were picking on me. Or depositing money into my account when she thinks I’m not checking it. She shows she cares in other ways,”

“Yeah, I guess,” Anwyn replied, despondent. She looked out of the window again, pressing her forehead against the glass, and watched the lights of a lone taxi weave down the street.

“You look tired,” Remus said softly. “You should head back to bed,”

She was tired, desperately so. But the thought of going back to bed and falling into more nightmares was enough to make her stay.

“I don’t want to sleep,” she muttered.

“Bad dreams?”

She nodded, forehead squeaking slightly against the window.

“About anything in particular?”

She bit her lip, considering how much to say. “Last year mainly,”

He remained silent, giving her space to talk, but closed the book and leaned over to sit it on the floor, keeping his wand lit, a small warm glow of light between them.

“I’m just— I’m just worried that I’m going to get worse again,” she finally said, a wobble in her voice. “And then what do I do?”

“You reach out,” Remus said quietly. “Write to me in your book. Talk to your friends, or Professor Sprout. Madame Promfrey. There’s no shame in it,”

Anwyn gave a heavy, tremulous sigh. “Do I have to go to school?”

“I’m afraid so,” Remus said with a small smile. “Speaking of which, you should probably head back to bed,”

She let out a little groan. “Can’t I just do an all nighter? I could sleep on the train—“

“Bed young lady. Come on,”

She slid off the window seat with a sigh, the lukewarm water in her glass sloshing. “I’m going, I’m going. Night,”

“Night Wyn. Sleep well,”

She downed the glass of water before climbing into bed, it doing little to cool her down, and left the duvet covers around here feet. It was rather unfair, she thought, that Remus could sit up all night if he wanted but she had to struggle through the night. The train of thought didn’t last long however, as after a few moments of grumbling she slipped into another restless sleep.

Notes:

How very bittersweet it was writing this. Shepherds Lane in some form has been a fixture of this little story in my head for probably about fifteen years now. It showed up in my original fanfiction.net fic before this whole tale had a massive revamp, and it’s been one of the few consistent elements that’s remained. So I’m quite sad to say goodbye.

Ahh Bethan, what are we going to do with you. I swear to God, this entire family needs therapy.

Chapter 7: Return to Hogwarts

Her trunk was fully packed. Gwyn was snoozing in his cage. She’d laid out clothes for the next day, woke up earlier than she needed to. So why were they running so disastrously late?

Anwyn blamed her mum. It probably wasn’t actually her fault, but she was still mad, and it gave her a reason to stew as she shoved her trainers on her feet, toothbrush still sticking out of her mouth. She could hear frantic hustle and bustle down the hallway, but there was no sign of her Mum or her Uncle. When she ducked back out of the kitchen, (where she’d had to rinse her mouth out due to the currently shut bathroom door) Sirius was sitting on her trunk at the front door, impatiently tapping his fingers against the leather of his jacket sleeves.

“You’ve got a bit of toothpaste,” he said when she appeared.

“Where?”

Sirius made a motion which seemed to cover the entirety of his mouth. “Sort of there,”

Anwyn cursed, rubbing furiously at her lips, and then jumped as the bathroom door was flung open, Remus appearing with still damp hair, buttoning up his shirt.

“You’ve definitely got your homework?”

“Yes,”

He grabbed for his own shoes. “And socks, you’ve got plenty of socks,”

“Yes, plenty of socks,” she sighed, and then spotted the label sticking out at the back of his neck. “You know your shirt is on back to front right?”

“Ahh— shit,” he muttered, and then hurried off into the sitting room to fix it.

“What’s the plan for the station?” She asked Sirius. “Just dodge any reporters—”

“Pyjamas, have you packed pyjamas?” A voice from the sitting room interrupted her.

“Yes Remus, everything is packed! It’s been packed for days!” She shouted back, exasperated, before turning back to Sirius who was watching the chaos with a smirk.

“I have a cunning plan,”

He stood up from the trunk, and held out his arms to demonstrate. There was a whirl of limbs, a strange morphing of his face, and then a great big black dog stood in front of her, tail wagging.

“That is so cool,” she said longingly. “Can you teach me to be an Animagus?”

“Absolutely not,”

“Not happening,”

Her mother and uncle had chosen that moment to appear, apparently also choosing it as the one instance a year that they would agree on something. The dog gave a little growl at them that sounded something like a grumble.

“Right, come on,” her mum said, fixing one of her earrings as she walked. “Let’s get this trunk onto the street before the taxi gets here and we have to carry it by hand”

They still had to lift it however, although the ease in which Remus heaved it into the boot of the car gave Anwyn a sneaking suspicion that he’d cast something on it when the taxi driver wasn’t looking. She filed the question away for later, sitting Gwyn’s cage in the floor of the cab, and slipping into the back with her Mum, who she was still resolutely ignoring. The giant black dog jumped in on her other side, and the driver eyed it warily in his mirror.

“You sure that thing is fine in cars?” He asked nervously as Remus climbed into the front passenger seat.

“Oh yes,” her uncle replied. “Quite likes them in fact, although I’m sure he’d prefer a motorbike,”

The driver gave him an odd look, and drew away from the kerb.

As was always the case whenever they were in a rush in London, traffic was terrible. Squashed in the middle as she was, Anwyn couldn’t even spend the journey people-watching out the window, and was forced instead to listen to the idle chat from the front as Remus asked the driver how exactly you get into the taxi driving business. The windows were cracked open, but even so the car was stuffy, and Sirius was panting away beside her, great pink tongue lolling out of his mouth.

“Wynnie, you’ve got toothpaste all over your cheek,” her Mum muttered, licking her thumb and beginning to wipe at her face unceremoniously.

“I’m— fine—“ she struggled, but there was no place to escape to, and so she remained a prisoner to her mothers ministrations.

It was quarter to eleven when they arrived at the station, and ten to by the time Remus had managed to grab a trolley and heave all of Anwyn’s luggage on it, so when they finally reached the barrier between platforms 9 and 10, there was no time for any subterfuge other than diving at the thing at full pelt. Anwyn sprinted through, moving out of the way just in time before Remus and the luggage appeared behind her. Sirius gave a small bark as he surfaced through the wall, and then hurried off to find Harry. No one around them seemed to notice the strange dog.

“Hurry, we don’t have long,” her Mum said, grabbing her arm and starting to head through the crowd to the train.

It was slower going than expected, though not for the reasons Anwyn would have thought. Remus was positively mobbed by students, mostly Gryffindors, but a few Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were mixed in to the crowd.

“Hey Professor!”

“Are you coming back this year—”

“—there was a boggart in my Gran’s shed, but I knew what to do, you should have seen it—“

“Hello, hello,” Remus replied with a smile. “Just here to see Anwyn off I’m afraid, I hope you’ve all kept up with your studies for your new Professor,”

There was a collective groan, and the students dispersed somewhat to let them approach the train. Despite the younger members of the crowd being happy to see him however, Anwyn couldn’t help but notice how some of the parents watched, muttering amongst themselves. She even spotted one woman pull her child behind her, as if she expected Remus to leap across the platform and bite him then and there. Anwyn looked back at her uncle’s face. He seemed relaxed, but there was a subtle clench to his jaw, and he looked resolutely ahead as he pushed through the crowd. She inched closer to the trolley, grasping at the end of the handle, and glared at anyone who looked their way with anything remotely close to a judgmental expression.

“Anwyn! Over here!”

As they approached edge of the platform, she spotted Harry standing in one of the open carriage doors, a mob of ginger teenagers around him. The great black dog sat at his feet, tail wagging. A frantic red haired woman stood on the platform, fretting as the twins loaded a trunk on. Though she’d never met her, Anwyn could once again only assume that this was Ron’s mum.

“Molly, isn’t it?” Anwyn’s mum greeted her. “I think I remember you being a few years above me at Hogwarts? Bethan Blackthorn. Well, it would have been Bethan Lupin then,”

“Were you on the school— Fred, watch your sisters head!” Molly snapped at her son as, he tried to levitate one of the trunks over the younger girl. “Sorry— on the school paper?”

“That’s the one!” Her Mum smiled.

“So this must be the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor my lot haven’t stopped talking about all summer,” the ginger woman turned to Remus, but there was none of the hostility of some of the other parents, just a warm smile. “You certainly made an impression,”

“Hopefully a good one,” Remus smiled back, a small note of nervousness in his voice.

“Thanks for passing our OWLs Professor,” one of the twins, though Anwyn had no idea which one, piped up. “It was one of the few grades keeping Mum from disowning us,”

“That and her terrible guilt over us nearly dying at the Quidditch World Cup,” said the other.

“Will you two hurry up and get on the train!” Mrs Weasley moaned, shooting Remus an apologetic look, before glancing over at the beast that had hopped back down onto the platform, shadowing Harry’s every move. “I don’t suppose you know where the dog has come from?”

“He’s with us,” Remus replied with a tight smile, and Sirius gave a bark of confirmation.

With the Weasley trunks loaded, it was Anwyn’s turn and she hopped in to deposit Gwyn’s cage. Her Mum levitated the trunk with a quick wave of her wand, and Anwyn stood in the open doorway helping to manoeuvre it through the gap. It landed with a dull thump, and Hermione helped her to push it against the seats with a grunt, before turning back to the doorway.

A familiar face looked back at her from the crowd. He locked eyes with her, great dark bushy brows lowering into a savage glare, and Anwyn felt her blood run cold. She looked to either side of her Uncle Sylvestus, spotting a twin set of dark hair. So they were here. They hadn’t been expelled. Silas looked up, noticing his father’s attention caught on something, and then turned to follow his gaze.

Anwyn jumped down from the the carriage door so quickly that she stumbled, nearly knocking her Mum over.

“Careful Wynnie!” She admonished, before spotting her daughters face, which had gone a particularly pale shade of green. “What’s wrong?”

“The Blackthorns,” her voice had a strangled note to it, and she found herself ducking a little behind her mother, as if she were some sort of human shield.

“Oh really?” Her Mum asked, voice hardening a little as she turned around to try and spot them. “I’d quite like a word with Sylvestus if he’s here—“

“No— Mum don’t—“

She looked imploring at Remus, whose face had grown tight at the mention of her cousins, but softened as he saw the panic in her eyes.

“We don’t have a lot of time, perhaps we should get her on the train first?”

Her mum sighed, but relented. “Alright. Come here,”

She pulled Anwyn into a hug, and as irritated as she still was, she couldn’t leave without saying goodbye to her Mum properly. If something happened and she’d parted on bad terms, she’d never forgive herself, an irrational fear perhaps, but one she would listen to. So she returned the hug with a tight squeeze, ignoring the lack of oxygen as it squashed the air from her lungs.

“Write when you can,” her Mum said. “I know you’ll be busy this year, but don’t forget about me. I want to hear all about the tournament,”

“I will, I promise,” Anwyn said letting go, and her Mum took her face in her hands.

“And look after yourself Wynnie. I mean it,”

Anwyn nodded, and let her Mum place a kiss on each of her cheeks.

She turned to Remus next. He stood with his hands in his pockets, a small smile on his face as he waited for her, and she noticed for the first time that morning that her clearly ran out of the door before shaving, a scratch of stubble covering his cheeks. He didn’t have to say anything, and it was probably for the best that he didn’t, otherwise she might have burst into tears. Instead he just opened his arms and she sunk into them, squeezing her eyes tight shut as his chin came to rest on the top of her head. He replaced it with a kiss as she finally let go, hurriedly wiping at her eyes.

“You’ll let me know?” She said. “When you find something?”

“You’ll be the first to know,”

A bark came to her left, and she turned to find Harry crouched in front of the dog as it rested a huge black paw on his shoulder.

“Good luck with the trial,” he said quietly enough that only those nearest could hear it, and then leaned forward, giving it a hug around its neck. The dog sat its head on his shoulder, tail thumping off the platform. Harry then stood up, turning to Anwyn. “Ready?”

Anwyn hesitated, looking down at the beast watching their exchange and then crouched in front of him, she too throwing her arms around him.

“Look after him,” she whispered, and the dog gave a snuffle in her ear while she took as agreement.

A shrill whistle blew as the clock struck eleven. Hermione and Ron hauled her and Harry up into the carriage, and they slammed the door shut behind them. They stood at the window as the train pulled away from the platform, and she fixed her family in her view for as long as possible, the great black dog running along the side of the train, until they rounded the corner, and they were gone for another year.

———

Remus exhaled heavily as the train disappeared around the corner, trying to ignore the little worm of anxiety that was churning away in his stomach. She would be fine. This year would be different.

The crowd had begun to disperse in a steady trickle, parent staggering their exit from the platform in twos and threes so as to not alert the muggles on the other side, and it took them a good ten minutes to get through. They blessedly did not run into Sylvestus Blackthorn, which was probably for the best as Remus didn’t think he’d be able to hold his sister back. Nor did he think he’d want to. That would be a fight he’d pay to see.

They had nearly reached the exit out onto the street when he realised Sirius was no longer at his heel, a thrill of panic shooting through him, and he spun on the spot, dodging commuters who tutted at his sudden change of direction. But before he could even consider shouting, Sirius appeared from the open cleaner’s cupboard to his right, fully human once more, sunglasses pulled down over his eyes in the laziest of disguises.

“Pub?” Sirius asked brightly, looking between the two of them.

Remus blinked in disbelief. “Sirius, it’s 11 o’clock in the morning,”

“So?” He replied, cracking a smile. “We’ll get an early lunch. I didn’t eat breakfast, and a fry-up sounds great right about now,”

“Well you can count me out,” Bethan started walking towards the exit. “I should have been in Glasgow two hours ago,”

“Glasgow?” Remus asked. “What’s in Glasgow?”

“You can find out in the Prophet tomorrow, if I get there sometime today. I’ll be back late, don’t wait up,”

She gave a final wave, and then disappeared through the doors onto the street. Remus watched her go, and then turned back to Sirius, who was still looking at him expectantly.

“You can’t be serious, if the aurors find out you’ve dropped into a pub, they’ll go mental,”

“Find out? Of course they’ll find out, they’ll probably tail us there,”

“They’re following you?”

“Pretty sure I saw one on the platform,” Sirius shrugged. “Probably just making sure I don’t blow the train up or something. Alright, how about this, we grab some food, couple of beers and head back to mine. You’re due me a chess rematch anyway,”

Remus hesitated. It wasn’t much of a decision if he was honest. He could do what he always did on September 1st, go back to the house, it’s eerie, ringing silence. Tidy up the mess left by their hurried exit in the morning, look for something to busy his mind and fill his time. Bethan would hardly be home now, her daughter no longer tying her to London, so he’d have the flat to himself. But the idea of sitting in a home that wasn’t quite his, faced with the bitter truth that without his tiny little family he had no one, was excruciatingly depressing. And he wasn’t quite ready to face that for another year.

“Alright,” he said grudgingly. “Just the one, I’ve got to get back to the job hunt tomorrow and I’d rather have a clear head for it,”

Sirius’ face cracked into the type of infectious smile that always dragged Remus into his schemes in their youth, and he stuck his hands into his pockets, immediately heading towards the exit.

“I spotted a little kebab shop on the way here, hopefully it’s open. I’m starving,”

Hands full of hot takeaway boxes, and with a pack of cheap beer and a stack of muggle newspapers that Remus had bought on a whim, they found a quiet spot behind some bins to apparate to the safe house. It was an unassuming looking building, one of many flats in a towering concrete block surrounded by yet more concrete. To the average passer-by, the flat itself it was merely a storage cupboard that never seemed to be unlocked. But to those who had been given the secret, it was a shabby looking door, peep hole set into the peeling wood, a rusty number eight sitting at a jaunty angle.

There was a teenager loitering in the corner, a young woman not much older than Anwyn with her blonde hair in a pony tail and a pair of tracksuit bottoms on with matching trainers. She had a set of headphones around her neck connected to a Walkman, tinny music blasting out into the lobby. At first, Remus wondered how they’d get in without her seeing them, but as they approached she looked up, and immediately winked in their direction.

“Wotcher Sirius. Who’s this?”

“This is Remus, he’s on the list. He’s been before,”

“Alright?” She asked him, and Remus realised that the voice that came from her sounded a little older than she looked. “You’re cutting it fine, my shifts nearly over and Dawlish would have come looking for you”,

Sirius mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like it started with “Dawlish can go—“ but it was drowned out by door screeching open as he turned the handle.

“Bit young for an Auror,” Remus said quizzically as Sirius shut the door behind them.

“She’s in training, but she’s older than she looks,” Sirius replied. “Tonks. A metamorphagus. Scares the shit out of me with different disguises every time she’s here. Actually a cousin of mine, come to think of it,”

“And they gave her guard duty? Isn’t that a bit of a conflict of interest,”

“It’s the Black family, Remus. I’m related to half of the country. If they reduced the guard to only aurors that I don’t have some distant connection to, I’d have Dawlish outside my door day and night, and he’s enough of an arsehole when he is getting a good nights sleep,”

Remus looked around the shabby little flat, finding it to be just as depressing as he remembered it being during his last visit. The walls were all a faded whitewash, paper peeling a little underneath layers of thick paint. The carpet was equally bland, a dusty grey with patches worn where the worst of the foot traffic was, and the entire room was dominated by a sad looking bed, covers half on the floor. A row of kitchen units sat against one wall, and the only other item of furniture was a low coffee table, cigarette burns marring the wooden surface.

“I’d say pull up a chair,” Sirius told him in a monotone voice. “But apparently I didn’t need one,”

He marched over to the bed, grabbing the two pillows, and chucked them down on the floor beside the coffee table.

“At least Grimmauld had furniture,” Remus said lightly, but Sirius screwed up his face in response.

“Even this glorified cardboard box is preferable to that tomb,”

“Have you been back?”

Sirius shook his head. “I’d rather the ministry didn’t go through that place. Who knows what they’ll find. The minute I step foot back in, the aurors will be all over it,”

“They don’t know about?” Remus asked.

“Mother was very old fashioned in her views on inheritance. The whole thing will have gone through Gringotts, so the Ministry have no hand in it. Stops the government getting their hands on shiny pure blood assets,” His voice was layered heavily with disgust. “One of the reasons why there are so many death eater families still living in luxury. That and the fact that the ministry is rotten to the core,”

“Well,” Remus ignored the ache in his hip as he lowered himself onto the pillow on the floor. “At least you’ll have peace to deal with the place once all this is over. Any idea what you’ll do with it?”

Sirius flopped down beside him, leaning back on one arm against the foot of the bed. “Sell it probably. Should be worth a decent amount, and I’m sure there’s some sad little pure blood family that would love to get their hands on it,”

“I can certainly think of a few,” Remus muttered, pulling his wand from his pocket. He grabbed a beer bottle, tapping his wand on the bottle top, and it popped off with a fizz. “Where would you go?”

“I don’t know”, Sirius said thoughtfully, accepting the bottle that Remus offered him. “Is there anywhere you’ve always wanted to visit?”

“Me?” Remus asked, his wand pausing over a second bottle.

“Well I’m hardly going to go travelling on my own am I?. And we always said we’d go backpacking around Europe,”

They had hadn’t they? It was a promise made between teens that Remus had tried to forget, another far off dream that he’d had to let go off.

“Just think, we could go anywhere you wanted, for as long as you wanted. And we could take the kids in the summer months,” Sirius continued. “Those muggles of Harry’s never took him on a holiday when he was younger, he’d love it. Anwyn would too,”

It was a temping thought, he had to admit. Disappearing for months, just living in the moment instead of scrambling for wages, for somewhere to live. And he wouldn’t be doing it alone. But what if Sirius got his freedom, and then realised that the world was far more open to him than some teenage dream of backpacking. That there were far more people out there to spend his time with than some washed up old werewolf.

“Something to think about, certainly,” Remus replied finally, taking a sip of his beer to disguise the unease that threatened to leak through in his voice.

He grabbed the first newspaper from the pile, opening it out on the table, and searched for the job listings. The column was short, and it didn’t bode well for his hunt today, but it was worth a shot.

“These things always creeped me out,” Sirius said, picking up a paper for himself. “The pictures look so unnatural, all frozen like that,”

“Imagine what the muggles would think of ours,” Remus replied distractedly, pulling a pen from his pocket.

He circled one of the adverts, a listing for a dog walker. Hardly a big earner.

“What about this? A gardener in Kensington,” Sirius asked, pointing at another ad.

“You know I scraped a pass in herbology?”

“Yeah but these plants won’t try to kill you,”

“Fair. Alright, circle it,”

He picked up another paper.

“What’s a…phlebotomist?” Sirius asked after moments silence, rustling the page.

“Someone who takes muggle blood I think,” Remus replied, not looking up. “In a hospital,”

“How do you know that?!”

He flicked his eyes towards Sirius. “I uh…went to a few appointments with Mum. When she was ill,”

“Shit,” Sirius muttered, wincing. “Sorry Remus, I didn’t mean—“

“No, no it’s fine”, he replied, gaze returning back to the paper. “You didn’t know,”

There was another moment of drawn out, uncomfortable silence as Remus continued to attempt to read the adverts, but didn’t take anything in, and then Sirius spoke again, his voice low.

“How did she…”

The pen in Remus’ hand hovered over the newspaper.

“Her heart. Not long after the war,”

Sirius swore again, swiping a hand through his hair. “St Mungos couldn’t help?”

“It was too late by the time she saw them. The damage was already done. Stress they said,” he gave a dispassionate laugh. “I wonder what could have caused that,”

“Remus, you can’t blame yourself surely?” Sirius asked incredulously. “It’s not your fault—“

“Isn’t it?” He looked up, jaw working as he bit back the wave of self disgust that was rising. “I can’t imagine what else could have caused it,”

Sirius’ mouth was working as he fumbled for the right words, and Remus immediately felt guilty. He’d come here to keep him company, spend time with him, and here he was wallowing in self pity. He cleared his throat, reaching out a hand to the paper Sirius had in front of him.

“Pass me the Mail. Let’s have a look at that gardener job,”

They worked away at the stack of papers, until they had a smaller pile of pages covered in biro, a meagre selection of jobs for him to chase down. None of them were of any particular interest to him, but Remus had learnt long ago that he couldn’t be picky. He’d never be a career man. He just needed to make ends meet.

It was approaching three in the afternoon when he checked his watch, and he chucked the final paper on the stack, sighing.

“I suppose I better head back and start making some phone calls,”

“Already?” Sirius asked, looking up from the muggle sports section he’d been reading with a confused look on his face. “We’ve not even had our rematch yet. Scared you’re going to lose?”

Remus opened his mouth to argue, but caught something in the other man’s tone. It was light enough, jovial, but there was a strained edge to it, a jittery quality to his movements that suggested that he wasn’t quite as calm as he was trying to appear.

Twelve years locked in a cell by himself, only to then be released and kept in this glorified prison. His days punctuated only by pre-approved outings, during which he was tailed by aurors, his every move watched.

“Alright,” Remus replied with a small smile. “Perhaps I can manage one game,”

———

Remus let himself into Bethan’s flat, chucking the keys down on the table by the door. They’d ended up whiling away the evening in the safe house with chess and bad instant noodles, but somehow he’d still beaten Bethan home. It was dark inside, completely silent with no sign of life. Remus slipped his shoes off, taking his wand out of his pocket to turn the lamps on throughout the house, attempting to make the place feel a bit more alive.

He wandered to the end of the hall. The light was off in Bethan’s study, the door open just a crack. The door to Anwyn’s bedroom had been left wide open however, and he flicked his wand once more, the room lighting up with a soft yellow glow. She’s left it neat, orderly. A stack of posters and books from Shepherds Lane sat in the corner, unpacked but not quite tidied away. Remus looked at them, guilt churning in his stomach, and waved the light off again, returning to the sitting room.

The silence was so loud that it rung in his ears. This time last year he would have been sitting in the Great Hall, tired but full of a tense nervous excitement at the prospect of leading his first classes the next day. But tonight he was alone, homeless, jobless. He could have stayed a bit longer at the safe house, had another beer with Sirius, enjoyed a few more games of chess.

Told him how he felt.

Told him about the painful things that happened to his chest when Sirius did anything as simple as look in his direction.

It was a stupid idea, so he banished it before he could torture himself any further.

There was a cardboard box beside the sofa, one that he’d filled with the books he’d most recently been reading, and he raked through it for something to distract him. His fingers brushed an inlay of gold, and he pulled out the twin notebook of the one he’d made for Anwyn last year. The Gates of Moria sat on the cover, dull and lifeless, which wasn’t surprise. She’d probably still be at the feast.

He could write her a message. A little greeting for when she finally got back to her dorm, but there was something so depressingly pathetic about the situation that he sat the book back into the box. Anwyn was back at school with her friends, and she needed to focus on the year ahead, on herself, on keeping well. She didn’t need her lonely uncle badgering her the moment she left just because he didn’t have any friends of his own. Just because he didn’t have a life.

Remus sighed, lowering himself onto the couch where he lay back, looking at the intricate cornicing of the ceiling, and flicked his wand one last time, plunging the flat back into darkness.

———

“DIGGORY! DIGGORY! DIGGORY,”

The common room was practically shaking with the roar of Hufflepuff voices, a crowd of students surrounding the head boy, clapping him on the back and pounding the air. If this was their reaction to him just announcing that he was going to try and enter the Triwizard Tournament, then Anwyn dreaded to think what would happen if he actually got it. It would probably start with a party and end with Sprout appearing in the early hours to shut down the thumping music and rampant underage drinking.

“Are you going to enter Wyns?” Russell asked. He was sprawled across one of the arm chairs, legs over the side, still nibbling on a left over pastry he’d brought from the hall.

“Fuck that,” she replied, scoffing. “I like all of my limbs attached to my body. Besides, you heard Dumbledore. You’ve got to be seventeen,”

“Would be something though. Being the only fifth year to get past his rules,”

“You’re not thinking about trying it are you?” Sarah asked, her voice taking on a teacher like quality.

“Are you going to stop me Miss Prefect? What are you going to do, put me in detention?”

Sarah flushed a slight shade of red, trying to stop the smirk from growing on her face, and Anwyn groaned inwardly. Something had shifted between these two while they hadn’t been talking last year. She wasn’t quite sure what it was, but there was a definite new tension between them that made her feel like a third wheel.

“Doesn’t matter if you enter,” she said loudly, interrupting whatever was going on. “If any Hufflepuff wins, it’ll be Cedric,”

“You don’t think Potter will swoop in and take the glory again?” Russell asked.

“Last time I checked, Harry is fourteen, so no,”

“Oh, Harry is it? We’re on first name terms are we?”

“And he stayed at Anwyn’s this summer,” Sarah blurted out, looking far too excited about sharing the news.

“Oooh, got yourself a younger man Wyn?”

Anwyn screwed up her face. “Gross, no!”

“What?” Russell asked. “Not a fan of the boy who lived?”

“No, it’s not that,” she said fidgeting with a loose thread on the arm of her chair. “He’s just a friend. We’re practically related, its just weird”,

Sarah shot her a confused look. “What on your Dad’s side?”

“No,” Anwyn shook her head. “At least I don’t think so. But like— his Dad was best friends with Remus. And his Godfather is best friends with Remus. So it kind of makes him my…I dunno,”

“God…best…cousin,” Russell tried.

There was a moments pause before they all started snickering.

“You are so lame,” Sarah groaned.

“Aww, come on, you love it,” he replied, and again, Anwyn watched as the other girl turned scarlet.

“Remember when you made up that song about the Fat Frier? The one with fourteen verses? That was when you really started to hit rock bottom”,

“Aww man, how did it go again?” Russell looked up at the ceiling as he tried to recall. “Wasn’t it to the tune of twinkle twinkle little star? Wyns, do you remember—“

He stopped, and Sarah cleared her throat, looking pointedly at him. They both started to shift uncomfortably.

“When was this?” Anwyn asked, trying to keep her voice light.

“Just ah—“ Russell started, shooting Sarah an awkward look. “Just during the summer,”

“You met up during the summer?”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” Sarah said quickly. “Like it was just a few days, and we knew you’d be busy with your Mum,”

“Yeah, and we know you don’t see her much,” Russell added, the faux positivity in his voice almost sickening.

“Oh,” Anwyn replied. “Cool,”

They sat for a few moments in awkward silence, the pounding of the celebrating Hufflepuff feet filling the common room. Sarah and Russell seemed intent in not looking at each other, and Anwyn found herself swallowing hard. She shouldn’t be surprised. They’d spent all year without her, the dynamic had changed. Even if they had apparently forgiven her, it was only natural. Still, it stung.

“We should probably head to bed—“ she started, and Sarah bounced to her feet.

“Yes, I should check in on the first years. I’ll be in a bit later,”

“Okay,” Anwyn rose to her feet, turning towards the steps up to the girl’s dormitory. “Night then,”

“Night,”

The pair waved awkwardly, and she left them there beside the fire, ducking through the crowd of excited students. When she reached her dorm, she opened her trunk, searching through the toppled books inside until she found the thin black volume emblazoned with the dwarven gates. The design was dull. Solid. No new messages from Remus.

She swallowed down her disappointment, ignoring the bitter but all too familiar pang of loneliness, and resisted the urge to open the book, to scribble a greeting. He was probably busy. It had only been a day after all, and she was fifteen, not some home sick first year.

Anwyn tucked the book under her pillow, and started getting ready for bed, hoping desperately that her fifth year wasn’t about to be even lonelier than her last.

Notes:

As you can probably tell by the much of this chapter, just because Anwyn’s off to school doesn’t mean we won’t have some Remus content. The guy’s got some stuff to figure out for himself.

You were also going to get some more heavy handed wolfstar content here, but I said slow burn so it’s going to be slow burn. Don’t worry, I’ve kept the cut content for another chapter down the line.

Thanks again for the lovely comments, I’m glad you’re enjoying it!

Chapter 8: Unfortunate Circumstances

Don’t pick me don’t pick me don’t pick me—

“Miss Blackthorn. You’re next,”

Shit. Shit shit shit.

Her first class. Her first class with Mad Eye Moody, and Anwyn was already considering hiding under the desk and pretending she wasn’t there. The problem was, he probably would have still been able to see her.

After all, he’d already demonstrated his near inhuman capability to see into all angles of the classroom at the start of the lesson. He’d barely made his introductions when he was already scrawling the words “Unforgivable Curses” on the blackboard, chalk screeching with every letter.

“Now, it’s my understanding,” he had said with his back to the class. “That Professor Lupin covered the basics of defensive magic with you last year. But that’s not nearly enough,”

Anwyn found herself staring daggers at the back of his head. Of course Remus had only had time to cover the basics, every teacher up to that point had been rubbish, and he’d been playing catch up—

“Glare at me all you want Miss Blackthorn, but it doesn’t remedy the fact that you are all woefully unprepared,”

How had he seen her? How did he know?

She’d blushed so strongly that her face had practically been glowing red, and had then spent the rest of the class pointedly avoiding looking directly at him. Which was particularly difficult as he’d then gone on to torture and kill multiple spiders in front of them.

And now he was staring expectantly at her. Three students so far had been tasked with trying to shake off the Imperius curse. Perhaps he’d skip straight to the killing curse and just put her out of her misery.

Anwyn shuffled forward, her wand sweaty in her grasp, and tried to imagine that it was just another duelling practice, like the ones she’d done with Remus last year. But instead of a gentle smile of encouragement, she was faced with a grim scowl. Moody aimed his wand, his strange eye spinning in its socket, and she found herself closing one of her own, already wincing as she waited on the spell to come.

Imperio

Why, that table looked like a perfect place to stand. Yes, very nice indeed, a great perch, she could sit there like a giant crow. Flap her arms like wings. All it took was a little hop, that’s it, up onto the table, what a lovely little spot, and—

She toppled off the other side, clattering onto the wooden floor with a thud. The class burst into raucous laughter, and she felt her face heat once more as she pulled herself to her feet, shooting a nervous glance at the teacher. He didn’t look particularly happy, but then it was hard to tell. Moody’s general demeanour seemed to be constant anger.

“Next!” He barked, and she shuffled out of the way, nursing a throbbing elbow.

“He’s mental,” Anwyn said as soon as she’d sidled to the back of the classroom where Russell and Sarah stood. “Absolutely mental,”

“Fun though,” Russell said enthusiastically. “Hardcore, but fun. What did it feel like? The Imperius curse,”

“Like I was being puppeted,” she replied, grimacing. “Like I’d completely lost control of my mind. It wasn’t fun at all,”

“There’s a reason they’re unforgivable,” Sarah said quietly.

Anwyn shot her a look. She’d been quiet since they’d watched Moody kill the spider. The other girl had done a sickly white colour as its legs had curled up under it, and Anwyn was sure she’d heard a slight whimper from her. She also hadn’t missed how Russell had taken Sarah’s shaking hand under the table.

“Perhaps he’s just starting off with a bang?” Anwyn suggested weakly.

Sarah looked unconvinced, but didn’t get a chance to reply.

“Bones!” Moody shouted, causing the three of them to jump. “Stop hiding away in the back! You’re up next,”

———

Anwyn place one foot in front of the other, arms stretched out at either side of her as she walked a careful tightrope along the wall. The courtyard was dappled in sunlight, the last of the summer heat having sent most of the students outside during lunch, and it was the place that Hermione had chosen to try and get Anwyn on board with her new plans. Harry and Ron had other ideas.

“It’s mental,” Ron was saying. “You know they like their jobs right? Take that away from them and what do they have?”

“Freedom Ronald! They have freedom!”

“Can you call it a job?” Anwyn asked absently as she turned on the spot to tiptoe the other way. “If they don’t get paid?”

“Oh, not you too!”

“Hey, I’m just saying, it’s technically not a job,”

“Will you join then Anwyn?” Hermione asked eagerly. “We could use your support,”

“How many people are there in this club?” Anwyn asked, stopping on the edge of the wall.

“Three. Harry, Ron and I,”

“And we didn’t really join by choice,” Harry added from his place on the grass below. “We were just told we’re official S.P.E.W members,”

“That name needs work,” Anwyn muttered.

“Please Anwyn, you have to admit they deserve better treatment! Or at least the choice to be free!?”

She opened her mouth to reply, but a sharp bark cut across the courtyard, interrupting her.

“Miss Blackthorn,”

Anwyn nearly toppled off the edge of the wall, arms windmilling to keep her balance. When she finally had managed to stop waddling, she looked up to find Professor McGonagall heading their way.

“Nice to see your having a leisurely start to the year,” she said, voice laden with dispapproval.

“I uh— I was— I was just getting some air before History of Magic Profressor,” Anwyn replied

McGonagall pursed her lips. “I’d like to make you aware of the remedial Transfiguration class tonight,”

Anwyn shot a glance at her friends. “Okay…”

“By make aware—“ McGonagall said more firmly. “I mean I expect to see you there,”

“Right. Yes Professor,”

“And get down off that wall before you break an ankle,”

Anwyn hopped down on to the grass with a thud.

The transfiguration professor shot them all another exasperated look and swept off towards her office.

“Remedial Transfiguration?” Ron asked. “How bad did you do last year?”

“Bad enough,”

“I’m really worried about how much work we’re going to have this year,” Hermione said, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “Especially with the tournament on, it’s going to be so busy,”

“Do you think the champion will get to skip their exams?” Ron said hopefully.

“You’d hope so,” Harry replied. “Seems only fair for taking part in a competition that ends in certain death,”

Anwyn slumped down into the grass, leaning back on the wall she’d only recently been clambering along.

“Speaking of certain death, have you guys had a class with Moody yet?”

“Tomorrow”, Harry replied. “What’s he like? Fred and George said he’s crazy but they won’t tell us what he’s teaching,”

“He’s teaching Unforgivables—“

“What?!” Hermione exclaimed. “But they’re illegal!”

“Yeah but it’s defence against the dark arts,” Ron shot back. “Doesn’t get much darker than that, does it?”

“Should he really be teaching fifth years though?”

“That’s what I wondered,” Anwyn said, absently picking at the grass at her feet. “I don’t remember any of the previous fifth years mentioning it. It feels like something they’d speak about. Look how popular the boggart lesson was last year, it’s all we heard about for weeks,”

“Why don’t you ask Remus then?” Harry suggested. “He’d know surely?”

“If I ask him, and it’s not supposed to be in the syllabus, he’ll just spend the next year freaking out,” she replied glumly.

But she couldn’t shake the look on Sarah’s face from her mind, and by evening her friend wasn’t much better. She’d been silent through History of Magic, picked at her food at dinner, and by the time Anwyn was heading back to the dorm to grab her transfiguration textbook, Sarah still had barely spoken a word.

“It’s just— seeing the curse in real life. Makes me wonder if that’s the last thing they saw,” she had muttered to Anwyn and Russell at the dinner table, and they knew exactly who she’d been talking about. Half the Bone’s family had been murdered in the last war.

And so Anwyn found herself pacing the dorm room after dinner, anxious to talk to someone who might speak some sense. Harry’s suggestion didn’t seem so drastic now.

She slid her hand under her pillow, fingers finding the smooth cover of her message book, and pulled it out before propping up the pillows to lean against them. The cover was dull, but she muttered the password, flipping the book open to a blank page. There was a quill and ink pot in her bedside table, which she found after a moments rummaging, and pressed the quill to the page.

What year did you cover unforgivable curses with?

She waited a moment, but there was no reply. Perhaps he was busy. Eating dinner or at an interview. Or maybe visiting Sirius. She was about to close the book when an inky scrawl began to snake its way across the page.

Hello to you too Wyn.

She rolled her eyes, and pressed the quill back to the page.

Hello. Answer the question please.

Seventh years only. Why do you ask?

So she was right. Moody was surely mental. She pictured Sarah’s tear stained face, and felt a surge of anger.

We’ve just had a class on unforgivables. Moody demonstrated them to the class.

He did what?

He cast them on spiders. And then he got us to line up and he made us try and resist the Imperius Curse.

The page was still. For a moment she wondered if she’d done the right thing by telling him, but when his script appeared once more she knew she absolutely had not.

I’m going to speak to Dumbledore

Please don’t make a fuss, I was just wondering

He cast an illegal curse on you, he’s lucky all I’m doing is making a fuss

Please Remus

Another pause

Are you alright?

I’m completely fine. Sarah was pretty shaken up though, I think it’s because of what happened with her family in the war.

I can imagine. Is he teaching the same to other classes?

I’m not sure. Harry has DADA tomorrow so I’ll ask him

If he tries to cast any more on you I want to know

He’s hardly going to be firing off killing curses at the students

I’m serious Anwyn

Ok ok, I’ll tell you

She chewed the end of her quill for a second, and then began to write again.

Everything okay at your end?

All good here. Another interview tomorrow, I’ve got a good feeling about this one

Oh good luck! How’s Mum?

Busy as always. She’s away in Norfolk at the moment

Tell her I say hi when she gets back. Better run, I’ve got remedial transfiguration.

Sounds like fun. Talk later. And remember what I said

Will do. Speak later

Anwyn sighed and closed the book. Perhaps telling him had been a bad idea after all.

———

Remus rubbed absently at the back of his leg with the toe of his other foot. It was hot in the offices, sunlight streaming through the cracked window, and he could hear the call of some strange bird outside, a gentle trill that floated through the building.

He hated interviews. Hated having to follow all of the little social interactions that were expected of him while he was internally bricking it, attempting to appear calm and collected when all he wanted to do was shout at them to just give him a job, any job. And this one was no better, in fact it was made all the worse by the fact that he actually wanted it.

Bethan had appeared a few nights ago, actually home at dinner time to eat the basic pasta dish he’d rustled up, and she’d started quizzing him on his job prospects. It was an irritating habit that those in employment tended to do; a slightly forceful form of conversation that they seemed to think was supportive, but always came across as patronising.

Yes, he was applying to multiple jobs.
Yes, he’d reached out to past contacts.
No, he hadn’t heard back yet.

“I did see something in the window of the Magical Menagerie today,” Bethan had said thoughtfully as she spooned another pile of macaroni cheese onto her plate. “Something to do with a magical creature supplier I think it said?”

“What were you doing in Diagon Alley?” Remus asked. “I thought you were in Norfolk?”

“Talking to a source on Knockturn. And taking that dress back for Anwyn,”

He’d looked up from his bowl. “What do you mean taking her dress back?”

“That’s why she was grounded Remus,” she said, exasperated. “She all but chucked the thing at me,”

His brow furrowed. “That doesn’t sound like her,”

“No? Getting herself into a panic over how much we were spending doesn’t sound like her?”

He winced, his spoon picking absently at the pasta in his dish.

“Now, if you’d let me finish, that job—“ she took a mouthful. “I think it said to contact a Terrance Hoskins?”

That caught his attention. “Hoskins? I dealt with him last year for sourcing beasts for classes,”

“Could be worth a shot then?”

And it had been, so there he was, standing outside Hoskins office, waiting to be seen. A ditsy fly hovered around his head, bouncing off the window, and we absently waved it away, going over the same stock responses he’d been practicing for the last few days. But his mind kept wandering to his conversation last night, a little flicker of worry at the back of his head. Moody was casting Unforgivables on the children. A teacher, using illegal spells—

The door to the office opened, and a short, thin man stepped out, a friendly smile on his face. What little hair he still had left was swept across his head, covering a shining bald dome, and he had a large burn mark running down his chin and onto his neck.

“Mr Lupin!” He greeted. “Thanks for coming in. It’s a pleasure to meet you in person,”

“Thanks for meeting with me,” Remus reached out, and they shook hands. Hoskins grip was firm, his palm rough with cross crossing scars.

“Not often we get a Hogwarts professor wanting to work with us!” Hoskins boomed, motioning for Remus to follow him. “Quite a surprise. But a pleasant one! You’ll fit right in here, judging by your experience. Let me give you a tour of the place,”

They took the wide staircase back down to the ground floor, passing through a set of opaque glass double doors and into a wide, airy greenhouse. The light from outside was nearly completely hidden by large plants and bushes, and it took Remus a few moments to spot the faces looking out at him from the branches.

“Our Bowtruckles,” Hoskins said. “Tricky little things, but very loyal when they get to know you. The rest of our enclosures are out here,”

They stepped through the doors at the other side of the greenhouse, and arrived in a small courtyard. There were multiple workers milling around, some darting in and out of the doors that lined the square, some carrying feed and equipment.

“How long have you been here?” Remus asked, looking around with interest. The building behind them that they’d left was clearly an old Manor House of some sort, ivy growing up the back wall.

“Thirty years, give or take. These buildings to your left used to be the stables, but they’re now used for storage and quarantine. And then we have five acres of private land that we use for the enclosures,”

“Impressive,” Remus said, and he meant it. “How do you maintain habitat for so many creatures in rural England?”

Hoskins gave a sly smile. “I’ll let you see for yourself,”

They reached the gate for the first paddock, a simple looking field with a few sheep in it. Remus looked around, trying to spot where the creatures he was expecting to see might be hiding, but saw nothing. Hoskins raised an arm, inviting him to go ahead.

“Please Mr Lupin,” he said. “Step inside,”

The moment his foot crossed the threshold his vision swam. Gone was the grassy field, the scent of summer meadow, the bright morning light. Instead it was replaced by a dark, gloomy bog ahead of him, his shoe splashing as it dipped into a puddle. The scent of swamp and weed assaulted his nose, and there was a rustle in the bushes to his right. A cluster of small figures exploded out of the reeds, wrestling and squabbling as they went.

“Red caps,” he uttered, giving a laugh of disbelief. “This is really something Mr Hoskins,”

“This is just one of many,” the man replied proudly. “Wait until you see our Hippogriff enclosure,”

They visited another six paddocks, ranging from a blustery mountain top to thick, wooded forest, each one containing a number of strange creatures, some familiar, some completely new to Remus. But all seems comfortable in their surroundings, well cared for and well fed.

And the interview itself was going well. Hoskins was easy to talk to, and they’d already been touring the paddocks for half an hour before Remus realised that he’d been answering interview questions the entire time, chatting about his experience with the creatures that had been loaned to him last year, the areas he’d be interested in working in, and perhaps even rarer for him, future ambitions. Usually he made his answers to those sort of questions up on the spot, but when they discussed the possibility of him taking on one of the paddocks himself, he found that there was an actual flicker of excitement in his chest.

Perhaps he could actually do this.

The pay was good too. More than Hogwarts actually, although the accommodation and free food had always softened the blow of a teachers salary. But here he could maybe put a little away. Save up for that back packing holiday, or buy that dress that Anwyn had stressed over. Finally live his life.

They returned to the main building, the cool interior of the manor a pleasant change from the heat of the day, and made their way back up to the offices on the top floor. As they turned the corner towards Hoskins’ room, a tall man with little rectangular spectacles stepped out, immediately trying to get his bosses attention.

“Mr Hoskins, a word if you may,”

“I’m busy at the moment Alfred, can’t it wait?”

“It’s urgent,” the man said, flicking a nervous glance towards Remus.

Hoskins sighed. “Alright then, two minutes. Please excuse me Mr Lupin,”

Remus dipped his head, and the two men disappeared inside the office. He tried to ignore the uneasy feeling creeping up the back of his neck.

He hadn’t been waiting long when the door opened once more, and Alfred stepped out, again shooting a strange look in his direction. With growing trepidation, Remus stepped inside the office, and sat down in the vacant leather chair at Hoskins desk.

“Thank you again for your time today Mr Lupin,” Hoskins said, and Remus felt the stab of nerves. There was a solemn tone to the man’s voice that hadn’t been there an hour ago.

“Thank you for having me. It’s quite the setup you have. I’d love the opportunity to explore it further,” he replied, voice taking on a slightly strangled quality

“Your experience is invaluable, to be sure”, Hoskins went on. “And if circumstances were different, I’d take you on immediately,”

“Circumstances…” Remus said slowly.

“Yes, it’s just—“ the man looked incredibly uncomfortable. In fact he couldn’t seem to look Remus in the eye. “It’s just the nature of your…condition,”

“Oh,” Remus couldn’t bring himself to say anymore. It was like someone had just pulled the seat out from under him. He could feel the sweat beginning on his palms.

“Not that I have any problem with…your sort,” Hoskins continued. “It’s just bad for business, you understand? Makes the customers nervous,”

Remus swallowed hard, giving a stiff nod. “Can I ask how you…know?”

“Ah well…our accountant has children at Hogwarts. Recognised the name I expect. I’ve no kids myself, and I’m not one for gossip, but…well, you know how it is,”

“Yes. Yes I’m afraid I do,” Remus looked down at his hands, his knee beginning to bounce, a bitter taste in his mouth. “Well, I won’t take up any more of your time,”

He stood, biting back his natural urge to thank the man, he had that much self respect at least, and held out his hand.

Hoskins looked at it for a second, the hesitation clear on his face. He didn’t move to take it. “Good day Mr Lupin,”

Remus let his hand drop slowly, where it balled into a fist, tight enough that his fingernails etch crescents into his palm. He stuffed it into his pocket, and gave one final nod before turning and leaving without another word.

———

The air escaped Anwyn’s lungs as she flopped down on her bed face first, groaning into the cool sheets. It was finally the weekend. She’d made it through a full week. And apparently, so had everyone else. Moody had yet to kill any students, so that had to be something.

She snaked her hand under her pillow, pulling out the message book. Its cover was still dull, and she frowned, nibbling away at her fingernail. Odd. Very odd.

She pulled her wand from her back pocket, pointing it at the book, and muttered the pass phrase before flipping it open. Her last messages still sat there, unanswered.

How was the interview?

She’d let that message sit for over a day before she’d written the next one. Perhaps he’d been busy getting ready for his new job, he had said that this one was promising after all. But when no answer had come, she’d scrawled another message the next day.

Harry says they got Unforgivables too. Is Moody really that mad?

There hadn’t been a reply to that one either, which she was truly surprised at. Surely it would have set Remus off on another rant? Or he’d have told Sirius, or in a worst case scenario, arrived in Dumbledore office. But she’d heard nothing.

No, it was very strange.

She shut the message book with a sigh, pushing it back under her pillow. Perhaps she was being too needy. She was fifteen after all, far too old to be acting like some homesick first year. But still, the thought of the grassy garden at Shepherds Lane set off an ache in her chest. And her first letter from her mother had been business at usual.

Really busy with work Wynnie. Will tell you more when I can. Be good and have fun.

A familiar, sickening worry whispered away at the back of her head. That they were happy to have a break from her. That she wasn’t wanted.

She pushed it down, determined not to fall into the same old patterns. This year would be different. It had to be.

Notes:

The timetable/calendar is a bit of a mess for Goblet of Fire (like somehow September 1st is always a Monday in the books, what’s with that) so I’ve chosen to ignore it and take the actually day of the 1st, which was a Thursday. So they only had one day of classes before the weekend, lucky them!

Chapter 9: The Triwizard Tournament

Remus stumbled through the front door the instant that he’d finished apparating, kicking off the scuffed black shoes in the general direction of the shoe wrack where they lay in an untidy heap. The cheap black leather had been nipping at his toes, and he was relieved to get them off. Whoever had decided smart shoes were required for stacking supermarket shelves had clearly never worked a double shift in them.

He was hurrying past the sitting room, unbuttoning his bright blue uniform shirt when he caught movement inside, and doubled back, sticking his head round the door.

“Ahh shit,” he muttered head dropping. “Sorry Sirius. I completely forgot,”

“It’s alright,” the other man said, looking up from where he sat at the window. He was surrounded by a pile of books, an empty cup at his feet, and his wand resting on his knee. “Caught at work?”

Remus nodded. “Took an extra shift. I’m just heading back out though, I’ve got a shift at the university,”

“Already?” Sirius frowned, sitting forward. “You don’t think you’re…overdoing it a bit Remus?”

He gave a tired sigh, shrugging. “I have to take what I can get,”

He went to duck back out, but Sirius stopped him. “You got a message from Anwyn while you were away,”

He hesitated in doorway, torn, and then hurried across the sitting room. The book sat beside Sirius, next to an identical volume emblazoned with a golden snitch. Harry’s book, still incomplete.

“I was trying to get the duplication charm right but I just could crack it,” Sirius explained, handing the working book over. “It worked last time, I’m not sure what I’m doing wrong,”

“I’ll take a look at it tomorrow”, Remus said absently, before muttering the pass phrase.

“It’s alright if you’re busy—“

“No, no,” he shot Sirius a tired smile. “I’ll take a look,”

He glanced down at the page, eyes quickly skimming the messages that had appeared. There were a number from Anwyn over the last few days, all of which he’d read but not replied to, and he could tell that his apparent disinterest was wearing at her. Each message had become slightly more frantic.

Hey, how’s the new job going?

Moody actually complimented your lessons today, imagine that?! How much are you paying him?

The other schools are arriving at the end of the week, it’s all everyone is talking about

Morning, everything alright with you guys?

Sorry for badgering, just checking everything is ok?

Remus sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair as he turned to Sirius. “Do you have a quill?”

“Here,” Sirius dipped his in the ink well beside him, passing it over. “Everything okay with Anwyn?”

“Fine I think,” he replied quietly as he pressed the quill to paper. “She’s just got a useless oaf for an uncle,”

“Come on Moony. She’ll know your just busy,”

Remus have a non-commital grunt in response, and quickly scribbled his message.

Sorry Wyn, new job is going well but it’s keeping me busy. Just heading out again, day off tomorrow, will catch up then.

“Does she mention Harry at all?”

The relaxed tone with which Sirius asked was forced enough to make Remus look up from the page. Sirius was spinning his wand in one hand, a habit he’d developed when they were still at school.

“She doesn’t. Why, is everything alright?”

Sirius shook his head, rubbing at his beard. “I’m sure it’s nothing, but these dreams are concerning me. And now he’s writing to tell me that everything’s fine, not to worry about it. I’m half tempted to drop into Hogsmeade—“

“Sirius you know that’s not a good idea,” Remus interrupted. “Go walk about and the aurors will know immediately,”

“I know, I know,” he replied, exasperated. “I’ve just got a bad feeling about this. And I’m fed up sitting here waiting on permission just to leave the bloody house!”

Remus sighed, snapping the message book shut. “I’ll check in with Wyn tomorrow. See if she’s noticed anything,” he looked at his watch. “In the meantime I better go. I’ve got floors to clean,”

———

Sorry Wyn, new job is going well but it’s keeping me busy. Just heading out again, day off tomorrow, will catch up then.

Anwyn chewed on her nail, brow furrowed as she read the message again. Everything was fine. Why didn’t it feel fine?

She’d barely heard from Remus for weeks. Just small snippets of conversation whenever she managed to catch him at home, which didn’t seem very often these days. And the whole thing left her on edge, a whisper in the back of her head telling her that he wasn’t being fully truthful, that something was wrong, that maybe he just didn’t want to talk to her now he had her out of his hair. It was selfish, she knew. She should be happy for him, he’d finally landed a job after months of hunting. But still, something didn’t seem right.

“Anwyn, hurry up we’re going to miss them!”

She jumped as Sarah’s appeared in the dorm room door, practically vibrating with excitement.

She looked at her alarm clock on the bedside table. 5:45. The other schools would be arriving for the Triwizard Tournament. Hopefully it would be just the thing to stop her mind going over and over the same old anxious thoughts. A good distraction. She forced herself to think about the excitement ahead, and followed Sarah from the room.

“So,” She asked her friend as they ducked out of the porthole. “What’s the chances of us landing cute European boyfriends in time for Valentines Day?”

“Oh I don’t know,” Sarah replied. “The Hogwarts boys aren’t so bad—“

“Do you mean one boy in particular? I saw you making lovey dovey eyes at Russell all through potions this week you know,”

Sarah turned a bright tomato red. “We’re not— I mean he’s alright I guess— he has…nice eyes“

“Uh huh,” Anwyn replied with a smirk. “I knew it,”

They were crossing the entrance hall when there was a jerking sensation around her neck, and the knot of her tie shot up until it was nearly strangling her. She let out a gargle of shock, a similar yelp from Sarah telling her that she hadn’t been the only target. Anwyn, threaded a finger between her collar and her throat to loosen it, and was about to tell whoever had obviously cast a spell on it to promptly fuck off, when a billow of black robes swept past.

“Did Lupin never teach you how to properly wear a tie?” Snape drawled without turning around. “Tuck your shirts in, both of you, you look like you’ve just fallen out of bed,”

“Overgrown bat,” Anwyn muttered as soon as Snape was safely out of earshot. She reached up and loosened her tie again.

The entrance courtyard was already brimming with students, the noise of excited chatter a buzz loud enough to make the head ring. The two girls spotted the cluster of yellow and black that was the Hufflepuff contingent, and they hurried over to join the front row, Russell budging up to let them in.

“Where were you? You nearly missed it—“

Anwyn looked across the square to where Snape stood with Slytherin house, and then immediately looked down at her feet. Sorrel had been glaring at her across the square, dark hair slicked back in a perfect bun.

“Chin up Blackthorn,” came a booming voice in front of her as Sprout reached them. A firm hand shoved under her jaw until she was looking toward again, before brushing down some near invisible dust from her shoulders and shoving Anwyn’s tie back up to her throat. “That’s it, let me see you looking welcoming, Hufflepuffs! We’re proud and we’re happy to have our guests, smiles on faces please!”. She continued down the line, adjusting ties and sorting posture as she went.

“What do you suppose Snape’s telling the Slytherins?” Russell whispered. “I want to see you all sneering like you’ve just stepped in dog shit?”

Anwyn gave a snort of laughter, a smile quirking at her lips.

With the students sufficiently prim and the teachers moved to the back of the crowd where Dumbledore stood, waiting on the delegations. Anwyn craned her neck to look at the sky, trying to figure out what they were waiting for. Would they apparate in? No that made no sense, they couldn’t do that on the grounds. Perhaps a port key? Or broomsticks? However they were getting here, she hoped they’d hurry up. The evening was wearing on, the sky beginning to darken, and she had to pull her cloak closer around herself to stop shivering.

“Look!” Someone shouted.

“It’s a dragon!” Came a high pitched shriek from the Gryffindors, and Anwyn found herself flinching towards the ground.

There was a rush of air above their heads, and the group ducked as one, surprised shouts echoing across the courtyard. A powder-blue giant carriage drawn by massive winged horses swooped overhead, down the length of the drawbridge and then turned at the end. It flew back along the bridge towards them, coming into land in the courtyard, the wheels clattering on the cobblestones as it hit the ground. The horses, massive white steeds, pawed at the stones, throwing their heads back as clouds of steam rose off them.

The doors to the carriage sprang open, and a boy in a trim blue uniform stepped out, fiddling with something at the edge of the door before lowering a set of steps. He held his hand back into the carriage, and out stepped the biggest woman Anwyn had ever seen. She had to stoop just to get through the door, and when she drew up to full height she towered so high that she must have been taller than even Hagrid. And clearly Anwyn wasn’t the only one in shock, a ripple of gasps went over the crowd as the students shuffled, whispering amongst themselves.

Dumblore stepped forward to greet her, and she stooped so he could give her a kiss on each cheek. As he welcomed the woman, a stream of students appeared from the carriage, all wearing similarly immaculate blue silk uniforms. They lined up behind the tall woman, shivering against the Scottish autumn cold, and were looking around with expressions that could only be described as unimpressed.

“They look like a cheery bunch,” Anwyn muttered.

“I’m putting my money on Beauxbatons,” Sarah replied quietly.

The blue clad students filed into the castle, and a hushed murmur took over the courtyard as the students discussed the new arrivals. They quickly fell into silence however, as there was an explosion of sound from the lake.

The Hufflepuffs were by the wall furthest from the hillside, so naturally, as seemed to always be the case at Hogwarts, completely missed the action. Anwyn stood on her toes, a completely useless gesture than only awarded her another inch to her five foot nothing height, and saw absolutely nothing.

By the time the whispering from the Gryffindors and Slytherin with a view made their way around (it’s a ship! A giant ship!) the Durmstrang students had begun to appear on the drawbridge. A group of huge looking figures, which slowly materialised into a squad of just over a dozen students. At the head of the group was tall thin man with a white goatee. And beside him walked—

“Fucking hell,” Russell uttered, his voice a strangled gargle. “That’s Victor Krum!”

“It can’t be,” Sarah replied. “Why would he be here?”

Anwyn strained her eyes, focusing on the Durmstrang students face. “It is. It’s actually him. I saw him in the media box at the World Cup,”

The world famous Quidditch player passed their spot in line, trailed by the rest of the students from his school, all decked out in smart, perfectly starched burgundy uniforms, fur capes hanging off one shoulder. They looked more like a militia than a school, and Anwyn found herself wondering what the Hogwarts students must look like to them? A bunch of children dressing up as old people maybe. The contingent seemed to be mainly made up of boys, though there were a few girls scattered through the group, all as equally intimidating as their male counterparts.

One such girl followed at the back of the group beside a tall, ashy blonde boy who could only have been her brother judging by the identical noses. Unlike the stiff backs and forward stares of the other students as they waited for their headmaster to greet Dumbledore, she was looking around the courtyard with interest, a curious expression on her face, and when her eyes scanned the Hufflepuff ranks she caught Anwyn watching. They locked gazes for a few seconds before the eye contact made Anwyn feel awkward, and she looked away. By the time she looked up again, the Durmstrang students had entered the hall.

———

“Stay still!” Sarah scolded her, tugging at her hair. “It’s going to be squint if you keep moving!”

“You’re pulling at my scalp!”

Sarah gave another pull, and Anwyn winced as it shot a sharp sting across the side of her head. She reached a hand up, feeling the complete round bun on the other side of her head, black ribbons threaded throughout. It was tight, almost painfully so, but the Halloween feast required dedication.

“It’s a shame the yellow wouldn’t show up as well in your hair,” Annabelle Entwhistle, one of the other girls from their dorm, said from her perch in the chair opposite.

“We could try it—“ Sarah started, but Anwyn stopped her.

“We’re not starting again, I’ll go mad!”

The porthole slammed open, and Russell rushed into the common room, covering his face with his hands. At least Anwyn realised it was Russell after a few moments. From her spot on the floor, she’d initially thought a strange old man had broken into the round den.

“What on earth happened to you?” Sarah exclaimed as she spotted him, standing up from the sofa behind Anwyn’s.

“Did you try to put your name in the Goblet of Fire?” Anwyn asked incredulously. “That’s where you disappeared to?”

“Maybe,” Russell replied sullenly, throwing himself down on the sofa.

His tight curls had turned a pure silver, and a long, curly beard had sprouted from his chin, reaching all the way down to his chest in a point. Even his eyebrows were grey, and there were tufts of white hair sticking out of his ears.

“Either that or you’re going prematurely grey,” she smirked. “Why don’t you add some ribbon? Maybe it’ll distract everyone,”

“Oh yes, some black and yellow in the beard!”Annabelle added with a laugh.

Russell didn’t reply, instead he sunk further into the sofa, his scowl depening as he attempted to cross his arms over his chest. His long white beard got in the way.

“You kind of suit it,” Sarah said, though her voice was unsure. “The salt and pepper look,”

Russell shot her a bashful look. “You think?”

She nodded. “Very dignified,”

Anwyn mimed sticking her finger down her throat. Annabelle suppressed a giggle behind her hand.

The porthole slammed open for the second time, and a wall of yellow entered, the entire room erupting into loud cheering.

“DIGGORY! DIGGORY! DIGGORY!”

“Three guesses who just entered their name,” Anwyn laughed as the group crowded in front of them at the fire. She pulled her legs in, narrowly avoiding being trampled by a stumbling sixth year.

“At least someone from this house got in,” Russell said glumly, standing up from the sofa. “I better go to Pomfrey if I want to get rid of this beard by tonight,”

Sarah immediately shot up from her spot on the sofa. “I’ll come too,”

“Sarah,” Anwyn tried, and then a little louder. “Sarah you can’t leave me looking like a half decorated Christmas tree—“

“I’ve got to take Russell the the hospital wing,” she replied with an apologetic grimace.

“He’s gone grey, he’s not dying!” Anwyn exclaimed, but it was no good. The pair were already disappearing back out of the porthole.

“DIGGORY! DIGGORY! DIGGORY!”

The seventh years were now dancing around in a circle, arms linked, every stamp of their foot shaking the entire common room as Cedric stood laughing in the middle. One of them had conjured a cloud above his head that rained confetti down on the his hair, and the dancing was getting closer and closer to Anwyn’s feet.

She clambered up, trying to spot Annabelle but she’d disappeared, dragged into the excited crowd in front. With a frustrated sigh, Anwyn pulled the half finished bun out of her hair, and climbed the stairs to her room, suddenly not in the mood to celebrate.

The dorm room was empty, the other girls either celebrating with the house or out following around the new students, so she flung herself down on her bed with a melodramatic sigh. She could feel the hard lump of her message book through the pillow, and frustrated, she pulled it out.

The cover was shining gold.

He did say he’d write today. A bitter voice in her head told her to ignore it, to give him a taste of the silent treatment that it felt like she’d been receiving, but with Sarah and Russell off on their own again she felt the familiar pang of loneliness.

So Anwyn opened the book.

There was no message since his last one, just a series of lines drawn over each other in a cross. Two lines up, two lines down. She watched as an X appeared in the top left corner.

Anwyn let out a little huff of amusement, and grabbed her quill from where she’d left it on the bedside table.

She scored a large circle into the middle square.

Another X appeared, and she added another O, and this continued until three crossed had lined up on the top row, and Anwyn was swearing under her breath.

You cheated she wrote

There was a pause, and then familiar handwriting appeared across the page.

I won fair and square. You’re just a sore loser.

Now, please tell me you haven’t tried to enter the Triwizard Tournament while I’ve been busy.

I’m far too boring for that

You can promise me that?

If you could see my face, you would see that I’m not sporting a long grey beard.

A question mark appeared on the page, and Anwyn realised how strange her message must have sounded.

There’s an age line around the Goblet of Fire. Anyone who crosses it whos under seventeen ends up looking like Dumbledore

That certainly sounds like his brand of humour

How dangerous is it going to be? If they’re only opening it to 7th years?

I would hope they’ve instituted some further safety measures, but very, if the previous one was anything to go by

Why, what happened at the previous one?

Two students died and a cockatrice attacked the three judges

Holy shit

Remus didn’t reply to that, instead, a ghostly line crossed out the word shit. She rewrote it again beside the last word, and it was promptly crossed out once more. She gave up.

How’s the job?

Fine. Nothing particularly exciting. Sorry I’ve not been around to talk, I’ve been taking on extra shifts.

Anwyn frowned at that.

I hope you’re not over doing it

Nothing I can’t handle. How’s school?

Her frown deepened. That sounded like typically Remus redirection.

Busy. I think the teachers are trying to work us to death before the OWLs

Are you managing okay?

Nothing I can’t handle she replied, echoing his previous message. He didn’t response immediately.

How’s Harry getting on.

Again, Anwyn frowned, unsure whether to take the question on face value. As nice as it was to be able to talk to him more instantly than Owlpost, he was becoming increasingly difficult to read. At least when they were face to face, she could see the usual tells of his nerves, or when he was trying to hide something. But this was much harder to work out.

She finally scribbled a response.

He’s fine I think. Why? Has he not been writing to Sirius?

No he is, just wondering.

There was another pause, and she tapped the end of her quill off the page. His script started again, a stutter of words as if he was considering the sentence.

Keep an eye on him will you? And let me know if anything strange happens?

Okay, something was definitely wrong.

What’s going on Remus?

Nothing, don’t worry. But Harry has a habit of attracting trouble.

But when Anwyn finally closed the book, worrying was exactly what she was doing.

———

Halloween at Hogwarts was always a festive affair, but this year the staff had really gone all out in an effort to impress their guests. The tables were covered in cobwebs and great fat glowing pumpkins, grins and snarls carved into their orange flesh. And the food was piled high, platefuls of every meat and side imaginable. By the time Anwyn had polished off her desserts, of which she’d had many, she’d nearly forgotten about the competition, looking forward to climbing into her bed for a good nap. But the glowing cup at the front of the hall grabbed her attention, and when Dumbledore stood once more, the room fell into a tense silence.

“Well, the Goblet is almost ready to make its decision,” said Dumbledore. “I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions’ names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber–“ he indicated the door behind the staff table “—where they will be receiving their first instructions.”

Dumbledore gave a great flourish of his wand, and the hall descended into darkness save for the yellow glow of the lit pumpkins, and the blue flames silently crackling in the Goblet of Fire. The entire hall was silent, hundreds of eyes fixed on the cup. Just when Anwyn thought it had all been a trick, and nothing was going to happen, it glowed white hot, a lick of flame blasting a piece of parchment into the air.

Dumbledore snatched the parchment out of the air and held it at arm’s length in the glow of the blue fire. “The champion for Durmstrang,” he read clearly, “will be Viktor Krum.”

“What a surprise!” Russell laughed beside her.

The hall erupted into polite applause, and Anwyn shot a look across the the Slytherin table. Krum was climbing to his feet, and across from him the same ash blonde boy from before was clapping, though not with particular enthusiasm, clearly disappointed. His sister gave him a playful elbow, but he didn’t crack a smile.

Once Krum had disappeared, and the hall had lapsed into a silent anticipation again, the Goblet shot out a tongue of yellow flame once more. Dumbledore caught the second piece of parchment, holding it aloft.

‘The champion for Beauxbatons,’ said Dumbledore, ‘is Fleur Delacour!’

A beautiful silver haired girl stood from the Ravenclaw table, while multiple of her classmates looked close to bursting into tears. There was a murmuring around the hall as she walked to the front, and Russell gulped, swallowing hard.

“Blimey,” he said. “Who’s she?”

Anwyn spotted Sarah’s stricken expression, the other girl watching the Beauxbatons champion until she was out of the room.

For the third and final time, the goblet flared. The table around her seemed to take a collective breath, atmosphere thick. It felt like the parchment took an age to float down into Dumbledores hand, and the old wizard silently read the winner, before shooting a smile towards the black and yellow table.

“The Hogwarts Champion is…Cedric Diggory!”

The Hufflepuff table exploded. A roar of absolute pure joy and disbelief, the sound of a house celebrating their first win in years, no longer the underdogs but the champions of the school. Anwyn was on her feet with the rest of them as the house moved like a wave, hats flying in the air, shoes stamping on the stone floor. She spotted Cedric further down the line dragging himself to his feet, a wide smile plastered to his face as he visibly bounced against the hands patting him on the back and congratulating him. When he finally managed to extract himself from the table, he crossed the hall to shake hands with Dumbledore, and disappeared after the other champions.

“We did it!” Sarah was jumping up and down beside her, arms wrapped around Anwyn as if they’d just won the entire competition. “We actually did it!”

And for the first time in while, since before the whole sorry affair last year, Anwyn actually felt like a Hufflepuff again. Like they had something to celebrate, and she was right there, along for the ride.

“Excellent!” Dumbledore exclaimed after they finally began to sit down. “Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real –“

The Goblet was flaring again. A bout of fire burst out of the lip, a single singed piece of paper floating down above Dumbledores head. He snatched it out of the air, and read the text, face giving nothing away.

“Harry Potter!”

The hall was silent. A sea of heads turned towards the Gryffindor table, and Anwyn followed their gaze, spotting a familiar mess of black hair. Hermione was beside him, and she gave him an insistent shove. Harry stood, legs appearing to wobble beneath him, and walked the length of the hall.

Harry has a habit of attracting trouble.

Well. This year was about to get complicated.

Notes:

Again, I’ve tried to combine the books and movie for this one. The books don’t have the other schools arriving until the day before Halloween, and I really like the rigid “show them a good welcome” that the kids all have to do VS the more laid back intro in the movie. But the book has them meeting on the green outside of Hogwarts, and that layout doesn’t make much sense with the visuals of Hogwarts that we see in the movie (which is very much now the canon in my head).

Cue me firing up Hogwarts Legacy maps to try and work out something as simple as where they should stand.

We should be kicking off the mystery a bit more from here. Lots of set up to do, so bear with me, updates might take a bit longer while I make sure I’ve got my ducks in a row and haven’t ruined future plans.

Chapter 10: The Fourth Champion

When Cedric stepped through the round porthole door in to the Hufflepuff Common room, Anwyn was fairly certain that the roof was going to cave in.

The room exploded into such loud cheering and stamping of feet that the entire floor was shaking, the hanging plants above their heads swinging wildly, a few loose leaves raining down on them like confetti. Cedric was promptly swept up into the crowd, held aloft as they marched him up and down in front of the fire, chanting his name.

A few of the older boys appeared with plates from the kitchens, though how any of them could eat any more after the feast, Anwyn wasn’t sure. And food wasn’t the only thing they’d procured, there were barrels of pumpkin juice and butter beer, and clear bottles of something that Anwyn was fairly certain was not water. Where they’d got them, she didn’t know. But they were quickly filling cups and passing them around the crowd, students toasting Cedric every few seconds.

One of the seventh heads approached, a tall blonde boy that played on the Quidditch team with Cedric. He greeted Russell like an old friend, they did play together after all, and then eyed the girls.

“You’re both fifth years?”

“Yeah,” Sarah said coolly, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Good. Have a drink,” he held out the tray of cups, all filled with different brightly coloured liquids. “Don’t let the first years near these or Mr Head Boy will kill me,”

Anwyn took one of the cups filled with a bright blue liquid and sniffed it as the seventh year moved on. It smelt sweet, fruity. It was probably alcoholic. And she hadn’t really drank much, apart from the odd sip of fire whiskey she’d tried out of Remus glass at Christmas, which was usually followed by her screwing up her face in disgust.

“Come on Wyns,” Russell said, throwing his arm around her shoulder. “When are we ever going to get a chance to celebrate like this again?”

Anwyn hesitated, nibbling on the dry skin of her lip while she looked between the two of them, earnest, expectant looks on their faces. A small smile began to curve at the corner of her mouth.

“When Cedric wins this thing,”

A cheer went up, and the three Hufflepuffs cracked their glasses together in a toast before downing the contents. Anwyn spluttered, the burning in her throat confirming that the liquid was definitely not butter beer, but as she finished her glass one of the sixth years was already refilling it.

It wasn’t long before she started to feel a pleasant buzz, a slight fuzzing at the edge of her vision that suggested that the drinks were having an effect, but she was having too much fun to really notice it. Zacharias Smith had appeared with a gramophone, and music was soon blaring out into the common room, a press of bodies jumping and dancing along, whether they new the lyrics or not.

And Anwyn was dancing along with them. It seemed like an age since the Hufflepuffs had shunned her, treated her like a stranger in the own dormitory. The whole room was buzzing with excitement, voices growing louder and louder as more illicit drinks were consumed, and as the night went on she found herself coming out of her shell, laughing and joking with different groups and joining in with the the raucous singing. Of course, the oddly coloured drinks helped, and the pleasant buzz was soon replaced with a heavy numbness that sent her tottering any time she stood up too fast.

It must have been past 3am when the celebration finally ended, with Sprout appearing in a frilly nighty and nightcap to shut the party down.

“Believe me chaps, I’m as excited as you are that our Mr Diggory has won the place of champion. But that doesn’t mean you can keep the entire castle up with your singing. Bed! All of you! This instant!”

Sarah and Anwyn staggered up to their room, arm linked in arm as they sung the Wyrd Sisters songs under their breaths, collapsing onto their beds in a fit of giggles. Kate, who was in the bed on the end rolled over with a groan, telling them to shut up, and Annabelle appeared in the door way yawning and shuffling.

“This is our year,” Sarah said faintly as they crawled under the duvets. “No one will write Hufflepuff off after this,”

At that moment, lying in the warmth of the bed, a warm buzz in her head and her voice scratchy from singing, Anwyn was inclined to agree.

———

Anwyn cracked an eye open, and then promptly shut it with a groan. The light throbbed behind her eyelids, a constant pulse that brought the gorge rising in her throat. She tried to roll over, and the room spun, so she lay for a moment trying to still her frantically racing heart. Realistically, she knew that she’d just drank a little bit too much of whatever was in those cups. But the after effects were frighteningly close the withdrawal she’d suffered whenever she ran out of potions last year.

But it wasn’t last year. She had friends. She wasn’t alone. She hadn’t been caught brewing in the toilets and forced to flush all of her work down the drain. And last night had been…fun?

When the room had finally stopped spinning, she climbed out of bed and stumbled straight to the girls bathroom. There was no sign of anyone else around, although Sarah had already left the dorm by the looks of it, so Anwyn took advantage of the quiet showers and stood under the boiling stream until she felt a little more human.

The common room itself had a few more Hufflepuffs milling around, mainly the first and second years who had been chased off to bed sometime after ten o’clock and still had energy. There were a few of the older students lying about on the sofas, and it was hard to tell if they were even awake.

Anwyn found her friends in the great hall, all looking slightly worse for wear. She slid into the bench beside Russell, and looked across the table where Annabelle lay with her head on the wooden surface. She jerked her head in the girl’s direction.

“Sarah found her puking in one of the plant pots this morning,” he whispered, wincing. “We thought some breakfast might help,”

“I never want to eat again,” the girl moaned, voice muffled against the table.

“What the hell was that stuff last night,” Anwyn asked quietly, shooting a glance at the staff table.

“Vodka Wyns,” Russell grinned. “It was just vodka,”

“It was disgusting,”

“I don’t recall you complaining last night when you and Sarah were dancing to Duran Duran,”

Sarah looked up from the cereal she’s been stirring round and around without eating. “We’re not talking about that. In fact we’re forgetting that even happened,”

A cheer went up at the end of the table, and Anwyn turned to find Cedric entering the hall with an entourage of admirers. He’d already been popular, but it seemed like half the house was hanging on to his proverbial coat tails, trailing him like puppies. She looked around the hall, and it seemed that the cheer hadn’t just caught her attention. The Gryffindors were glaring across the hall at them, and the Hufflepuffs were returning their stares with equally murderous looks. It seemed the new found friendships she’d found at the red and gold table were well and truly over. There was, however, no sign of Harry, though she spotted a shock of red hair that could only be a Weasley.

“How do you think he did it?” Russell muttered.

“Who?” Anwyn chewed on a slice of dry toast, trying not to notice how her stomach churned every time she swallowed.

“Potter. How do you think he got his name in?”

“Asked an older student maybe?” Sarah asked. “Or used some sort of dark magic—“

“He wasn’t actually the heir of Slytherin, you do remember that right?” Anwyn interrupted.

“Yeah but then why does something always happen when he’s around?” Sarah argued. “We’ve not had one normal year since he arrived!”

She had a point. Danger and drama seemed drawn to Harry. And Remus had told her to keep an eye on him. This seemed like the sort of thing he’d want to know. But did Harry put his name in himself? Something about the look on his face last night told her that perhaps he didn’t. There was only one way to find out.

“I’m going to get some fresh air,” she told her friends, standing from the table. “My heads spinning,”

“Lightweight,” Russell laughed, and she stuck her tongue out at him before leaving the great hall.

———

She tried the corridor outside of the Gryffindor common room, but quickly gave up after the first few hostile glares that were sent her way. She knocked off Hagrids door, only to find once she’d extracted herself from Fang’s slobbering mouth that Harry wasn’t there. She tried the library, the quidditch pitch, down by the lake, and was about to give up when she stopped for two seconds to try and make her aching brain think.

If her name had come out of the goblet, what would she be doing?

Writing to Remus in a panic, probably.

But Harry didn’t have a message book. He did however, have an owl, and his own godfather.

Anwyn set off for the Owlry at a run.

Her legs did not thank her for the pace. Neither did her stomach, in fact as she hit the foot of the hill she had to stop as she felt it roll, nausea hitting her like a wall. But as she stood with her hands on her knees, trying to drag air into her protesting lungs, she looked up, spotting two figures on the path ahead.

“Harry!” She shouted, staggering up the slope after them. “Harry wait!”

The gryffindors turned, and Hermione gave a weak wave of greeting, but Harry kept walking.

“What do you want Anwyn?” He shouted over his shoulder. “Come to give me a piece of your mind?”

“No—“

“I didn’t put my name in, alright, I don’t even want to take part,”

“Harry wait—“

“So I’m sorry if I’ve ruined your little Hufflepuff dream, but—“

“Will you shut up for two seconds!” She snapped, breathless.

Harry finally turned on the path, jamming his hands deep in his pockets. He wore a scowl on his face, and he was clearly exasperated, but more than anything he just looked tired.

“You really didn’t enter?” She asked, climbing the last bit of the hill.

“No!” He replied. “Why would I want to, I don’t have a death wish! I just wanted a normal, quiet year,”

She studied his face, the intensity of his voice. The way his shoulders were slumped. He hadn’t been in the great hall. Surely a glory hunter would have been basking under the attention of his admirers? Waiting to get praises and patted on the back.

“I believe you,”

He looked up, eyes widening. “You do? Why?”

Anwyn shrugged. “You gave me the benefit of the doubt last year when I told you that we hadn’t been helping Sirius into the castle. If you say you didn’t enter, then I don’t think you did,” she grimaced. “Besides. I’m not sure why you’d want to,”

Harry visibly deflated, the fight leaving him. He gave a slow nod, scuffing his feet against the dirt track. “Thanks,”

“Have you told Sirius?”

He shook his head. “I’m just about to write to him—“

“Only because I’m making him,” Hermione interject with a determined look at her friend. “He needs to know,”

Anwyn nodded. “He does. What if I told you I have a quicker way of you getting the word to him? A way you can have a proper conversation?”

Harry looked unsure. “I dunno. He’s probably going to freak out—“

“That sounds perfect,” Hermione interrupted again, shooting Harry a look that brooked no argument.

“Right. Cool.” Anwyn hesitated for a second. She hand planned any further ahead than this. “Meet me—“

There were footsteps on the path ahead. Two figures appeared from the tower above, winding down the dirt track towards them. As they neared, Anwyn recognised them as Justin Finch-Fletchly and Hannah Abbott, both Hufflepuff fourth years. They shot her a confused look as they spotted who she was with, but moved past the three of them and continued on towards the castle.

Only when Anwyn was sure they were out of earshot did she speak again. “Meet me in the old History of Magic classroom that Remus held your patronus lessons in. It should be quiet,”

Harry gave a short nod, exchanging a glance with Hermione, and then headed back down the hill.

Anwyn watched them go, waiting on her breath returning, and desperately hoped that she was doing the right thing.

———

Her first stop was the Hufflepuff common room. It was busier than when she left it, but she ignored the crowds, rushing up the stairs to her room. She dug under her pillow, finding the message book, and cracked it open, grabbing her quill.

Remus, are you around?

It was about ten minutes before his script appeared, snaking across the page, ten minutes in which she’d chewed each and every nail right down to the bed.

Morning Anwyn. I’m really hoping you’re not writing to tell me that you’re the Hogwarts champion.

She winced. Best to get this over with quickly.

Harry’s name came out of the goblet.

Very funny

I’m not joking. Cedric Diggory got picked as champion, and then the thing spat Harry’s name out as a fourth contestant.

There was no response, but it wasn’t hard to imagine the look on Remus face at the other side. She started to scribble again.

I just spoke to Harry. He said he didn’t do it and I believe him.

I’m inclined to as well

He was writing to Sirius but I had another idea. Can you go see him? I thought they could talk using our message books.

She didn’t give him a chance to reply before a little anxious voice had her scrawling another line.

That’s alright isn’t it? It’s okay if Harry knows about them?

Of course, I think it’s a brilliant idea. Give me fifteen minutes, I’ll have to give past the aurors

No worries. I need to go meet with him

Alright. Speak in a minute

She slammed the book shut, slipping it into the front pocket of her hoody, and left her dorm room. As she stepped into the common room, the group by the fire turned to look at her, and she belatedly noticed their curious looks. But there was no time to worry about them now. She had to get to the abandoned classroom.

Harry and Hermione were already waiting for her when she arrived, and they both looked up as she cracked the door open, flinching at the sudden noise. They visible relaxed when they spotted it was her, and she shut the door behind her with a dull thud.

“Remus sent me this last year,” she said, pulling the book from her pocket. The gates of Moria were glowing gold, indicating that he’d messaged again. “I can write in this and it appears instantly in his book at the other side. A bit like owl post but much quicker,”

She sat it down on the table, and pulled the quill from her pocket, realising she’d forgotten ink. Luckily the desk in front had an inkwell in the drawer.

“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed, tracing her fingers over the cover. “It must be some kind of mirror charm, linked between the two books! With protective wards on top to hide the contents—“

“Can we get on with this?” Harry asked, exasperated

Yes, yes,” Hermione waved dismissively. “It’s just so interesting, first the map, now this, it’s such an inventive use of magic—“

“Mellon,” Anwyn muttered, pointing her wand at the cover.

She cracked the book open, and there was a new line since she’d closed it.

With Sirius now.

We’re here. She wrote back. I have Harry and Hermione.

Right. Tell us everything.

She offered the quill to Harry, but he shook his head. “You’ve got better hand writing. You do it,”

The opening ceremony went ahead as planned last night. Durmstrang went first, then Beauxbaton, then Hogwarts. Cedric Diggory was name Hogwarts champion, and then when Dumbledore went to finish his speach the cup sent out a fourth name - Harry.

He did not put his name in the cup, he’s not aware of anyone else doing it.

She looked up at the boy. “That about cover it?”

“Yeah,” he nodded.

Remus script began to appear on the page, the handwriting a little messy as he hurried to write.

How were names submitted? And how long for?

Entrants were to add their name into the Goblet of Fire. It was open for 24 hours, and there were multiple wards to stop under seventeens, other students adding names etc

Who set the wards?

Dumbledore at least. Maybe Crouch? I’m not sure

Crouch is there?

Yeah. And the commentator from the quidditch cup.

“Ludo Bagman,” Hermione told her helpfully.

Ludo Bagman Anwyn hurriedly added.

Another pause, and then—

Were there any other guests?

Just the two other schools. And their head teachers, Madame Maxine and Karkaroff.

There was a pause, one in which Anwyn guessed the two men on the other end were talking amongst themselves and then the writing came again.

Karkaroff is there?

She frowned. Yeah why?

No reply came. She tapped the end of her quill off the book impatiently, wishing that she could just hear the whole conversation. Wishing that they were there in the room.

“Where have they gone?” Harry asked, leaning over her shoulder.

“I don’t know—“

The scribble that was appearing in the page was not one she was familiar with, a florid scrawl that was not unlike the sort of cursive her grandmother had tried to enforce during her lessons. It could only belong to someone who’d been raised by the noble house of Black.

“Here,” Anwyn passed the quill to Harry. “You should talk to him,”

Harry - first things first - are you alright?

Harry made a small noise, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff.

I’ve been better

I can imagine. But Harry - you know your stuff, we both know you can take care of yourself. Just be on your guard. I think it’s unlikely that whoever did this will try anything obvious in front of Dumbledore and Moody, so our main priority is getting you through these trials

Easier said than done Harry replied

The moment you know what the first trial is let us know. We’ll come up with a plan. And stick with Anwyn, any concerns get her to message us immediately

Harry looked across at her, and she gave a nod of confirmation.

Alright. He wrote. We better go before someone spots us.

Keep safe, all of you. And stick together.

Will do

Harry shut the book and handed it to Anwyn, who stood from the table and held it close to her chest. Having a direct line to Sirius and Remus was something, but she had a bad feeling that their problems were only just beginning.

“So what now?” She asked quietly.

“Same as every year,” Harry replied. “We just try to get through this in one piece,”

———

The message book was plain once more, the golden gates no longer shining. It sat on the chipped little coffee table in the front of them, forgotten for the moment. Remus was far too busy trying to talk Sirius down.

“You can’t go!” He said. “Sirius, if you just disappear, to Hogwarts of all places, you may as well throw the whole trial out of the window!”

“So I’m supposed to just sit here and wait for someone to kill him?”

Remus gave an exasperated groan, watching as the other man paced in front of the tiny row of kitchen cabinets, like an anxious dog in a cage.

“A quick trip Remus,” Sirius said. “In and out, they’ll barely notice—“

“They have the trace on you!” Remus shot back, his voice rising. “They’ll notice the moment you appear somewhere you shouldn’t be! It’s a fools errand—“

“Oh so I’m a fool now, am I?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Remus snapped back.

Sirius looked like he was about to say something else, but thought better of it, his mouth closing with a snap.

“Look at it this way,” Remus said, fighting to keep the frustration out of his voice. “Harry is going to need you this year. More than ever. You can’t help him from inside Azkaban,”

“I can’t help him from here either—“

“You can. You can write. And we’ll get his message book working. Until then Anwyn can help us to keep in touch with him,”

Sirius let out a huff of breath, sitting down heavily on the edge of the bed, the mattress creaking under his weight.

“I knew something was going on. I just had a feeling. But who’s doing this? Karkaroff? What’s his game?”

“Hard to say,” Remus replied, crossing his arms against his chest as he leaned back against the wall. “But I do have to wonder if Dumbledore had an inkling. I can’t pretend that I approve of Mad Eye’s teaching methods, but having such a formidable Auror in the school might be enough to make whoever behind this pause,”

“Not enough to stop them putting Harry’s name in that cup,”

“No. Unfortunately not,” Remus looked at his watch, hesitating. “I uh— I’ll have to get going. I’ve got a shift at six,”

Sirius’ head shot up. “You’re going to work? At a time like this?”

Remus pushed himself off the wall, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I can’t just not turn up. But I’ll be back. Tomorrow morning. We can try and figure out what’s going on,”

Again, Sirius looked like he was swallowing a response, and Remus felt a flicker of unease. He’d stay if he could, of course he would. But he needed to keep this job. It had taken long enough for him to find one in the first place.

Sirius climbed to his feat with a sigh, and made for the door. His hand was on the handle when Remus stopped him.

“Promise me you won’t run off while I’m gone?”

A flicker of annoyance crossed the other man’s face, not far off the look he’d have given when Remus had tried to talk him and James out of a particularly risky prank.

“Alright alright, I promise,”

“Good,” Remus said, hoping he could trust him. “Because they would notice. And then the trial would be at risk,”

Sirius didn’t reply, but he could see the muscle in his jaw working, his hand tight on the door handle as he swung it open.

Remus hesitated on the threshold. “We’ll work it out,” he said quietly. “But safely. Without risking your freedom. I don’t want to lose you again,”

He caught a glimpse of Sirius’ face in that moment, eyes widening slightly, mouth opening to reply, but he was already out of the door and on the stairs before he could take back the words that had simply slipped out.

———

His shift was in thirty minutes. He should probably eat. He’s gotten as far as changing into his work clothes and had then sunk down into the sofa, propping his head in his hands as he massaged the bridge of his nose.

He needed to keep Harry safe.
He needed to make sure Anwyn didn’t end up getting caught up as collateral.
He needed to figure out who was behind this.
He needed to keep Sirius out of prison.
He needed to do all this while balancing two jobs.
And he needed to find his own place.

In that moment, satisfying every need in the list seemed impossible.

Remus let out a groan, rubbing at his eyes until stars burst in his vision.

“What’s wrong with you?” Bethan strolled into the room, a bowl in each hand.

He took the offered dish, chicken and mushroom soup done just the way his mother used to make it. But for once he didn’t have the appetite for it.

“This can’t leave these walls,” he told her gravely.

Bethan’s eyebrows punched together, incredulous. “What’s this? Some big secret at Tesco? I don’t think supermarket gossip will make the headlines—“

“It’s not about work,” he interrupted. “Anwyn’s been in touch,”

Any joviality immediately left her. “What’s wrong, is she alright—“

“She’s fine. It’s Harry,” he hesitated, absently stirring the soup. “Blast it, you’ll hear soon enough anyway. Harry’s been chosen as the fourth Triwizard contestant,”

Bethan blinked. “You know tri means three right?”

“I’m well aware,”

“So when you say four—“

“I mean that all three schools have a champion, and then Harry seems to have ended up as an extra one. But to make it even more worrying, he didn’t enter,”

“Remus,” she said gently. “We’re talking about James’ son here. Doesn’t illegally entering the contest sound like something he’d do?”

He shook his head. “No. Not Harry. If he says he didn’t do it, then I believe him. Wyn does too. Which begs the question, who put his name in?”

Bethan frowned. “You’re thinking it was foul play?”

“I cant imagine why else they’d want the boy who lived to compete. But who would be desperate enough, and competent enough, to get past the wards,”

Bethan’s chewed on her upper lip, her eyes staring off at nothing in particular while she thought. It was a look that he knew well; she’d passed it down to her daughter after all.

“I may be able to help with that,”

“You have an idea?”

She stood from the sofa, siting her soup bowl down on the coffee table, forgotten. “More than just an idea. Let me show you what I’ve been working on,”

Notes:

Apologies for the delay, it’s been a busy week! I’ll probably be dropping to once a week updates as this tale goes on and gets more complicated, but I’ll try and keep it fairly regular.

Chapter 11: The Investigation Begins

The wolf howl echoed off the stone walls of the corridor. Multiple students turned around, mainly first years who didn’t know the meaning behind it, but a few older students immediately looked her way. Anwyn ducked her head, hurrying past the culprits.

The Blackthorn twins have been put on academic probation.

If the Blackthorn twins approach you for any further plagiarised essays let us know.

If the Blackthorn twins attempt to hex you, or start a duel, report it immediately.

Do not rise to any attempts to goad, or insight violence.

Do not rise to their taunting.

That was all good and well, but it was far too late for that. Silas and Sorrel had been the start, yes. But they were far from the only students who found the revelations about her family an entertaining subject. There was a whole fan club in fact, a group of students who still found the same old jokes hilarious despite four months having passed. Even with the new, equally strange DADA professor to grab their interest, Anwyn still caught their attention.

Still, she had bigger things to worry about than Slytherins who were too thick to think of new jokes. Like how on earth they were going to get Harry through the first trial alive. And how she was going to help him without pissing off the rest of the Hufflepuffs. They’d stopped her in the common room when she’d come back from meeting him, a crowd of them all centered around Justin who was animatedly telling them about who he’d seen at the Owlry.

“Is it true?” one of the sixth years had asked. “Are you hanging around with Potter?”

“I— I just bumped into him,” she’d muttered in response. “I was asking him how he did it,”

“And?”

She’d shrugged. “Wouldn’t say,”

That had gotten them off her back momentarily, but meeting Harry and Hermione had turned into a whole new challenge, one that felt eerily similar to when she’d had to sneak off to see the twins last year. The whole thing left her feeling ragged at the edges.

And to top it off, she had to figure out all that while still finishing the absolute mountain of homework the teachers were now piling on.

She chewed on her lip, taking the stairs down to the dungeons at a swift trot. At least potions came fairly naturally to her, although if Snape added another essay onto the growing pile, she’d be spending the entire weekend writing. Still, at least this year she didn’t have the twins essays to do as well—

A shoulder slammed into her as she reached the bottom of the stairs and rounded the corner.

“Watch it wolfgirl!”

She muttered an apology, ducking out of the way of the huge Slytherin boy that she’d ran into, and slipped into the Potions classroom.

There was someone in her seat.

They had their back to the door, but it was immediately evident that a Durmstrang student was sitting at the station that Anwyn usually occupied. For one thing, their uniform was the rich burgundy of the European school, and for another, she recognised the ash blonde hair of the girl she’d spotted in the courtyard.

“Surely you haven’t forgotten where your seat is Blackthorn?” Snape drawled behind her, and she jumped forward, sidling over to the table.

The girl looked up as she slid onto the stool to the right. Again, she wore a bored expression on her face, her chin balanced on her hand as she waited for the class to start. Sarah and Russell sat down in their usual seats, firing each other uncertain looks. Why was she here?

Now that she was closer, she couldn’t help but fire the Durmstrang girl surreptitious looks. Her hair was cropped to her chin with a slight wave, but she could see that it was shaved close to the bone at the temples. Her ears had a large stud in each lobe, but a number of pockmark like holes ran further up the cartilage, suggesting she’d had more piercings at one point. Her face too had a few marks, one on the nose, one in the middle of her bottom lip, all fairly fresh looking.

The Durmstrang girl’s eyes flitted over to her, the corners of her mouth turning slightly, and Anwyn found herself flushing red, embarrassed to be caught staring. She immediately focused her attention on the blackboard, which Snape was just about finished scrawling on.

“Draught of Peace is a particularly useful calming solution,” the potions master was saying, and Anwyn realised with a jolt what they’d be working on. “However incorrect brewing can result in which nasty side effects?”

Anwyn ducked her head as his gaze swept the class. She’d rather not answer this one, after all she’d felt the side effects first hand last year after learning the potion in Snape’s potions club. A particularly poor batch had landed her in the hospital wing, but that was only after she’d become entirely reliant on the calming effects.

“Blackthorn,”

Her head shot up, heart in her throat, but Snape wasn’t looking at her. His gaze was fixed on Silas at the other side of the class.

“Uh…boils?”

Snape’s lips pursed. “Incorrect. Anyone else?”

His gaze swept her way, and she silently pleaded with him to ignore her, but she was aware of movement beside her as the Durmstrang girl raised her arm.

“I see our guest has an answer. Please, enlighten these lackwits. Perhaps they’ll learn something,”

“Incorrect brewing can send the drinker into a deep sleep, often one that they can’t be roused from,” she replied in perfect English, the words slightly clipped from her accent.

“Correct. Now if you’d all like to follow the instructions on the board—“

The class all moved at once, hurrying to gather their ingredients before the potions master could pick on any of them.

“Pssst—“

Anwyn’s hand stopped as she reached across the table for her apothecary bag. She looked up to find the Durmstrang student looking at her, a smirk curling her lips.

“Yes?” She asked quietly, shooting a look around the room. Snape was out of sight, the door to his office open.

“When do we start the good potions?”

Anwyn blinked. “What do you mean? The good—“

“The good ones. This is third year stuff,”

“Third— no this— this is fifth year, we haven’t covered it before—“

The Durmstrang student scoffed. “Wow, they really don’t trust you with the interesting potions? This place is very old fashioned,”

Anwyn checked over her shoulder again, spotting Snape reappearing. She dragged her mortar towards her and began to pour ingredients in. But her interest was piqued.

“Like— like what?”

The girl shrugged. “I don’t know. Polyjuice. Veritaserum,” 

“Veritaserum?!” Anwyn exclaimed, a little too loudly. Russell and Sarah shot her a concerned look, and she lowered her voice. “You learn how to brew Veritaserum?”

“Well, I would,” the girl muttered, tapping her wand on the desk. “If I’d just stayed at home instead of following my idiot brother here. Didn’t even get picked as champion, and now we’re stuck here for the year,”

Anwyn felt a flare of agitation. It wasn’t so bad here. So maybe Durmstrang taught them more advanced potions, but Snape was very accomplished, if a little rude at times—

“Blackthorn, this is a potions lab, not a tea shop. Save whatever drivel you’re gossiping about until after my class, thank you very much,” the voice came behind her as if he’d read her thoughts.

“Sorry sir,” she quickly muttered, lighting the flame under her cauldron.

“Five points from Hufflepuff,” he rounded the table, almost floating into view on his great, black cape. “And you can share your ingredients with Miss Nilsson until she retrieves her own supply from Hogsmeade,”

“Yes sir, she replied again, and shoved the ingredients bag over to the other girl, who started to select what she needed from its contents.

Snape stared down his nose at her for moment longer with his cold, dark eyes, before marching off to snap at the group of Hufflepuffs nearest the door.

“Who put the stick up his ass?” Nilsson muttered.

Anwyn let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a cough. “He’s actually in a good mood today,”

“Well I’d hate to meet him on a bad day,”

“Oh you will. You will. Just give it a few weeks,”

The girl’s smirk turned into a full on lop sided grin, and Anwyn found herself smiling back. A hand reached out to her in offering.

“Signe,”

Anwyn looked at it for a second, and then leaned across the table.

“Anwyn,”

They shook hands, and Anwyn couldn’t help but notice the difference between the two of them; her nails bitten, ragged, Signe’s smooth with black polish. She felt a flicker of shame, and drew her hand back quickly, curling her nails into her palms.

They worked in silence for a while, the Draught of Peace coming as naturally to Anwyn as breathing. She had, after all, practiced it over and over last year, though not to Snape’s knowledge. She couldn’t help but sneak a peak in Signe’s cauldron as it worked, and found that the girls progress was just as efficient as her own. The idea triggered equal parts intrigue and irritation in her.

As she corked the bottle with her final solution, Signe was already handing hers over to Snape. The potions master inspected it, giving her a sharp nod of approval. Again, Anwyn felt a flicker of annoyance. So what, someone else was getting some of the potion masters rare approval? That wasn’t a crime, was it?

She handed her own vial over, holding her breath as Snape held it up to the light, checking the colour. It was perfect, she knew it was. She’d followed the steps exactly, to the letter, and—

“Slightly over boiled,” she potions master stated, lowering the vial.

She opened her mouth to argue, and then shut it with a snap. It was pointless. He’d been hard on her ever since the incident at the end of last year. Perhaps she should try apologising again for attacking him. No, that didn’t seem like a good idea either. Anwyn’s shoulders slumped, and she stalked back to her desk.

The Durmstrang girl had already tidied up, and was pulling her satchel over her head. “Thanks for the ingredients,”

“Umm…yeah no problem,” Anwyn stuttered back. “You can use them again next class,”

Signe flashed her a grin, starting for the door. She turned on the spot, walking backwards away from her. “You know, you’re not as weird as your cousins said you’d be,”

Anwyn’s mouth opened, her brow drooping. “What—“

But the Durmstrang student was already disappearing out of the classroom door.

———

Remus was pouring milk into his tea when Sirius apparated directly into kitchen. The resulting mess was waved away with a frustrated flick of his wand, the countertop drying in a blink, but the tea was already far too milky for his liking. He’d just have to drink it.

“I’m not even going to bother telling you not to—“ he began, turning to the other man, but Sirius face stopped him in his tracks.

It was drawn, tight, the stress written across it in lines that aged him. Though his hair was tidy and his beard was still close cropped, there was an echo of the man from Azkaban there, and Remus all but forgot about his spilt milk.

“What’s wrong?” He asked immediately, voice urgent.

“I uh—“ Sirius cleared his throat. “I just got a date for the hearing,”

Remus let out a ragged sigh of relief. “That’s— that’s good. Isn’t it?”

“Yeah, yeah,” the other man rubbed at the back of his neck, the leather of his jacket creaking. “It’s good. It just— well it makes it all the more real,”

“When is it?”

“The 28th of December,”

“So soon,” Remus replied lightly. “We’ll that’s good, we’ll get it over and done with and then you can enjoy life,”

Sirius gave a thin smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and then cleared his throat. “So where’s Bethan? You said she had something to show me?”

“Through in her office. Come on,”

Remus grabbed his mug and led them down the hallway to the door at the end, which sat ajar. The light was on beyond, and he could see his sister pottering about at the shelves against the wall, browsing the stack of filing boxes she kept there. He pushed the door open, and she turned to greet them, motioning to the table she’d cleared against the window.

“Good you’re here,” she said. “I’ve got further updates,”

“What’s all this about?” Sirius asked. “Remus said you might know something about the tournament?”

She nodded. “I’ve got a few theories,”

“Right,” Remus sat his mug down on the table before leaning forward to lean on his hands. “Bethan, start from the beginning. Exactly what you told me,”

She look over at Sirius, who was standing at the end of the table with his arms crossed, a sceptical look on his face.

“Everything? This is what’s going to be paying the rent—“

“Everything,” he replied. “Sirius is hardly going to run off to the nearest competitor,”

The other man nodded, a thin smile stretching across his face. “Definitely not. I don’t like journalists,”

Bethan scowled at him, but separated the sheets on the top of the stack, spreading them across the table. “I’d narrowed it down to four main suspects. Added in a fifth last night,” she said as she sat the paper down one by one. “Initially I was trying to find out who was behind the death eater attack at the World Cup, but this goes deeper than that,”

“You think it’s all linked?” Sirius asked.

She nodded. “It’s too much of a coincidence. We’ve got multiple key players linked to both incidents,”

“Such as?”

Bethan tapped the first sheet. “Number one. Barty Crouch. Ex Head of Magical Law Enforcement, now Head of International Magical Cooperation. And he was on the committee for both the World Cup and The Triwizard Tournament. Father of a convicted death eater who recently died in Azkaban. Widow to a wife who also recently passed. And it was his house elf that cast the dark mark, with Harry’s wand no less,”

“A damning list,” Remus commented.

“His death eater son,” Sirius asked. “Who was it? This was after I was committed,”

“Barty Crouch Junior. The family tried to keep it hush hush, but naturally word got out. It’s the reason why Crouch lost the Law Enforcement job, though it’s a wonder he managed to stay in the ministry at all. He was clearly well thought of,”

“And the son died?”

Bethan nodded. “So they say. Again, it’s been kept quiet. But I have a source that managed to get ahold of a death certificate. By all accounts he wasted away in Azkaban,”

Sirius’ expression gave nothing away, but his voice had a grim quality to it that made Remus’ chest tighten. “Can’t say I’m surprised. Not many people last long in there,”

Remus cleared his throat. “Who’s next?”

“Ludo Bagman,” Bethan continued, turning the next sheet. “Ex Quidditch player, Head of Magical Games and Sports, and also on the Triwizard committee. It’s a well known industry secret that the man is crumbling under debt,” she tapped the photo. “Apply a little bit of pressure and what would he do to dig himself out of the hole?”

“Are you suggesting there’s someone driving him?”

She shrugged. “Could be. Or he’s gambling on the tournament and hoping to set up a situation in which he can’t lose. I need to do more digging on that one,”

Bethan turned the next sheet.

“Karkaroff. Another ex death eater—“

“He was in Azkaban with me,” Sirius interrupted. “I saw them bring him in, and take him out again. He testified for his freedom?”

Bethan nodded. “Sold out a lot of his old pals, so he hasn’t got many allies left. But with Krum as his champion, he has links to the World Cup too,”

“Why would he want Harry to enter them?” Remus asked. “If he’s already backing Krum?”

“Maybe he’s confident Krum will win?” Sirius suggested. “And taking Harry out is just a bonus?”

“Or perhaps he doesn’t care about the tournament, and it’s just an excuse for him to get access to the boy that stopped his master,” Bethan suggested. “Which brings us on to the next suspects,”

She turned the page. There was no obvious face, no name this time, just a serious of blurry, moving photographs of death eaters in full robes and masks. With a jolt, Remus recognised burning tents behind them, a group of floating bodies over their heads. The night of the World Cup final.

“We know there are a number of death eaters still active. Their identities are unknown, but we can guess. Malfoy. Crab. Goyle. Knott and McNair,” Bethan said grimly, and she seemed to hesitate. She splayed her fingers against the table top, the pressure making the tips white.

“Some big names,” Sirius muttered.

“Powerful names,” Bethan said in agreement. “With ties to the ministry. So natural the prophet doesn’t want to hear about it,”

They stood in silence for a moment, watching the poor muggle family spin over and over above the death eaters heads. The image was enough to make Remus feel a little sick. Anwyn must have been petrified.

“Our next suspect,” Bethan said finally, turning the last piece of paper.

“You’re joking?” Remus said, looking down at the new face that hadn’t been there when she’d shown him her findings. “Alastair Moody is the best Auror we’ve seen in over a century!”

“And he’s crazy,” she tapped the table over the photograph, a moving shot of the gnarled man running at the camera with his cane. “The day before the kids all went back to school he set his rubbish bins on an intruder, which turned out to be some poor fox or cat no doubt. The man’s a loose canon,”

“But he’s Dumbledore’s loose canon,” Sirius said. “He’s brought him in for a reason,”

Bethan shrugged. “Maybe Moody’s further gone than even he realised,”

“And so what? He’s decided to enter Harry because…”

“Could be a test. Some sort of weird initiation, proving a point, who knows. You said that he was getting the students to shrug off the imperious curse?”

Remus nodded. “Yes, Anwyn said that the fourth years had that class too. Apparently Harry was the only one to pass the test,”

Sirius smirked. “That sounds about right,”

“So maybe this is a continuation? Some odd way in Moody’s head for preparing Harry for the big bad world,”

“Strange way of going about it,” Sirius muttered. “Not much to prepare for if he’s dead,” He sighed, leaning on the palms of his hands against the table. “No I don’t buy it. My money is on Karkaroff,”

“Crouch is an interesting one,” Remus added. “Too much secrecy there,”

“I like Crouch for it too,” Bethan said. “But Moody is my wildcard,” she gave a frustrated sigh, running her hand through her hair. “If I could just get to the castle and start digging, I might be able to uncover something else. But they’re only letting the vile Skeeter woman in,”

A noise of disgust came from Sirius. “She’s a vulture,”

“On that we can agree,” Bethan nodded. “The prophet don’t want to hear a word of this. They’ve refused every article I’ve sent them since the cup, apparently it’s not what the public want to read,” she held her fingers up as she quoted in the air.

Remus shot her a worried look. “Where are you getting published then? I can take a few extra shifts, pay a bit more towards the rent,”

She waved him off. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I’ve taken an advance from The Quibbler—“

“The Quibbler?!” Sirius interrupted. “That old crackpot Lovegood’s magazine?! What’s he paying you in, fizzing whizbees?”

Bethan winced. “Not quite, though it’s hardly Prophet wages. It pays the bills though until we crack this. No one will be dodging my owls when we figure out who’s behind this,”

“I have to admit,” Sirius said reluctantly. “This is…impressive work Bethan,”

She began gathering up the pages, and gave a small laugh. “A compliment from you? I’ll take it. No leaking my story before it’s broken though,”

“I’ll have to tell Harry some of this,” he replied. “Warn him who to keep an eye on at least,”

“We can write to Wyn tonight,” Remus said, scooping his now cool tea back off the table before Bethan could knock it over.

There was a slight hesitation from Sirius, and he cleared his throat. “I was actually wondering if I could use your fireplace,”

“Sirius, we’ve been over this, you can’t go—“

“No, no, I’m not suggesting I go anywhere!” He held up his hands in a placating gesture. “But no one has said I can’t communicate by floo,”

Remus sighed, scratching at the stubble on his jaw. He had a point. It technically wouldn’t be breaking the rules, but if another student saw him, all hell might break loose.

“It’ll have to be late,” he said. “And as long as Bethan is okay with it, it’s her house after all,”

“Get me any more info you can, and you can chat via my fireplace all night,” she replied, gathering the stack of paper in her arms.

“And I won’t be here,” Remus added. “I’ve got a shift at the—“ Which one was it? He was loosing track already, his brain starting to scramble like it always did in the run up to the moon. “—well I’ve got work,”

But Sirius was already shooting him a wolfish grin. “Thanks, I owe you one,”

He never could argue against that smile. He found his own mouth twitching in response. “Just don’t do anything reckless,”

Sirius held up his hands in faux shock. “Reckless? Me? It’s like you don’t know me Moony,”

“On the contrary,” Remus replied dryly. “I know you all too well,”

———

The table shook violently as the stack of books landed on its surface, all thick tombes of leather, yellowed and musty. A cloud of dust exploded into the air, and Anwyn wafted a hand in front of her face, coughing.

“Blimey— did you find enough of them?”

“This is just a first pass,” Hermione replied, sliding into the seat beside her. “I’ve got Hogwarts: A History, an obvious choice, and then a few sporting history volumes from the late 1700s. It’s hard to find anything newer, when the tournament was cancelled people seemed to have lost interest,”

“If only it had stayed that way,” Anwyn replied glumly, pushing away the transfiguration essay she’d been working on, partly just to disguise why she was meeting the Gryffindor girl in the first place.

The sound of hushed giggling came from behind her, and she turned to find a group of Slytherins standing between the stacks, whispering amongst themselves. The twins, she noted, were amongst them, and she swiftly turned back to the books.

“Right, where should I start?”

“Any references to previous trials,” Hermione said, opening the first book on the pile. “If we can get an idea of what Harry will be up against, maybe we can come up with a plan,”

Anwyn nodded, selecting the next book from the top. It weighed a tonne, and must have been over 2000 pages at least. Given the opportunity, it could probably serve as a decent bludgeoning weapon, if the wielder managed to lift it that was.

The pages had the old, weathered smell of age, and the writing was minuscule. She brought the lantern closer to the parchment, squinting to try and read it, but it didn’t help much. This was going to be a long evening.

A wave of laughter came from behind again, and she grit her teeth, shuffling her feet beneath the table.

“What is their problem?” Hermione bit out, glowering over Anwyn’s shoulder at the crowd.

“Just ignore them,” she muttered back.

“They’re being incredibly distracting!”

“Yes, I think that’s the point—“

“Wynnie is it true?” Sorrel’s sickly sweet voice floated over to her, brimming with faux concern. “Did your poor uncle really apply for a magizoologist job?”

Anwyn swallowed hard. Remus hadn’t mentioned anything of the sort. They were probably just baiting her. She didn’t reply.

Silas sat in the edge of the table, crinkling the edge of her transfiguration parchment, and shoving books out of his way.

“Do you mind—“ Hermione snapped “We’re busy—“

“Oliver, tell our dear cousin what you told us. It appears she’s out of the loop,”

She didn’t recognise the name, but the voice sounded familiar, a third year perhaps. One of the group that regularly howled at her in the corridor.

“Father works as an accountant at a magizoologist company. He says that Lupin applied for a job there, nearly got it too. Obviously he had to make his boss aware of the sort of man he was interviewing—“

“He did what?!” Anwyn spun in her seat, all thoughts of keeping her head down flying out the window.

“Yes, of course, when his boss found out what he was, that was the end of it—“

“That’s awful!” Hermione said. “That’s absolutely beastly—“

“Precisely what my father probably told him,”

Anwyn had approximately three seconds to take in Oliver’s smirking face before she was aware of her chair clattering to the floor, her wand pointed at his nose. Her grip was tight, knuckles white, but her aim was true, and the smirk slid from his face.

“You’re mental—“

“Take it back,”

“Anwyn!”

“Take it back, or I’ll give you an extra nose!”

“What are you going to do,” Sorrel said quietly beside her. “Start a duel in the library? I don’t think the teachers will swing in your favour this time,”

“I don’t care,” she ground out between her teeth.

Silas leaned in on her other side. “Imagine getting expelled now. After all the trouble you went to last year. Such a waste,”

Her wand hand began to shake.

“Leave us alone,” Hermione said from somewhere behind her, voice firm “Just go, or Madame Pince will give us all detention. What happens when you’re already on academic probation? Immediate expulsion?”

Anwyn’s wand was sweaty in her palm. There was a lump in her throat that was difficult to swallow past, a tightness in her chest that was all too familiar. Why hadn’t he said, why hadn’t he told her— that— that man— what had he said, what had—

“Anwyn,” Hermione was speaking again, her voice firm. “They’re not worth it,”

She exhaled, a slow, shaky breath, and slowly lowered her wand. Oliver took a step back, and with one final furious look towards her, disappeared back into the shelves.

“Just as touchy as ever,” Silas commented. “And evidently just as useless,”

There was chorus of wolf howls, a murmur of laughter, and the group moved off. Anwyn stowed her wand down in her back pocket with a sharp jab. She bent, grabbing the chair where it had fallen, and righted it. The room spun a little, and she had to grip onto the back of the chair until it stopped.

“Are you alright?” Hermione looked slightly shaken. “That was awful!”

“Fine,” she muttered, sinking back down into her chair. But the speed at which her heart was racing felt anything but fine.

“But the things they were saying about Prof— Mr Lupin—“

“Honestly Hermione, just call him Remus,”

“—about Remus then. They can’t be true? About that job?”

Anwyn wracked her brain for any mention. He really hadn’t said anything, but there had been that one interview that he’d been hopeful about. Then he’d never mentioned it again. And he’d been quiet, very quiet, to the point that she thought she was imagining it.

“I think it must be,” she replied weakly. “It sounds entirely plausible,”

Hermione’s brow furrowed. “Wouldn’t he have said?”

Anwyn propped her head up on the palm of her hand, her foot bouncing under the table. “No, I don’t think so. He didn’t even tell me he’d lost the house until I found out he was packing,”

The other girls face fell. “He lost his house?”

“Yeah,” she replied, chewing on the nail of her pinky finger. “And he’s only just managed to find a job. In a muggle shop I think. He doesn’t speak much about it,”

Hermione leaned forward in her chair, slamming the book in front of her open with a frustrated sigh.

“They need to do something,”

“Who?”

“The ministry!” Hermione nearly shouted, and then shot a look down the aisle, hushing her voice. “Surely a change of legislation could stop this kind of discrimination—“

“The ministry don’t care,”

“Then we need to make them care!” The other girl replied emphatically. “It’s time they start to realise that their treatment of those that don’t fall into neat little tick boxes is unacceptable!”

Anwyn opened her mouth to argue, but something stopped her. It was the realisation that Hermione sounded just like her, just as impassioned, and she instead had taken on the role that she’d promised she’d never slip into. Jaded. Hopeless. She scooted her chair closer to the Gryffindor.

“That’s what I keep telling him!” She said, keeping her voice low. “And it’s why I want to get into potions when I leave school. Wolfsbane was such a leap forward, there must be other solutions out there. Even a cure maybe!”

“Yes!” Hermione replied, her voice rising with excitement. “There are so many fascinating applications of potions out there and we’ve not even scratched the surface! Who knows—“

“What are you two so excited about?”

The table shook as Harry flung himself down into the vacant chair on the other side, immediately slouching. He looked glumly at the stack of books, lifting the cover of the one closest before letting it snap shut again, a cloud of dust rising from it.

“Nothing just— what’s wrong with you?” Anwyn asked, brow furrowing.

“Oh I dunno Anwyn, let’s see, maybe just the fact that I’ve been entered into a death tournament?”

“Which we’re trying to help you with!” Hermione scolded. “So stop taking it out on us!”

He opened his mouth to argue, and then deflated slightly. “Sorry. Your right. It’s just been a shit day. I’ve just spent the last hour locked a room with Rita Skeeter,”

“Weird blonde lady?” Anwyn asked. “Reporter?”

“That’s the one,”

She screwed up her face. “I met her briefly at the World Cup. Awful woman. But I’ve got some news for you,”

“Is it a way out of this tournament?”

Anwyn winced. “No. Unfortunately not. But I got a message in the book,”

Harry’s eyebrows raised in interest as he leaned forward in his chair.

Anwyn leaned closer, checking over her shoulder, but the Slytherins were gone. “Sirius says to wait by the common room fire at 11:30 tonight,”

Harry frowned. “Why?”

“Not sure. But I said I’d let you know,”

“Odd,” Hermione muttered. “Why the common room?”

“Who knows,”

Harry grabbed the nearest book, dragging it towards him. The news seemed to have cheered him up a little, even if it was confusing. His eyes immediately narrowed as he looked at the tiny writing on the page, and a hand came up onto the table for him to prop his head on.

Anwyn attempted to turn her attention back to book in front of her. The writing was faded in patches, and there was an odd illustration on one page that looked suspiciously like a burning wizard on a broomstick. She hoped that wasn’t related to triwizard trials.

Her mind began to wander. She couldn’t help it, these books were just so terribly dull. It was far more interesting to watch the other students milling about the shelves, pulling off leather bound books, whispering amongst themselves. She spotted a first year carrying a book nearly as big as he was. A group of seventh years who looked like they might faint from stress at any moment.

Sarah and Russell, heads bent close as she quietly spoke to each other on the way past the end of the aisle.

Before she could duck out of sight, Sarah’s head turned, eyes widening as she took in the people around Anwyn’s table. She whispered something, and Russell turned to look too before they disappeared into the next row of stacks.

“Shit,” Anwyn muttered.

“What?” Harry looked up from his book. “You’ve found something,”

“Nothing,” she replied, turning back to her book. “Just another complication,”

But her brain refused to take in any of the words. She was far too preoccupied with with the way her stomach was flipping uncomfortably, consumed with the worry of what sort of welcome she’d get when she returned to the common room.

Chapter 12: Conflicting Priorities

Notes:

CW: Panic attacks

“Who did this!?”

The crowd of heads in front of the fire turned as Anwyn stormed down the stairs, brandishing her school jumper. The mustard yellow SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY badge that was pinned to the wool shivered at the motion, bogey green sweeping across its face until it showed POTTER STINKS instead.

“Don’t know what you mean,” Darren, one of the boys from her year said, a grin spreading across his face. “Looks like someone just gave you one of those badges that you keep forgetting to put on.

“Gave me— it’s stuck! They’ve glued it on with something, I can’t get it off!” She turned to where Sarah sat on the sofa with Russell. “Did you help them with this?! Did you give them my jumper?”

“N-No—“ but the way the girl flushed suggested otherwise.

“It was in our dorm room all weekend, they can’t have gotten to it on their own!”

“You should really be thanking us Anwyn, we’re just helping you spread some Hufflepuff Pride,”

“Well if you’re so intent on spreading house pride you can keep the damn thing and do it yourself,” she chucked the jumper down on the floor.

“Aww come on Wyns,” Russell moaned. “It was just a joke—“

“Not a very funny one!” Anwyn snapped, swinging back around towards the stairs. “He’s my friend, you know he’s my friend! Do I have to start running every interaction past you?”

“He’s the enemy—“

“Oh fuck OFF already with these STUPID rivalries!” She shouted spinning back to the group.

“So it’s like that is it?” Darren said. “Choosing another house over Hufflepuff again? Making a bit of a habit of it, aren’t you?”

Anwyn bit down on her lip, hard, the metallic tang of blood coming to her. She was suddenly acutely aware of how many eyes were on her, staring at her with varying emotions ranging from anger to downright distaste. And here she was making a fool of herself in front of the whole house again. She turned on the spot, and ran up the stairs to her room.

She hadn’t noticed that Sarah had followed her until the other girl flew through the door behind her, and by that point she’d already started pacing, her fingernails biting into the palms of her clenched hands.

“Anwyn—“ the other girl started. “You know we didn’t mean anything by it—“

“Didn’t you?! Cause it feels very much like a message! ” She snapped back. “This isn’t fair! I’m not doing anything wrong, I know last year I was out of line but— but I’m not doing anything— he’s my friend—“

Her breath was beginning to come in short bursts, chest tightening, and there was a flash of alarm on Sarah’s face.

“Woah, Anwyn it’s alright, it’s not that big of a deal—“

“That’s easy for you to say, you’re not— you don’t have to watch everything you say— or— or who you— who— I can’t do this again— I can’t spend another year— oh shit— shit— I can’t breath,”

“Just— just sit down a second okay?” The other girl looked genuinely fearful. “You’re alright. Just breath. Should I — should I get someone?”

“No— just— just leave me alone!” She swayed on the spot before sinking onto the edge of the bed, cradling her head in her hands. She gripped her hair hard at the roots.

“Anwyn—“

“I said just fuck off already!”

Anwyn looked up in time to see that Sarah was giving her another stricken look, hovering at the end of the bed as if torn. Before she could say anything else the other girl fled from the room.

———

Remus hauled the cardboard crate of cans off the trolley, hooking his fingers underneath to help keep a firm grip. If he’d had his wand, he could unload all of these non-perishables in an instant. The pensioner at the end of the aisle might have a heart attack though.

With a grunt, he hefted the cans overhead, sliding them onto the top shelf. Something in his hip spasmed, a sharp twang of pain that ran down his leg to his knee, and up his back. He sucked in air through his teeth, dropping the cans into place before gripping at his hip joint. The full moon tomorrow night. And it was already making its presence felt.

“John,” came a voice behind him, and he turned to find his supervisor behind him, managerial badge pinned proudly to her blue shirt. “I thought you’d have finished this load an hour ago. Come on, pick up the pace,”

He cleared his throat, dipping his head in acknowledgement before watching as she hurried off down the aisle to harass whatever poor employee was running behind on the tills.

Still another three hours of his shift left, and then he’d be at the cleaning job from 8pm. There was nothing he could do but grit his teeth and get on with it.

Remus ignored the pain in his hip, and grabbed another tray of cans.

———

“You know, in the winter in Sweden, we generally wear more clothes, not less,”

Anwyn stopped wrapping her robes tighter around her torso, trying to block out the cold wind that was whipping through them straight to her shirt below. She still hadn’t managed to get the damn badge off her jumper, and she was stubbornly refusing to give in. But she was freezing in the process.

And Care of Magical Creatures wasn’t the best place to be shedding layers. They were all huddled in the paddock behind Hagrid’s hut, tending to the weird giant Blast Ended Skrewts that he’d apparently decided every class should be raising this year. Anwyn had a suspicion that he’d maybe just bred too many of the weird beasts to handle himself.

She turned to find the Durmstrang girl leaning back against the paddock fence behind her, sheltering from the drizzle under the shade of the trees, though there weren’t many leaves left to provide cover. Her own skrewt shuffled about on the grass, a hissing noise warning them that it might be about to explode from one end.

“My eh—“ she cleared her throat. “My jumper’s in the wash. So you’re from Sweden? Is that where Durmstrang is?

“No no, it’s in the mountains. But yes, I’m from Sweden. Just outside Gothenburg. You are…not English? I can’t place the accent,”

“Welsh,” Anwyn said. “It’s Welsh. My accent’s a little strange though because my Mum and my Uncle have moved all over. I guess I’ve picked up a bit of their odd pronunciations,”

“Do you speak Welsh then?” Signe asked, her eyebrow rising in interest. Anwyn noticed a mark below the brow, another piercing hole.

“O amser i amser,”

Signe’s other brow raised to join it, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“From time to time,” Anwyn translated, a smile spreading across her own face.

Signe had appeared in all of the classes that Anwyn shared with the Slytherins, and had taken the potions class seating arrangements as her cue to slide into the seat beside Anwyn whenever they were in the same room. Why the girl was even remotely interested in being near her, she had no idea. So far Anwyn had been too scared to ask.

“Why aren’t you with your friends?” Signe broke through Anwyn’s train of thought, looking out across the field to where Russell and Sarah sat together, occasionally shooting her guilty looks.

“I’m umm— I’m kind of pissed off at them right now. Why aren’t you with the Slytherins?”

Signe screwed her face up. “I’m stuck with them enough. You know the other Blackthorns keep trying to tell me about their family tree? I really couldn’t give two shits about all that blood purity nonsense,”

Anwyn felt a flicker of intrigue. “Yeah that side of the family are pretty intense,”

“You don’t get on?”

“I think that’s putting it mildly,”

Signe watched her for a few seconds, her head cocked, brows furrowed as she considered some private thought, and then swiftly detached the fur cloak from around her throat, tossing it over Anwyn’s head.

“Hey— what—“

“I’m not spending the rest of the lesson hearing your teeth chattering. It gives me the ick,”

Anwyn pulled the cloak off her head, her hair sticking to it with static. It was thick, incredibly so, a dark grey fur of some unknown creature.

“You won’t be cold?”

“Pfft,” Signe scoffed. “This is practically tropical compared to winters back home. I’ll live. Think of it as payment for sharing your potions ingredients,”

“Thanks,” Anwyn muttered, fingering the fur.

The other girl nodded, leaning back leisurely once more on the fence, and continued to silently watch her skrewt, a now familiar look of boredom returning to her face.

Anwyn turned her attention back to her own beast, and tried to slow the pace of her heart that had somehow worked it’s way into her throat.

———
“I just saw you asked to switch shifts again. You’re only two months in, what’s going on?”

“Ah— just a medical appointment, I couldn’t rearrange it,” Remus winced, waiting for his lie to land. He shot a quick look over at Sirius who was sitting on the sofa listening, his brow furrowed slightly.

“I get applicants all the time,” His boss replied. “Are you sure you want this job?”

“Yes, yes,” he replied, perhaps a little too desperately. “It’s just a one off, it won’t happen again,”

“See that it won’t. I expect you here tomorrow night,”

The dial tone rang down the phone to his ear as the call ended. Remus sighed, hanging up the handset, and turned back to Sirius.

“Your work?” The other man asked, the concern evident in his voice.

“Yes. Not too happy that I’m taking the night off for the full moon,”

“Is that the shop one or— what was the other one?”

“The cleaning job. And yes, that was the one,”

“Are you sure you’re not over doing it?” Sirius asked, throwing one arm over the back of the sofa as he surveyed him. “The full moon is going to be rough enough,”

Remus sunk into the sofa with a sigh, rubbing his eyes. He was exhausted. Mentally and physically. Sirius had a point. Not that he was going to let him know that.

“I’m fine,” he said instead.

“No offence Remus, but you’re clearly not. You look like shit,”

“Thanks,” he muttered in return, pulling the notebook towards him.

They’d managed to enchant the cover, a simple illustration of a snitch, but the messaging enchantments were still proving to be problematic. Last time he’d managed most of it himself. But then last time he’d started working on it between classes, well rested.

“No, seriously Remus “ Sirius continued. “You can’t continue like this. It’s not sustainable,”

“It doesn’t have to be sustainable, it just has to get me out from under Bethan’s feet,”

Sirius scowled. “Has she complained about you being here? Because if she has—“

“No, no of course not. But I’m thirty four years old, I can’t be sponging off my sister for the rest of my life. I’m living in my fifteen year old niece’s bedroom for Merlin’s sake, it doesn’t get much more pathetic than that,”

“There’s no shame in letting others help when you’re going through a rough patch,” Sirius said quietly.

“I have Lycanthropy,” Remus replied with perhaps a little more bite than he meant. “My entire life is a rough patch. It’s not my family’s job to carry me through it,”

His tone didn’t seem to put Sirius off however, the man had always been unphased by Remus’ changing moods around the moon. In fact they couldn’t be more different. Where Remus had always been a tense, coiled spring, Sirius was laid back to the point of horizontal.

“I’m just saying I think you should slow down a bit Moony. There’s no point running yourself into the ground,”

Remus didn’t reply immediately, running a hand through his hair. “Pass me the other book please,” he finally said.

“You’re trying to change the subject,”

“Is it working?”

“Not when you’re being so obvious about it,” Sirius smirked, but handed over the notebook regardless. “Just think about it Remus. That’s all I’m asking,”

Remus gave a grunt of acceptance. Sure, he’d consider it. But there didn’t seem to be any other option.

———

“Sit yourself down Blackthorn, you’re not in any trouble,” Sprout boomed as she shut her office door. “No need to hover like a billywig in flight,”

Anwyn lowered herself into the armchair by the fire. The last time she’d been here had been Halloween the year previously, quaking with fear having just come face to face with Sirius Black. Odd to think that the following summer she’d be making him bacon sandwiches.

The fire was lit in the grate, crackling away merrily, and Sprout all but threw herself down on the chair opposite with a huff of air, before leaning forward to pour two cups of steaming hot tea.

“Now,” she said, topping them up with the tiniest splash of milk. “I thought it was about time we had a little catch up. How are things with you?”

Anwyn blanched at the brusque quality to her head of houses voice. Straight to the point as always.

“Uhh…fine. I guess,”

“You’ve settled in well? Those cousins of yours aren’t giving you too much hassle?”

She shrugged. “No more than usual,”

“Hmm,” Sprout clicked her tongue between her teeth before ploughing on. “I do hope you know you can talk to me Blackthorn. If anything is bothering you,”

Anwyn gave a silent nod, swallowing hard. What was this about?

“You see I’ve had some concerned students come to me—“

Ah. There it was.

“—reporting that you’ve been suffering from attacks of anxiety,”

“Was it Sarah?”

Sprout’s lips thinned. “They came to me in confidence, so I’m not at liberty to discuss—“

“So it was Sarah then,” Anwyn muttered, looking into the fire. “It’s nothing for anyone to worry about. I just have a lot on. It’s a stressful year. I’m an…anxious person,”

“Which is nothing to be ashamed of,” Sprout said gently, in fact her voice was soft enough that it made Anwyn turned back to face her. “We Hufflepuffs look out for our own. No one will judge you if you ask for help,”

“But that’s part of the problem!” She exclaimed, her voice rising uncontrollably. “They do judge me! For supporting Harry, for not acting exactly how they want me to…and I can see that they all think I’m crazy,”

Sprout signed heavily. “Yes they are a little bit wound up about this tournament. Perhaps I should have words about these badges. It’s not very good sportsmanship. In fact Mr Diggory was just telling me this morning about how much he disproved of them,”

“He was?” Anwyn asked uncertainly. Perhaps she wasn’t being so far fetched if the golden boy himself didn’t like the joke.

“Indeed”, Sprout nodded. “Regardless, my door is always open if you need to talk. And your uncle was very keen to impress upon me the importance of sending you his way if I thought you were struggling. Have you told him you’ve been having a bad time?”

Anwyn’s chest tightened, and she nibbled on her bottom lip as she shook her head. “Not properly. He’s got a lot to deal with himself right now,”

Sprout took another sip of tea. “You know, family upheaval, such as the one your uncle is currently going through, can take its toll on everyone involved. Perhaps you should reach out, let him know how you feel. You might find it helps him too,”

“Maybe…”

“Bravery, Ambition, Wisdom. All fine traits. But it takes all of those to make true Loyalty. To ask for help and give it in return,” Sprout fixed Anwyn with an intense, unblinking stare. “Together, Blackthorn. That is how we deal with adversity. Try to keep that in mind,”

The Herbology teachers words stuck with her for the entire walk back to the common room. And when she reached her bedside, she found her jumper laid out on top of the duvet, the badge lying beside it. There was a little mark on the wool where whatever spell had fused them had evidently been, but other than that it was untouched.

She found Sarah by the fire, working in her favourite armchair on their charms homework. She crossed the room, and wrapped her arms around her neck from behind, placing her head on her friends shoulder.

“Sorry,”

“Me too,” said Sarah, leaning her head against Anwyn’s. “I really am,”

———-

When he apparated into the stairwell this time, the entire floor shifted under either him. Remus shot a hand out as quick as he could manage, pressing it against the cool plaster wall as he tried to stay on his feet.

The front door of the flat opened in front of him, and Bethan stepped out, keys in hand, clothed in a smart jacket and court heels. She did a double take, spotting him slumped against the wall, and nearly dropped her keys in the process.

“Remus, you’re back! You look bloody awful! Come on, get inside,”

He tried to wave away her fussing, but Bethan had always been particularly stubborn, and he didn’t have the energy to protest. Instead, he sucked in a hiss of breath as her arm wrapped around his waist to support him, his ribs protesting under the sudden contact.

“How was it? Uneventful?”

“From what I can remember,” he muttered, gritting his teeth as he got over the threshold.

“Straight to bed,” she told him in the same no nonsense tone she took with Anwyn. “Sirius is already here, I can send him away if you want—“

“No, no, it’s fine,”

“She couldn’t send me away if she tried,” Sirius’ head appeared in the sitting room doorway, a lop sided smirk on his face. “I’ll take it from here Bethan, you get off to whatever interview your about to bully out of someone,”

His sister pursed her lips, but let go of him all the same. “I’m following up on a lead for your godson,”

“Hey,” Sirius raised placating hands. “I didn’t say that I didn’t approve. I’m only glad I’m not on the other end of it. Come on Moony, get those feet up and I’ll put the kettle on,”

Remus allowed himself to be ushered over to the sofa, which he sunk into with a grunt. He must have dozed off, or faded into half consciousness, because the next thing he knew Sirius was pressing a mug of tea into one hand and a large glass of water into the other.

“Drink all of that,” he said. “You’re always dehydrated when you transform back,”

“Yes Mam,” Remus replied with a tired smile quirking the corner of his lips.

Sirius pulled his wand out of the back pocket and jabbed at the fire. The flames grew a little higher.

“Warm enough?”

Remus nodded.

“Hungry? Do you want something to eat—“

“You don’t have to fuss,” Remus interrupted him. “I’ve done this alone plenty of times before,”

“But you don’t have to now,” Sirius replied simply.

Remus didn’t have a response. His chest tightened, and he realised in horror that his eyes were beginning to burn. He looked away from Sirius and took a massive gulp of water before choking as it went down the wrong way.

“Listen,” Sirius said after a moment of hesitation. “You don’t have to decide now. We can talk later. But Harry was telling me last night that it’s a Hogsmeade weekend,”

“Sirius,” Remus said, closing his eyes. “We’ve been over this—“

“No, I know”, the other man interrupted. “I can’t go, you’ve said. But I was thinking. Maybe you could?”

There was a moments silence as Remus processed his request. Him. Go to Hogsmeade. There was technically nothing stopping him, parents and guardians met up with students all the time on the visits to the village, but then he wasn’t like other parents and guardians. And now the whole school knew that.

“I…don’t think that’s a good idea,”

“Why not?” The disappointment in Sirius’ voice was evident.

“Because I…I have a shift at work that day”,

“Not until the evening, you told me that yesterday”,

“Well— yes but— you were already saying I’m overdoing it,”

“I meant at work Remus!” Sirius replied. “In fact taking some time off this weekend would be good for you,”

“That’s if they’d even let me have time off—“

“You’re entitled to it!”

“I’ve only just started!” He shot back exasperated. “And maybe Harry wouldn’t want me to visit,”

At that Sirius crossed his arms, a look of confusion spreading across his face. “Why wouldn’t be want you to visit?”

“His old teacher? He won’t want me hanging about,”

“His old teacher who was also best friends with his Dad,” Sirius retorted. “And who taught him the skills that kept him and his friends alive last year. That sounds like exactly kind of person he’d want a visit from right now,”

Remus looked down at his mug. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,”

“Why? Why are you being so stubborn about this—“

“Because Harry has enough on his plate without me turning up,” he finally said, exasperated. “He doesn’t need to be publicly associated with someone like…someone like me,”

Sirius was silent for a few moments. “Is that what you really think?” He finally replied quietly.

Remus ran a hand over his face, giving a shallow nod. “I’m better out of his life,”

“Remus, he needs you! He’s got no one at that place, his family are all but useless,” Sirius exclaimed. “He clearly looks up to you,”

“He needs a parental figure,” Remus corrected him. “And he has you. Perhaps it’s a little complicated right now, but once the hearing is over you’ll be free to give him all the support he needs—“

“The first trial is next week, by the time the hearing is over he might be dead,” Sirius replied sharply.

Well he couldn’t argue with that.

“And what about Anwyn?” Sirius continued. “You don’t think she’d like to see you?”

“No, I know she probably would,” he replied weakly. “But the sooner that school forgets what kind of man she’s related to, the better. I won’t be the albatross hanging around her neck,”

“I doubt she cares what the school thinks,” Sirius said emphatically. “But she’ll care about you being distant. What did isolation do to her last year?”

Remus hesitated. “It’s not the same this time—“

“Isn’t it? It’s her OWL year. Her friend has been entered into a dangerous competition by someone out for his blood. Her uncle has lost his job, you’ve both lost your home. Her Mum is never there. And you’ve already said she’s prone to worry. Does it really seem like the time to let her get on with things by herself?”

Again he didn’t have an argument against that. What Sirius was saying made sense. He knew it did. But right now, having been a horrific beast not more than two hours ago, turning up in Hogsmeade seemed like the worst possible way to spend the weekend.

“Whether you like it or not Remus, you have people who depend on you. Who trust you—“

“Perhaps they shouldn’t—“

“Well they do!” Sirius snapped. “You’re so busy worrying about what sort of man you are that you’re pushing us all away! But we know what kind of man you are. A good one. So maybe it’s time you put a little trust in us,”

Again, that tightness in his chest. He didn’t deserve this. No matter what sort of man he tried to be, he couldn’t change who he was. A washed up old failure. A freak. A monster.

“I will think about it,” he finally replied quietly, carefully. “But right now, I’d quite like to sleep,”

Sirius shot forward from where he was standing. “Do you need a hand—“

But Remus was already shaking his head, pulling his feet up slowly, excruciatingly onto the sofa. “I don’t think I’m standing back up again. I’d take the floor right now if I had to,”

He shut his eyes, burrowing his head into the cushion. It felt velvet soft against his burning skin.

“Alright,” Sirius said softly as he began to drift off. “I’ll be right here if you need me,”

And Remus didn’t doubt that he would.

———

“Well,” Harry said, pushing the book in front of him away across the desk. “I think that decides it. Hermione, you can have the cloak, I know you’ll use it for good. Freeing house elves or something,”

“Harry what are you talking about—“

“Anwyn, as the heir to the Moony portion of it, the map is yours,”

“Umm…thanks?” She looked across at Hermione, brow wrinkled in confusion. “Why- why are you giving us these?”

The boy tapped his finger against the open page of the book he’d discarded. “Over half of these tournaments seemed to have ended up with at least one champion dead, chances are it’s going to be me—“

“Oh don’t say things like that Harry!” Hermione moaned. “We’ll figure it out!”

“Will we? Hermione we don’t even know what the trial is! How am I suppose to prepare?”

Before either of the girls could argue with him, a dull thud thud thud came from around the other side of the stacks. The grizzly visage of Max Eye Moody appeared, his eye spinning madly between the three of them. Anwyn found herself slipping further into her seat, almost wishing she could slide off it completely and hide underneath the table.

“What a cosy little study group,” he said gruffly, normal eye fixed on the books on the table.

How long had he been there? Had he been watching, listening from the other side of the stacks. What had he heard?

“Blackthorn!” He suddenly barked, and she nearly fell off her chair. “I’m still waiting on your essay on elemental protection charms,”

“Ahh y-yes Professor, it’s nearly done,”

He gave a grunt that wasn’t quite approval. “I hope it’s better than your practical efforts. The classroom still smells of burnt robe,”

She grimaced, a flush of embarrassment heating her cheeks, and shot a look at the two fourth years who were listening with interest.

Moody’s attention finally left her, and then both eyes settled on Harry. The Gryffindor boy shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. Their teachers one good eye narrowed slightly, and then he clunked off back between the aisles.

“What was that about?” Hermione asked when they were sure he was finally out of earshot. “Burnt robes?”

“He was shooting fireballs at us this week,” Anwyn replied, shutting the book in front of her. “Testing our protective charm capabilities,”

“He set you on fire?” Harry asked incredulously, sharing a wide eyed look with Hermione.

Anwyn gave a reluctant shrug. “Only a little. Turns out I was not…very capable,”

“Well,” Harry said, leaning back in his chair. “Let’s just hope I’m not facing Moody in the first trial,”

———

“And I said ‘David’. I said ‘You can’t be trailing in here at god knows what time in the morning like that, you just wake the baby!’. But does he care? No, there he was again last night, drunk as a skunk just as I got the little one sleeping. He does my head in!”

“Mmm,” was Remus’ noncommittal reply from the floor, the scrubbing brush in his hand working at the vomit stain on the carpet.

“I’m quiet as a mouse when I get in from back shift, you never hear me,”

“Yes, I quite believe it,”

“He just doesn’t understand how tiring this job is,”

Remus looked over his shoulder to where Sandra, his co-worker was leaning against the wall, cigarette in hand, mop and bucket discarded beside her.

“I’m sure he doesn’t,” he muttered, returning to the stain. Even with the rubber gloves on, he could feel his fingers were raw from the scrubbing. At least he was starting not to notice the smell.

“And the kids, by god, they do not want to sleep through the night,” she huffed, stubbing lit her cigarette on the side of the bucket. It left a welt in the plastic. “You got kids John?”

“One,” he said before he could really think about it.

“How old?”

“Fifteen,”

Sandra drew in a sharp hiss of air. “Hard age, I imagine. Mine are just four and one,”

The stain wasn’t getting any lighter. And he had other tasks he needed to do before he left. Remus stood slowly, placing his hand against the wall to try and disguise the spinning of his vision and the ache in his back as a casual lean.

“You must have your hands full,” he stated, killing time. He didn’t want to move while the spikes of pain in his joints rippled through him.

Sandra scoffed. “You’re not wrong there. Little toerags. Wouldn’t swap them for the world though. Time goes by that fast, I sometimes think I’ll blink and they’ll have left home already,”

He gave a small, tired smile. “I certainly know that feeling,”

“Anyway,” Sandra sighed. “Better get back to it. Those loos won’t clean themselves,”

She grabbed the handle of the bucket and mop, and pushed her way through the swing door of the women’s toilets. It shut behind her with a snap.

Remus gave it a few moments. Strained his ears to try and see if he could hear her coming. Nothing.

He jabbed a hand into his back pocket, where his wand was hidden by the long cleaning scrubs he wore over the top of his clothes, and drew it out.

The vomit stain disappeared with a quick wave.

———

Anwyn cracked a yawn, pressing her eye to the telescope in front of her. It was badly out of focus, the night sky above just a blur of black, and she had to fiddle with the settings to get anything close to a good image to come through.

“Now,” Professor Senestra was saying. “Can anyone tell me what we would call the type of full moon we saw last night?”

Anwyn’s stomach did a little uncomfortable flip, and she pushed her eye to the telescope all the harder, trying to distract herself with the cold of the metal against her skin.

“Was a wolf’s moon Professor?”

Silas, of course it was Silas, his voice laden with faux sincerity. She looked up from her telescope to find him smirking at her, a cruel glint in his eyes.

“Not quite Mr Blackthorn. Anyone else?”

“A Beavers Moon?” One of the other Hufflepuffs ventured, though Anwyn wasn’t really listening anymore. She was too busy looking up at the now waning moon, heart beating rapidly in her chest.

“Correct! Ten points to Hufflepuff. Now, it was called the beavers moon—“

“What’s wrong, do you not like the pretty moon,” Sorrel’s voice was sugar sweet in her ear.

Anwyn spun to find her cousin had crept closer, and she backed up, legs hitting the railing at the edge of the astronomy tower. “Fuck off Sorrel—“

“Ooh, that’s very rude! Perhaps the full moon brings out your beastly side too. Does it hurt as much as it does for the wolf?”

The gorge was rising. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear the images coming to her, of the old wooden shack, the rotting stairs under her feet. The sound of bones cracking, of terrified, agonised screams above. She could hear him, even now. Could smell the earthy scent of the tunnel, the urgent press of Sirius’ hands on her back as he shoved her ahead.

Merlin, she was going to vomit off the astronomy tower.

“Wyns, are you okay?” Russell muttered to her.

She managed a shake of her head, knees feeling like they were about to give out. The whole tower was spinning, her vision tunnelling at the edges.

“Professor—“ Russell was saying. “Professor Anwyn’s not well,”

“Oh you’re as pale as a sheet Miss Blackthorn, you’re excused—“

She didn’t need told twice. Anwyn threw her bag over her shoulder and took the steps down from the tower two at a time.

———

Merlin, he was tired. A heavy, sluggish exhaustion lay over him that seemed to weigh down every limb, and he was acutely aware of the pain in his joints, a sharp throb that came with every movement. Still, he’d made it through the first shift after the full moon, and he still had job, so that had to count for something.

Remus stretched his legs out with a groan, his feet hitting against the footboard at the end of the bed. He rolled on his side, away from the Wyrd Sisters posters that grinned down at him, and let his eyes begin to droop shut. Sleeping in Anwyn’s room made him feel even more of a failure, but at least it was comfier than the couch.

The message book on the bedside table was glowing gold.

He considered it for a few seconds, his aching head telling him to just roll over, go to sleep, answer her in the morning. But something pulled at him, and he reached out, grabbing the book and muttering the pass phrase.

There were only four words written on the first line.

Remus are you there?

And then there was a gap, followed by five more, this time a little shakier.

Sorry I know it’s late.

His unease grew. A creeping feeling up the back of his spine, shocking his brain awake. He fumbled for quill, and in the time it took for him to find ink, another line had appeared, messier again that the last. His stomach gave a sickening jolt.

I really need to talk to you

He quickly scribbled a reply.

I’m here. Are you alright?

There was a pause, and then the words came quickly, as if she was scrawling them as fast as she could write them. The letters were imperfect, the line squint.

Can you just talk to me for a bit?

What’s wrong Wyn? He wrote back

Nothing, I

The words cut off, and Remus’ unease was replaced by real fear. Had something happened to her? Was she ill or injured, or someone else was there—

Panic attack. Can you just talk

“Oh Wyn,” Remus muttered, his heart sinking. She’d been doing so well, or at least it appeared that she had. But then what did he know? They’d barely spoken of anything but the tournament this past month. When he’d been checking in, it was always to pass messages to Harry, to see if they had new info, to plan ahead. He’d never just asked how she was fairing.

He fumbled for a second, trying to think of something to write, and an idea came to him. It had worked for Sirius. And it was late. Perhaps he could do more than just write.

Where are you? He scrawled

My room

Is there anyone in the common room?

Don’t think so. Everyone’s in bed

Go sit in front of the fire for a second

She didn’t reply, either doing as he’d asked or completely perplexed, but he eased himself back off the bed, back protesting with every movement, and shuffled through the living room. The fire was unlit, so he muttered a quick Incendio, flames leaping up in the grate, and gathered a small handful of floo powder.

“Hufflepuff Common Room, Hogwarts,” he said quietly, and then stooped onto his hands and knees.

He plunged his head forward.

He shut his eyes briefly while the floo network spun around his temples, trying to block out the flickering that threatened to bring another headache on. It was bizarre, though his head travelled he could feel a pressure against his shoulders blocking him from moving bodily into the fire. Clearly only communicative floo was open for this particular fireplace.

The motion stilled, and he was looking out into the domed ceiling of the Hufflepuff common room. He’d only seen it once before, last Christmas, but the hanging plants and mustard walls were unmistakable, the fire lighting the room with a cosy glow. It was empty, save for a lone figure sitting on the floor with her back to the nearest armchair. Anwyn.

She had her knees up to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them, and her face pressed into her knee caps. She was worrying away at the nails on one hand, bitten right down, and her eyes were wide, stricken, flickering down to the message book that sat abandoned on the floor beside her as she waited. Remus heart clenched. She looked miserable.

“Anwyn, cariad, what’s wrong?”

She flinched at the sound of his voice, looking around the room until she finally spotted his head in the fire.

“Remus! How—“

“I’m taking a leaf out of Sirius’ book,”

“Are you allowed?”

“Usually any floo calls take place in the head of house’s office,” he said. “But I doubt Sprout would thank us for waking her at this hour,”

This didn’t elicit any laughter as it might have done, instead, her face screwed up with worry. “It is late, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have but I was freaking out—“

“It’s alright Wyn, I was already up. I’m just in from work. Why are you awake?”

“Astronomy,”

“Did something happen in class?”

She seemed to hesitate, and when she spoke again he had to strain his ears to hear.

“Just the twins. And we were— we were studying the moon,”

Ah. So that was it. With the full moon the night before, it wasn’t hard to imagine which subject the twins might pick to tease her about.

“Are you still struggling to breathe?”

She gave a short, panicked nod, her arms tightening around her legs.

“Alright,” he said, as softly and calmly as he could. “Now, can you spot one of those watering cans that seem to live in your common room?”

Again, another sharp nod.

“I want you to watch the watering can. Watch where it flies, count how many plants it waters. Block everything else out. Even forget I’m here if it helps, just focus on the watering can”,

“Okay…” she said weakly, and then raised her head. He watched as her eyes rapidly moved between the plants, and then locked onto something overhead.

Her breathing began to calm. The grip on her legs lessons, and her shoulders slackened.

“There,” Remus said quietly when he was sure that she’d calmed down. “Better?”

“Yeah,” Anwyn said thickly. “Thanks,”

She rubbed at her eyes, which even through the odd distortion that the flames brought, he could see were bloodshot, and shuffled closer to the fire, taking a look at him properly for the first time.

“You look terrible Remus,” she said quietly, the alarm evident in her voice. “Are you alright?”

He fought to keep his face neutral. “Just tired after work, no need to worry about me,”

She frowned. “I can tell when you’re lying you know,”

He let out a small huff of amusement, which sent a spray of sparks up from the fire. “Perhaps…I’ve been working a little too hard lately. Sirius thinks I need a break,”

“I agree with Sirius. Neither of us are very good at looking after our selves, are we?”

“No,” he smiled softly. “We’re not. Perhaps we should try harder. I promise I will if you do,”

A small smile broke through. “Deal,”

“Tell you what,” he said, the decision coming to him instantly. He hoped he wouldn’t regret it later. “Let’s start this weekend. Why don’t we meet in the three broomsticks,”

Anwyn’s entire face lit up. “You’re coming to Hogsmeade?”

“I can, if you’d like?”

She nodded emphatically.

“Good,” he said. “Now I think we should both try and get some sleep, don’t you?”

As if in answer, a wide yawn cracked open Anwyn’s face. “Night Remus. Thanks for listening,”

“Anytime cariad. Sleep well,”

He pulled back from the fire, watching the Hufflepuff common room disappear in a wheel of flames and sparks, as if he was flying back down a long, burning tunnel. And then he was suddenly back in Bethan’s living room, crouched on the wooden floorboards, his knees aching in protest.

Remus pulled himself up, stifling a groan as his time on the floor made its impact known across his joints. The bed was no longer a priority. The couch would do once more. And he’d face the consequences of his decisions in the morning.

Notes:

What?! Another updated so soon?! I’ve had scenes from this chapter written for a while but it didn’t feel like the right time to use them, so here they finally are.

The alternative title for this one is “The Lupins are bad at self-care”

I’ve been really enjoying having to think about where Remus went during GOF - he pretty much disappeared off the face of the earth for this book when Harry really needed support, so it’s been interesting to explore this a bit. And I think the most logical explanation is that his life was probably pretty chaotic post resignation just trying it scrape by.

Which then raises more questions to explore, like how does this new timeline change things, with Sirius closer to home, and a closer family to push him as well, can he wallow in self hatred?

Anyway, thanks for reading. Next up we have the Hogsmeade visit, so that should be a fun one, and a little bit more of the mysterious Signe.

Chapter 13: Last Minute Advice

Notes:

This chapter resulted in some very small edits to previous ones because I mucked up the timeline a little. It won’t effect the story much, but if you seem to recall the First Trial supposed to be taking place on the Sunday, that’s because it initially said that. My bad.

When the day of the Hogsmeade visit dawned, Anwyn had already been up for what felt like hours. She’d been consumed by a buzzing energy somewhere between anxiety and excitement, and finally gave up tossing and turning sometime after six o’clock, hoping that grabbing an early breakfast might help.

She’d arranged to meet Harry and Hermione, who would be joining her to meet up with Remus, at eleven, so there was still plenty of time to kill, and even eating her pancakes at a record slow pace didn’t seem to shift the clock any closer to the time she’d need to leave at. Still, it was a crisp if cloudy day, and perhaps a stroll around the grounds might release some of the energy. So she left her abandoned breakfast and grabbed her coat, ready for the November elements.

The sun was just beginning to peak through the clouds by the time she reached the lakeside, the sky still tinged the cold navy blue of a winters morning. She skirted a specific point that brought back bad memories of a freezing dip in the water, a flash of weeds, her Gran’s necklace, and the cold dark dread of hopelessness. Anwyn hadn’t felt the crush of those emotions in the months since, but the threat of it was enough to make her take a longer route.

There was a little ruined house down by the loch side, a crumbled down cottage without a roof that she’d discovered in her lonely wanders last year. It’s old stone walls were enough to shelter her from the wind, and the snow was yet to arrive in the Glen so the ground was still fairly dry. She had a book in her inner jacket pocket, and perhaps it would be enough to distract her for the morning.

But again, there was someone already in her spot. Signe was beginning to make a habit of this.

“Just me,” Anwyn announced as the other girl flinched at the sound of footsteps. “What are you doing out here”,

“Exploring,” Signe replied. “Getting some peace away from the ship. What about you?”

“Just killing time,” Anwyn flashed her a shy smile. “I like this spot. It’s a good place to come and think,”

Signe watched her as she stepped through the doorway, her face impassive. For once she wasn’t in her Durmstrang uniform, instead she was wearing a pair of ripped baggy jeans, a slouchy hoodie sticking out from under a puffy jacket with a fur lined hood. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, the shaved strips above the ear now much clearer, and a loose strand hung down over her face, whipping in the breeze.

“Do you uh— explore…a lot?” Anwyn asked, suddenly feeling awkward. Though they’d spoken in class, there was always someone else around.

Signe made a non-commital face. “Not much else to do around here. There’s a lot of weird corners and rooms in that castle,”

“On your own? What about the other Durmstrang students?”

“I’m the only one from my year,” Signe kicked at a stone at their feet. “One of the other seventh years brought their brother but he’s a second year. I’m not baby sitting him,”

Anwyn shuffled her feet, stepping further into the ruined house. There was a tree sprouting out of the fireplace, she noted absently. That hadn’t been there last year.

“Well…I know a few cool secrets around the castle. If you ever want company,”

A ghost of a smile tugged at the edges of Signe’s mouth, but she didn’t reply. Instead she pulled a little box out from the inside of her jacket, not much bigger than the palm of her hand, and removed a cigarette from the packet. Her hand ran absently over the back pocket of her jeans, where she pulled her wand out from.

“Want one?” She asked Anwyn, holding out the packet.

“Uh— N-no!” She stammered back. “If we get caught we’re going to be in so much trouble!”

“Pfft,” Signe scoffed. “None of the teachers are coming out here, it’s freezing. Suit yourself though,”

The packet disappeared back into her jacket, and she stuck the cigarette between her lips, lighting it with her wand. The end glowed a hot red, and she took a long drag before slowly exhaling smoke into the cold air.

She slid down the wall, and then looked expectantly up at Anwyn. “Are you going to sit down? Or are you too scared I’ll tarnish your image?”

Anwyn hesitated, discarded twigs crunching under her feet, and then slowly lowered herself to her knees in front of the other girl. Her fingers played with the zip on her coat, all topics of conversation suddenly having left her head.

“Are you going to the village later?” Signe finally asked, the cigarette propped between two fingers.

Anwyn nodded. “Yeah. Are you?”

Signe made a non-commital grunt. “The Slytherins have invited us all. I’ve not decided if I want to be stuck with them all day,”

“I certainly wouldn’t want to be,” Anwyn laughed, and then asked after a moments hesitation. “What did you mean that first day? When you said my cousins said I’d be weird?”

Signe shrugged. “They just said you were odd. Something about your family. I’m not too sure what they meant, they started bragging about their lineage again and I stopped listening,”

Anwyn felt a roll of unease in her stomach. So they hadn’t mentioned Remus. Or if they had, the girl had missed it. That explained it. Surely Signe wouldn’t be talking to her if they had.

“How did the conversation even start?” Anwyn asked, finally sliding off her knees to lean against the wall. “Welcome to Hogwarts, by the way, our cousin is a loser?”

The other girl gave a small laugh. “No not quite. I was asking about their father,”

Anwyn shot her a perplexed look. “Okay, now I’m really confused. Why were you asking about that old fart?”

Signe took another slow drag of the cigarette, breathing out as she tapped it off the rock beside her to disperse the ashes. The smoke wafted in the air towards Anwyn’s face, bitter, and she forced herself to contain a cough.

“My father always spoke of a friend of his. A Blackthorn,”

Anwyn sat up, back poker straight. “Sylvestus? Sylvestus Blackthorn?”

Signe shook her head.

“Sebastian?” Anwyn asked, her voice very small.

The other girl gave a nod, taking another drag from her cigarette. “That’s the one,”

“That’s my Dad,” Anwyn said weakly. “My Dad was Sebastian Blackthorn,”

“Was? So he’s dead then?”

She couldn’t do much more than nod, her mind well and truly muddled.

Signe sighed. “Father will be disappointed. He’d hoped that they’d just lost touch. How did he die?”

Anwyn shook her head. “I don’t know. My Mum never speaks about him. How did your Dad meet him? And when? How long ago was this—“

“I don’t know much!” Signe held her hands up, stopping Anwyn’s increasingly fast questions. “I can ask Father though. If you’d really like to know?”

Anwyn nodded. “Please. If you can,”

Signe snubbed out her cigarette on the rock beside her and clambered to her feet. “I’ll send an owl,”

“Why are you helping me?” Anwyn asked quietly, using the wall to pull herself up.

Signe watched her for a second, ash hair whipping in the freezing wind. She sniffed before clearing her throat. “I like a good mystery. And this place is boring as fuck,”

“Well there’s always at least one puzzle to solve around here”,

And it seemed that Anwyn had another one to add to her list.

———

The Three Broomsticks was packed, perhaps the busiest Anwyn had ever seen it. Every table seemed to have multiple bodies squashed in tight, the sound of talking and laughter almost deafening. If Harry managed to squeeze through the crowd without his cloak coming off, it would be a miracle.

When she’d initially spotted Hermione in the courtyard, she’d thought that Harry had stood them up. The Gryffindor girl was on her own, and looking particularly nervous, shooting furtive looks around at the other students.

“Where’s Harry?” Anwyn had asked.

“Under the cloak,” Hermione hissed in response, glancing over at the spot she thought he might be occupying.

“Because that’s not weird at all,” Anwyn replied.

“At least it looks like I’m going to the village with you,” Hermione said. “People have been staring at me already, it looks like I’m talking to myself.

And the cloak had proven problematic on their walk down too. On more than one occasion Anwyn’s foot had snagged the edge of it, and she’d nearly ripped the thing off Harry completely. She wasn’t sure what the other students reactions to his floating head might be, but she was fairly sure it wouldn’t be positive.

So she tried her best not to step on it in the pub as they searched. There was no sign of Remus. Though the press of bodies made it hard to see anyone, she attempted to scan every table, spotting fellow students, teachers and the odd adult wizard just there for business, or a day of errands. By the time they’d moved right to the back of the pub, a flicker of anxiety had already started to work its way into her chest. What if he hadn’t come? Or had already been and gone because it was so busy.

But no. Just as she was beginning to panic, she turned on the spot in the crowd, and caught a glimpse of grey peppered sandy hair sticking out from behind an open copy of the Daily Prophet. He looked up as he turned the page of the paper, frown lines between his eyebrows melting as he spotted them, an easy smile shifting across his face instead.

“In the corner,” she turned and told Hermione.

“What? It’s so loud—“

“CORNER,” she shouted back. “THIS WAY,”

It took them another few minutes of careful manoeuvring to reach the booth, and when she finally slid on to the seat beside him she was so distracted by how ill he looked that she didn’t say anything in greeting. There were definitely a good few additional grey hairs peppering his head, as well as the short beard that now sprouted from his face, and there were more lines etched into his skin, his scars pale and ragged across his features. The bags under his eyes were heavy, dark, and he looked like he’d have been better spending the day in bed instead of the pub.

“I was beginning to think you’d got lost,” he said, oblivious to her shock. “I took the liberty of ordering some butterbeers, they’ll be over in a second,”

“Thanks Pro— uh Mr Lupin,” Hermione, who had slid in at the other side of the booth, stuttered awkwardly, flashing him a nervous smile.

“Not at all. And please, just Remus will do. Mr Lupin is my father, and last time I checked he’s still somewhere in Wales,”

He shot Anwyn a smirk, and she forced one in response. Merlin he really did look awful—

“Where’s Harry?” Remus asked, his face growing serious once more. “I thought he was joining us,”

“Here,” came a quiet voice from the space beside Hermione, and Remus’ eyebrows shot up.

“I see we’re still getting good use out of your father’s cloak,” he said quietly.

“I didn’t fancy having Rita Skeeter quoted at me all day,” came the bodiless response from under the cloak.

Remus scowled. “Yes I was just catching up on her latest. She’s quite the leech,”

“I didn’t say those things about my parents,” Harry said, his voice rising as he tried to make his point. Hermione shuffled on the spot, giving a slight elbow in his direction. It must have landed, because he grunted, but lowered his voice. “She made up a load of nonsense,”

“Don’t worry Harry, I’m well aquainted with Skeeters work. She wrote a particularly scathing review of my teaching skills not long after I left last year,”

Anwyn’s head snapped around. “Did she? You didn’t mention it,“

“It wasn’t a big deal,” Remus shrugged. “These sorts of journalists thrive on causing a stir. I find it best to try and ignore them completely. Attention is like oxygen to them,”

“Easier said than done,” Harry muttered. “I can’t walk to class without having the damn thing quoted at me,”

Remus winced. “I do suppose it’s a lot harder to ignore when you’re surrounded by gossiping classmates,”

They lapsed into silence as their drinks arrived, Harry’s glass disappearing under the cloak as soon as he was sure no one was looking. Remus had ordered hot butterbeer, and it scalded Anwyn’s tongue on the first sip, leaving a toasty sensation right down into her chest when she swallowed.

“So, have you got any clue what the first trial might be? Any clues at all?” Remus asked after they’d savoured the first few sips, and Anwyn noted that he either looked at her, Hermione or the table, pointedly avoiding the gap where he knew Harry was. Clearly he was used to conversing with someone under the cloak.

“From what we’ve seen in our research, it’s never the same trial twice,” Hermione replied, hands tight around her glass. “But they’ve all been terribly dangerous. Usually involving magical beasts, or some form of puzzle to solve,”

“One year had the champions fighting a manticore. Another had them solving a Sphinx’s riddle,” Anwyn added.

“So it could be anything,” Remus replied grimly. “I’d hoped to be able to give you some more targeted advice, but the basics will need to suffice. You remember the stunning and shielding spells I taught you last year?”

There was a rustle of fabric, perhaps Harry forgetting that they couldn’t see him nodding. “I think so,”

“Good. That’s a start at least. Practice them as much as you can before Thursday, they could make all the difference. And don’t discount the usefulness of more practical spells. Remind me, are fourth years studying Accio and Depulso?”

Hermione nodded, though looked uncertain.

The disembodied voice came from the cloak. “If those spells are needed, Hermione would have been the better choice for champion. I’m hardly a master at them,”

“Then add them to the list. Combined with Leviosa they can be quite powerful for both offence and defence. A well timed Accio can provide a makeshift shield, or a properly aimed Depulso can create missiles out of every day objects,”

Anwyn shuffled her feet absently under the table. The reality of the situation was starting to set in. In less than a week, Harry would potentially be fighting for his life. And they were no closer to working out how he could survive.

Remus seemed to be thinking along the same lines, sitting his glass down with a frustrated sigh. “I’m sorry I can’t be more help. If I was still your teacher I’d be instating regular revision lessons to make sure you were prepared. But we’ll have to make do with some verbal advice alone,”

“It’s more than any of my other teachers,” Harry replied bitterly. “So I appreciate anything you can give me,”

“Have you found out any more about who could be behind this?” Hermione asked.

Remus shook his head. “We’re have a number of suspects, but no clear leader. Crouch hasn’t been at Hogwarts since the opening ceremony, and Bagman only return for the Wand Weighing ceremony, but then again there haven’t been any further incidents since, so that doesn’t prove their innocence either way. Have you noticed any strange behaviour from Karkaroff?”

“Other than him being on talking terms with Snape?” Harry muttered.

“Is he? Interesting,” Remus replied thoughtfully, rubbing at his beard. “Perhaps Dumbledore has his suspicions too and is having Severus keep an eye on things,”

“He’s been particularly vicious lately,” Hermione said. “Everyone says it’s because he didn’t get the Defence job again, but he’s even worse than normal,”

“It’s true,” Anwyn agreed. “He had Annabelle crying this week just because she dropped her pestle on the floor,”

“So what Sirius said was right? Karkaroff was a Death Eater?” Harry asked.

Remus nodded. “Yes, he was caught after Voldemort’s fall. Rumour has it that he teaches full on Dark Arts at Durmstrang, so be on your guard. And with the Death Eater activity at the World Cup, the signs point to them being on the move,”

“You said they were dying out,” Anwyn said, voice strained. “The last hurrah of a dying beast,”

“I’d hoped they were,” he shot her a guilty look. “But your mother’s been unearthing some unnerving news. Take that disappearance during the summer for instance, Bertha Jorkins,”

“The woman that went missing in Albania?” Hermione asked.

“That’s the one. She worked at the ministry, had ties to both the World Cup and the Triwizard Tournament. And she was a few years above us at school. Constantly falling for tricks and following the wrong crowd. Far too quick to trust,”

“You think her disappearance has something to do with this?”

“We’re not sure”, he tapped his fingers on the wood of the table. “But Albania was the last place that Voldemort was rumoured to have been,”

Anwyn groaned, clutching her glass closer to her. “Fucking hell,”

He shot her a disapproving look, but didn’t correct her language, and then gave a surreptitious look around the pub. “What about Moody? Has he been acting odd?”

“Careful,” Anwyn muttered. “I saw him when we came in,”

“Odder than usual?” Harry asked. “He’s crazy but he’s good. Feels like one of the few teachers who’s actually trying to prepare us,”

“He set Anwyn on fire this week, didn’t he?” Hermione shot her an insistent look.

She nearly kicked the girl under the table, but it was too late to dodge away from the question as Remus was already looking expectantly at her.

“Only a little,” she finally grumbled. “And only for a second—“

Remus’ mouth had formed a thin line, and he wrapped his knuckles lightly off the wood, clearly deliberating, before shuffling along the bench towards her. “Right, let me past Wyn,”

“Why— where are you going?”

“To have a word with Moody,” he said grimly. “First Unforgivables, now he’s setting students on fire—“

“No you’re not!” She hissed. “You can’t—“

“I think you’ll find I can,” he was starting to stand, and she dug her feet in, refusing to move for him.

“No— Remus sit back down! You’re so embarrassing, bloody hell—“

She tugged at the sleeve of his jumper, and he reluctantly gave in, sinking back down into the bench. There was a small snort of laughter from the gap beside Hermione, and Anwyn aimed a kick in the direction she was sure Harry’s shins were.

“Ouch! Anwyn—“

“Don’t you start!”

“He’s coming this way!” Hermione squeaked suddenly, eyes wide at something, or someone, across the pub.

Anwyn peered around the side of the booth, spotting her newest professor hobbling his way through the crowd with Hagrid in tow, and then immediately turned back to her uncle, flattening herself against the back of the seat.

“Please don’t say anything,” she ground out between her teeth. “I mean it, please don’t—“

“I’m not going to start a duel if that’s what you’re suggesting—“

“Alrigh’ Lupin, long time no see,” Hagrid appeared, beaming across the table.

Moody stood beside him, leaning on his gnarled cane, and his eye swivelled, jerking towards each of them in turn.

Remus dipped his head in greeting. “Afternoon Hagrid. Alastair,” his voice tightened slightly as he greeted the older man.

“Lupin,” Moody gave a sharp nod in his direction. “Still handing out lessons are we?”

“Just paying Anwyn a visit,”

“Well you needn’t worry. I’ll have I’ll have the gaps in this lots knowledge filled before the year’s over,”

“I’m sure you will. I can’t say I approve of your methods however. Unforgivables Alastair? On students?”

Anwyn groaned internally, shooting him a pleading look. He didn’t seem to notice, his eyes fixed on Moody, jaw tight.

“They need to be prepared. It’s not all sunshine and daisies out there. The enemy won’t hesitate to use any means necessary,”

“Of that I’m well aware of,” Remus replied darkly. “However it’s not the outside world I’m currently worried about,”

Anwyn sunk further into the seat, wishing that the whole thing would give in to her weight and swallow her whole. Hermione didn’t seem to be able to stop her head moving, looking between the two of her defence against the dark arts professors with wide eyes. Hagrid still had a smile on his face, though was starting to look confused. And Harry— well his reaction was anyone’s guess.

“Then you’ll appreciate that I’m trying to prepare them for the worst,” Moody replied gruffly, and then to Anwyn’s complete shock, he turned to the gap that Harry sat in. “Although it looks like Potter has some tricks of his own. Nice Cloak,”

“Can your eye – I mean, can you –?” Came the stuttered voice of Harry from under the cloak.

“Yeah, it can see through Invisibility Cloaks,” Moody replied quietly. “And it’s come in useful at times, I can tell you.”

Hagrid was beaming at the space on the bench where Harry sat, though he obviously couldn’t see him.

“Is that the latest paper Lupin?” He asked, leaning over the table to read the headline, and then muttered. “Meet me at midnight tonight Harry. Bring the cloak,”

“Very cryptic Hagrid?” Remus said, one eyebrow raised.

“Wouldn’t want ter ruin the surprise,” the giant man beamed, and then gave them a small wave. “Well, best be off,”

Moody’s eyes swivelled around the group once more, landing on Remus for a second who he gave a stiff nod, and then the two men shuffled off back through the crowd, finally bringing Anwyn’s torment to an end.

“Just kill me,” Anwyn muttered, slouching across the table. “Put me out of my misery,”

“I think that went rather well,” Remus said beside her, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

She sat up straight, fixing him with a glare. “For you, maybe. I have to see him in class next week. At this rate he’ll be picking me for every demonstration,”

“Just as long as they’re safe ones,” Remus grumbled, and then shot a glance at the empty space where Harry sat. “This meeting with Hagrid. If it’s anything to be concerned about, let Anwyn know and she’ll get word to us immediately,”

“What do you suppose it’s about?” Hermione asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Harry replied.

———

Remus spent the rest of their time in the pub giving Harry pointers on other defensive spells that might come in handy, and though Anwyn tried to file them away for her own usage, it was hard to get her mind to concentrate. She couldn’t stop thinking of the implications of what he’d told them, that Voldemort might be behind this, and that Harry’s, as well as the whole school’s lives, might be in danger. The thought was not a comforting one.

Harry and Hermione left them outside of The Three Broomsticks, heading back up to the castle to get warm and continue their frantic research, but Anwyn still felt antsy, and when Remus suggested a walk around the village she agreed without question. She couldn’t help but notice how he seemed to shy away from the crowds, keeping his head down and the collar of his jacket up as they walked. When they neared Honeydukes, she suggested that they pop in for supplies, but for what seemed like the first time in his life, when chocolate was offered, Remus was hesitant.

“It uh— looks a little busy in there. Perhaps another time,”

“Are you feeling alright?” She asked incredulously. “I’ve never know you to turn down chocolate,”

Again, he seemed to hesitate. “I’d rather not bring you any…unwanted attention,”

Anwyn’s mouth opened in a little oh, and she cast a glance around. Sure enough, a few of the students had recognised their old teacher, and were talking amongst themselves. The reason for Remus’ unease became suddenly apparent.

“Alright,” she said, keeping her voice light. “Why don’t I pop in and you wait for me by the bridge?”

He gave her a tight smile. “If I can’t persuade you otherwise,”

“Definitely not,”

The shop was packed, and it took her a good ten minutes just to reach the till, but when she finally returned to him her hands were laden with spoils.

“Here,”

She handed over a small brown bag filled with an assortment of chocolates, and Remus peaked inside.

“I can’t take all of this Anwyn,” he said, attempting to pass it back. “It must be half your pocket money,”

She pushed the bag back into his hands.

“Stop arguing. Take the chocolate,”

He gave an exasperated sigh, hesitating for a moment, and then tucked the bag into his overcoat.

“Come on then. I better get some exercise in before I eat my weight in sweets,”

They took the little low stone bridge out of the North of Hogsmeade, over the stream that was near bursting its banks from the latest bought of rain, and started winding their way along the dirt path at the edge of the village. The crowds had thinned considerably, and away from the press of curious eyes, Remus seemed to relax a little. He was walking with his cane, clearly still not recovered fully from the last full moon, so the going was slow, but the weather was still crisp and they weren’t in any hurry.

“Remus…” Anwyn finally said, choosing her next words carefully. “There was a Slytherin boy in the library the other day. He said— he said you had an interview at his Dad’s work? A Magizoology job?”

He didn’t reply immediately, his feet scuffing up dust, walking cane, clicking on the dirt path. When she looked over, he was wearing a tired expression.

“That’s right,” he finally said, voice giving away no emotion.

“He said his Dad told the boss about you,” she added quietly.

He nodded. “Yes, I believe he did. A shame, it was going quite well until that point,”

There was a forced note of joviality in his voice, as if he was trying to keep the conversation light, but a hint of bitterness came through.

“Was that last month? The interview you were going for? Why didn’t you say?”

He gave a sigh, breathing deeply, and stopped walking, looking out from the overlook down over the village towards Hogwarts. The castle jutted out of the sky, great pointed turrets cloaked in the low lying cloud that was beginning to descend.

“I suppose I’m a little bit ashamed of myself,” he finally muttered, eyes far off. I didn’t want you realise how much of a washed up old fool I am. Selfish, I know,”

He turned around to look at her, a tired, self deprecating smile on his face, and again she was struck by how much he had seemed to have aged just in the last few months alone.

Anwyn stepped up beside him. “You’re none of those things,” she told him firmly. “And they’re idiots for turning you down,”

His smile grew slightly, and he threw an arm around her shoulders, turning back to look across the glen towards the castle.

“Perhaps I should take you with me to my interviews and you can fight my case,”

“Happily,” she replied, looking out at the view, and then more quietly. “Is that what you meant back in the village? About bringing me unwanted attention?”

“I’m very aware of how cruel children can be,” he said slowly. “The last thing I want is to be a point of weakness for them to pick at you for,”

She scoffed. “I’ve got plenty of those of my own,”

“I mean in Wyn,”

She looked up at him, brow furrowed in a stubborn scowl. “I’m not ashamed of you. And it doesn’t matter what they say, that won’t change,”

He gave a sigh, flicking her a look that suggested that he didn’t agree with her approach to the subject, but didn’t argue. The wind picked up, whipping Anwyn’s hair from her face, and she shivered slightly, drawing closer to his side.

“Do you miss it?” She asked. “Hogwarts?”

“Oh yes,” he said softly. “I spent some of the best years of my life there. Last year included, despite our difficulties,”

He have her shoulders a gentle squeeze, and then let go, starting back on the path, leaning heavily into the walking stick. Anwyn took in the view for a few more seconds, considering his words, and watched as the Whomping Willow on the slope by the castle thrashed at a flock of birds.

“That’s one thing I still don’t understand,” she said thoughtfully, turning to follow him. “Why was there a tunnel under the Willow in the first place?”

“It was planted the year I started,” Remus replied from up ahead. “They needed a way to disguise where I was disappearing to every month. To stop anyone following me. Not that it seemed to put my friends off of course,”

Anwyn looked back out at the Willow, mouth working as she processed what he was saying, and then started to scarper over the rough path after him. “You— the shrieking shack? That’s where Dumbledore sent you every month?”

He looked over his shoulder, frowning. “Well yes. I could hardly stay in the castle—“

“Why not?!” She exclaimed. “They’ve got dungeons, locked doors! Adult wizards! But he sent an eleven year old down a dark tunnel every month? That man’s insane—“

“I was lucky to have Dumbledore as a headmaster,” he replied firmly, turning back to the path. “Another man might not have accepted me at the school at all,”

She scuffed along behind him, teeth worrying away at her lip. That tunnel, that shack had been terrifying, enough that they still played regular roles in her dreams. The idea that a first year, scared and alone had been sent down it every full moon by themself was bad enough, never mind knowing that it had been Remus.

“So are the rumours true then? Is the shack haunted?”

“Haunted?” He replied absently. “No, why would it be haunted?”

She didn’t answer, the click of the stick on the path and the shuffle of their feet the only noise for a few seconds until it hit Anwyn, and she stopped dead, voice choking out of her throat.

“Oh shit—“

It was him. There had never been a ghost. Never a ghoul. That’s why her and her friends had never heard it, despite visiting Hosgmeade many times throughout the year. The shrieking hadn’t happened since Remus had left school, because he’d been the cause of it. Just as he had been that night last term, the night she couldn’t seem to scrape from her head.

That lump was back in her throat, the one that she couldn’t seem to swallow past. And so too came the sound of crunching bones and agonised screams, playing over and over in her head as her gaze all but drilled a hole onto the ground, breaths short and ragged.

She flinched as a hand landed on her shoulder, blinking hard as she realised that Remus was saying something.

“W—what?” She asked giving her head a shake as she looked up at him.

“You’re as pale as a sheet,” he said, frowning as he pressed the back of his hand to her forehead, his fingers icy. “Are you feeling quite alright?”

“F—fine,” she stuttered back. “Just uh— just cold,”

“Hmm,” his frown deepened, clearly unsatisfied with her explanation. “Perhaps we should call it a day. Those clouds do look threatening,”

She gave a shaky nod, not trusting her voice, and then threaded her arm through his, pulling her free hand up into the sleeve of her coat to keep her fingers warm.

“You— you should be wearing your gloves she managed to stutter out. “You know how your joints get in the cold,”

“Yes, I’m rather regretting not picking them up on my way out,” he replied ruefully.

“Is your hip bothering you again?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,”

She shot him another quizzical look, noting the way he favoured the side nearest to her, and the limp way his hair sat across his face.

“You will promise to stop working so hard though?” She asked him, heart finally stopping its frantic hammering. “You don’t look well Remus,”

“Perhaps I’ve been a little overeager,” he admitted. “Today has been a nice break,”

“A nice break from work to spend fretting over Harry’s unerring habit of getting into trouble?”

“Alright, perhaps it wasn’t the relaxing day it could have been,” he smiled. “But I’ve appreciated the opportunity to catch up with you,”

“Me too,” she replied. “Really. Thanks for coming”,

“Anytime”, he leaned over, giving her a peck on the top of the head, and then froze. She heard him sniff, and then felt his nose press a second time against her hair.

“Why do you smell like cigarettes?”

“I don’t,” she said, far too quickly, and then immediately regretted it.

“Have you been smoking?”

“No—“

“Come on Wyn, I’ve hung around with enough delinquents in my youth to recognise stale cigarette smoke”,

“Delinquents being Sirius?”

His attempt to keep a serious face failed, and a smile tweaked at the corner of his mouth. “He was partial to them. He thought it made him look cool,”

“It probably did. He is pretty cool. He’s got that rockstar look—”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to change the subject?”

“I’m not!” She spluttered. “And I’ve not been smoking, honest. I just was talking to someone who was,”

They wandered in silence for a few seconds, and she thought she’d gotten away with it when he spoke again.

“Is this someone a boy by any chance?”

“No,”

“Because if it is, we might have to have a chat—“

“Oh hell— we are not having this conversation,” Anwyn could feel her cheeks burning, a red hot flash that ran right up her neck and into her face. She attempted to remove her arm and scamper away, but he tightened his, blocking her retreat.

“Alright, alright, I’ll take your word for it,” Remus said, hauling her back with a grimace. “Believe me, I’m as eager to avoid it as you are. I’ll leave that one to your mother,”

“It wasn’t a boy anyway. She is one of the Durmstrang students. And I’ve just been helping her in class, that’s all. She says her father knew Dad,”

“Really?” Remus cocked his head. “I didn’t know he’d spent any time in Scandinavia. Then again I don’t know a lot of things about where your parents disappeared to,”

“So you don’t know a Nillson then?”

“I’m afraid not,”

Anwyn tried to contain her disappointment. She hadn’t expected him to have any answers, but still, she’d hoped that it would all fall into place with one easy question. But then life was never that simple.

They crested the hill, and the road to Hogwarts came into view, a steady stream of students now heading back towards the castle, pockets laden with goodies from Honeydukes and Zonkos. Anwyn let go of Remus arm, and stepped towards the slope down.

“Will you visit again? At the next Hogsmeade weekend?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said. “But it’ll depend on my work schedule, so I can’t make any promises,”

She set her mouth in a thin line, trying to hide how her heart sank at his words. “Alright. Tell Sirius I said hi?”

“I will do. Take care of yourself Wyn,”

She gave him a wave, hopping down the steps cut into the hill side towards the front of the village. The clouds were gathering, growing darker now, and she pulled her coat tight around her, hoping that the walk back to the castle would be over before the rain inevitably started.

When she reached the archway at the foot of the hill, she took one final look over her shoulder to where Remus stood watching on the slope. He raised an arm in a silent farewell, walking stick still clutched in the other, and then with a twisting, writhing knot of the space around him, apparated out of sight.

Notes:

I really enjoyed this one, the Hogsmeade visit has been one of the unchanging aspects in my head for GOF as the plot has come together, so I’ve been looking forward to it. Always a delight to torment Anwyn with her as she gets older too, are you even if a teenager if you don’t get terribly embarrassed by your family at regular intervals?

Chapter 14: Trial By Dragon

Remus scrawled a line in the notebook, watching with satisfaction as it appeared on the twin paper beside it. It was slow, delayed, and the ink was definitely lighter, but it was a vast improvement on what they’d achieved of Harry’s notebook so far. His eyes flickered over to the fireplace where Sirius’ body sat, head stuck up to the shoulders in the flames. He couldn’t hear the conversation he was having with Harry, but he’d been there a while. And judging by the urgency of Anwyn’s messages this morning, it was serious.

The sound of footsteps shuffling down the hallway was followed by his sister appearing through the open door, three half full wine glasses balanced between her fingers. She handed him one, eyeing Sirius with a wary expression before sitting down on the window ledge.

“Any news?”

“Not yet,” he replied, taking a sip of wine. It was red, and a little tart, but then he’d never been much of a connoisseur. “How goes the investigation?”

Bethan wrinkled her nose. “Slow. I’m hearing the Ministry have done raids on three of the suspected Death Eater families again, including the Malfoys. Came away completely empty handed and now Lucius is threatening to take them to court,”

“That doesn’t sound like the reaction of an innocent man,”

“Sounds like the reaction of an arsehole—“

There was a spark of light, and Sirius pulled his head back out of the fire, swaying on his haunches for a few seconds. He finally climbed to his feet, slowly, and when he turned to Remus he was pale, drawn, ash smudged across his cheek.

“What is it?” Remus asked immediately. “They’ve found out what the trial is?”

“Dragons,” Sirius rasped. “It’s dragons. One for each of them,”

Remus swore under his breath, dropping his head into his hands. He’d sent the boy against dragons with nothing but a few words on shield charms and banishing spells. He just hoped that wherever James and Lily were, they’d forgive him.

“He’s a smart lad,” he finally said, looking up, though it felt like he was trying to convince himself. “And quick on his feet,”

“He’s fourteen years old,” Sirius replied quietly. He was still standing over by the fire, arms crossed, eyes far away.

“Dumbledore—“

“Dumbledore has clearly lost his mind. He should have cancelled the entire thing as soon as Harry’s name came out of the goblet,”

Remus sighed, inclining his head as he conceded the point.

“How’s he taking it?” Bethan asked softly, her voice containing none of the usual sparring tone she saved for Sirius.

He flinched, clearly having not noticed her sitting at the window. Remus couldn’t help but notice the way his shoulders tensed, hand moving automatically towards his wand, the fight or flight reactions of an animal that was far too used to being lashed out at. Bethan reached her hand out, the untouched glass of wine an offering.

Sirius hesitated before accepting it, swirling the deep red liquid in the glass. “He’s terrified,” he replied quietly. “Thinks he’s going to die,”

Bethan swore softly, tapping the base of her glass against the seat between her knees, and then sprang to her feet, taking a great swill of wine.

“Where are you off to?” Remus asked as she reached the door.

“To check my contacts,” she replied over her shoulder. “Maybe I’ve got some dragon wranglers or something that can give us tips,”

He watched her leave, and then turned back to Sirius, who was looking at the open door, eyebrows raised.

“She’s being awfully…helpful?”

“This whole thing has her back up. When Bethan has an idea in her head, there’s no getting her to drop it,” Remus hesitated, glancing back at the sitting room door. “And I think it’s a little close to home. She won’t say as much, but I suspect it’s not too hard for her to imagine Anwyn in Harry’s place,”

Sirius gave an absent nod, eyes far away. They’d taken on that haunted quality again, the same one he’s worn when Remus had found him in the shack. An echo of Azkaban that seemed to return in his worst moments.

“I don’t know what to do Remus,” Sirius’ voice was tight. “I don’t know how to help him. Surely I should be doing something more?”

“I don’t know what else there is to do right now, other than support him,”

Sirius’ legs seemed to finally give into his weight, and he sunk into the armchair behind him, leaning forward on his arms.

“When James named me Godfather, this wasn’t exactly what I expected,”

Remus gave a humourless laugh. “There are usually a lot less dragons involved, from my experience. You’ve been thrown in at the deep end,”

“Perhaps James would have known what to do,” Sirius replied weakly. “He always did come up with our wildest plans,”

Remus gave a huff of amusement, raising the glass to his lips. “I think James would be just as lost as we are,” his voice softened. “But he’d be grateful that you’re watching over his son,”

Sirius’ hand tightened slightly on the glass, his eyes crinkling, slightly, and then be cleared his throat, downing the glass of wine in one go. It was enough to make Remus’ throat burn just thinking about it. The other man rose suddenly to his feet, setting the glass down with a harsh clink, and then made to cross the room.

“I better get back before Dawlish comes to drag me off,”

Remus’ hand shot out to stop him as he passed. It was an instinctive thing, an action that he’d already completed before he really had even thought about it, so it was almost as big a shock to him when his fingers caught Sirius’ hand.

“You’re doing a good job Sirius,” he told him quietly. “The best anyone could do in this situation. I have every faith he’s coming out of this alive,”

Sirius’ face was unreadable. His eyes were on Remus’ hand, where their fingers still met, his breathing shallow to the point of non-existent. He wet his lips, gaze finally flicking to Remus’ face, and then this fingers curled, gripping Remus’ hand in his own for one excruciatingly quick second. And then it was over. His touch was gone and he was striding towards the door way, hands buried in his pockets.

Remus curled his fingers to his palm, as if burned, the feeling of Sirius’ rough skin still on his. He stared at his wineglass, internally berating himself for being such an idiot, so he didn’t notice that Sirius had stopped in the doorway until he spoke.

“Thanks Moony,” he said quietly, voice rough. “Really,”

Remus turned, fighting to keep his expression neutral. He gave a stiff nod, unable to say much more, and Sirius disappeared out of the room.

He heard the front door quietly click shut, swilling the wine in his glass, round and around until a little red whirlpool appeared. Merlin, why couldn’t he just keep his cool? Why did he have to revert back to a lovesick teenager?

With a frustrated sigh, Remus flicked his wand at the fire, the flames snuffing out with a dull whumph, before downing his own wine, the burning in his throat an immediate regret to add to the pile.

———

“Incendio— shit, shit— Aguamenti! Aguamenti!”

Water streamed out of the end of Anwyn’s wand, soaking into the crumpled piece of paper on the floor. It immediately hissed, the rising flames suffocated into submission.

Harry poked at the charcoaled remained with the toe of his shoe, revealing soot marks all over the flagstones.

“Well,” He said. “This bodes well,”

“Show us again Anwyn,” Hermione asked, a slight tremor of panic in her voice. “Maybe you just got the incantation wrong,”

“Or maybe teaching skills just don’t run in the family,” she replied, rolling up another scrap of parchment. “All right. Here it goes. Point at what you want to protect, in this case it’ll be your robes—“

“Because a dragon will be attempting to roast me alive?”

“—uh yes. Because of the dragon. Anyway, point at your robes, and then it’s kind of a slow drag of the wand—“ She tried to demonstrate, and nearly dropped her wand in the process.“And then say Restinguo,”

Nothing appeared to happen, and she bit her lip, staring down at the paper. Had it worked? Maybe it just wasn’t a very flamboyant spell.

“Is that it?” Harry asked dubiously.

“I think so. Try setting it on fire again,”

He aimed his wand at the parchment. “Incendio,”

The parchment burst into flames, instantly crumbling into a scorched mess.

“Oh for fuck sake— Aguamenti!” Anwyn shouted once more, thankful that at least the water conjuring spell was one she’d mastered. Her feet were splattered with water in her haste, the cold damp spreading up her tights, and as she took a step back she could feel her shoes squelching.

The three of them stood looking at the soggy mess on the flagstone for a moment, a thin trail of smoke rising from the charred remains, until Harry finally spoke.

“I’m doomed,”

“You might be better than me,” Anwyn replied weakly. “Can’t be any worse anyway,”

“Maybe we should try summoning charms again?” Hermione suggested. “Are you sure that’s what Moody was hinting at Harry,”

He nodded. “He said play to my strengths. And flying is my strength, I just need to get the broom to me,”

“Alright then,” Hermione hurried over to the table, lining up the pile of books she’d left there. “Let’s start with these,”

“And then you can try summoning me a towel,” Anwyn muttered. “My feet are soaking,”

———

The incessant scream of the telephone ringing cut through the murk of his dreams, sending Remus rocketing upright. The book that had been splayed open on his lap, an old volume on dragon fighting that he’d pulled from one of his many cardboard boxes, clattered to the floor, the corner jabbing straight into his big toe. He swore, scrambling to his feet, and limped over to the phone.

“Hello—“ he started, voice scratchy with sleep, but was immediately cut off.

“Where there hell are you?”

“I’m—“ his half sleep brain registered who was on the other end, and he immediately turned his wrist checking the time. “Ahh— Jeremy, I’m so sorry, I lost track—“

“Save it. I’ve had enough of you screwing me around—“

“I can be there in ten—“ he tried.

“I’ll send a cheque for your final pay in the post. Don’t bother coming in tomorrow,”

The dial tone rang out on the other end as his boss hung up, and Remus listened to it for a few seconds before quietly placing the receiver down. He reached a hand up, rubbing it down his face into the scraggly beard that was now growing there, and then gave the table a swift, frustrated kick that sent a jarring pain into his toes.

Another job down the drain. He couldn’t even manage to clean floors for three months straight. How was he supposed to keep Harry alive?

———

Sarah’s scream was sharp, loud in her ear, enough to leave a faint ringing sensation after it had ended. Anwyn made no sound. She was far too busy hiding behind her hands.

“Is he okay?!” She asked frantically. “What happened, I can’t look—“

“No, no, it got him, his face is all burnt!” Sarah moaned beside her. “His poor, beautiful face!”

“Oh shit—“ Anwyn ground out. “This is insane, how is this legal,”

“It got the poor dog too—“

“You know the dog was just a rock right?” Russell asked on Sarah’s other side. “It’s literally just a rock that he transfigured— oh he’s going for it, he’s going for the egg GO CEDRIC RUN—“

The eruption of cheers from the yellow and black crowd around Anwyn was enough to make her crack an eye open just in time to see a singed but victorious looking Cedric Diggory disappearing back out of the ring, golden egg clasped in his hands. The blue dragon at his heels snapped its jaws, great bursts of fire erupting from between its teeth, and the team of dragon handlers appeared to wrangle it back into its enclosure before the next match.

“You think they’ll take points off for getting burnt?” Russell asked as he hammered his hands together in applause.

“Maybe,”

“I do hope he’s okay, his face looked so sore!” Sarah said, leaning over the seats in front to try and see into the tent where the champions were waiting.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Russell replied, and Anwyn noted the slightly terse note to his voice. “Who’s next?”

“Not sure,” Anwyn replied.

The dragon that they were leading into the ring was a smaller green beast with a long snout and horns on its head that almost seemed to fan out into web like protrusions. It had a series of small spikes along its back, and a tail that ended in a perfect point. Its silhouette, she realised with a jolt, was familiar.

“A Welsh green!”

“Dragon expert are you now?” Russell asked, peering down at the great beast. “Or are they everywhere in Wales,”

“Oh yeah,” she replied sarcastically. “Every welsh child has one as a pet”,

“Thought so,” he said. “You’re a weird bunch,”

“Sarah, can you smack him one for me please,”

They were quickly distracted from the dragon my Fleur appearing in the ring below, wand already raised. She was very still, arms spread out in front of her as the dragon turned. She seemed to be muttering under her breath, eyes narrowed in concentration as she stared the beast down.

“She’s mental,” Russell exclaimed. “What’s she trying to do, ask it nicely?”

But Sarah was already leaning forward, pointing into the ring. “Look!”

The dragon was swaying. It’s great, green head was bobbing from side to side, massive eyelids drooping over golden orbs, and it smacked its tongue against its scaly lips, if you could call them that.

“And it appears Miss Delacour is putting her dragon to sleep!” Came the booming voice of Bagman over the speakers, though he’d taken on a faux whisper. “Marvellous work!”

Sure enough, the dragon had laid its head down, curling it’s absurdly long tail around its body, wings pinned across its back. Fleur was creeping towards the nest, still muttering, and—

A great, rumbling groan came from the beast, and at first Anwyn thought it was growling, but its eyes were shut. A gust of air buffeted from its nostrils, and she realised she was hearing the sound of an impossibly deep snore, loud and laborious. As it exhaled to the fullest, there was a flash of light, and a cloud of fire exploded from its nostrils.

“She’s on fire, she’s on fire!” Sarah shrieked.

Fleurs cloak had gone up, and she desperately slapped at it with one hand. The other was far too busy carrying the golden egg she’d managed to grab in the process.

“And Miss Delacour’s done it, she has the egg!” Bagman roared as water began to pour from Fleur’s wand.

The dragon keepers appeared once more, this time having a much easier time with the drowsy beast, and Anwyn found herself scanning the excited, murmuring crowd. There was a wall of Burgandy over by the Slytherins, two ash haired figures amongst them, and she strained her eyes, trying to make out the expression on the Durmstrang girl’s face.

Signe hadn’t mentioned a reply from her father yet, and Anwyn had been stopped from asking only by the fear that if she became too irritating that the girl would stop helping her. Her father was in Sweden after all. She didn’t know how long it would take for an owl to fly there, but less than a week seemed like a short wait.

“What are you looking at?” Sarah asked beside her. “One of the Durmstrang boys caught your eye?”

“No,” Anwyn replied quickly, turning back to her friend.

“It’s alright,” Sarah whispered. “I won’t tell. Some of them really have that bad boy look don’t they? Maybe you could find a date for the Yule ball,”

Anwyn screwed up her face in a grimace. Of course, the Yule ball was swiftly approaching. It was already a hot topic of conversation in the common room, but she dreaded the thought. After all, having all but chucked the dress at her mother, she had nothing to wear. And it was unlikely any of the boys in her year would ask her, torn between the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors as she was. She was already beginning to wonder if it was too late to tell Sprout that she’d changed her mind, that she wouldn’t be staying at Hogwarts for Christmas, and that she’d much rather go home for a cosy day by the fire.

“Who’s the blonde boy?” Sarah asked, leaning her hands on the barrier to peer past Anwyn. “The one beside that girl in our classes,”

“That’ll be Signe’s brother,”

“He’s not bad. Kind of hot, in a snobby way. Maybe you could get her to introduce you, seeing as you seem to be friends now,”

Anwyn shot Sarah a quick look, trying to discern if there was a note of disapproval in her voice or not, but the other girl was staring resolutely across the crowd, arms draped casually on the barrier.

“I’m…not sure if she’d be happy playing matchmaker with her brother. Besides, I don’t know anything about him,”

Sarah shot her a coy smile. “Sounds like the Yule ball is a perfect time to get to know him,”

Anwyn was saved from stuttering a response by the crowd roaring back into life as another dragon was released, this time a bright red beast that seemed to be streaming fire from its nostrils. It had a fringe for huge golden spikes around its head, and its eyes were massive, glassy, a thin black pupil slicing down a field of gold.

“Here comes Krum!” Russell shouted, leaning over the railing. “Let’s see if he’s as good at fighting dragons as he is at Quidditch!”

Krum was on the move, vaulting across the rocks in the arena until there was a wall of stone between him and the dragon. The animal tried to keep track of his movements, its tail whipping around behind him as it lumbered in a circle, clearly not wanting to stray too far from its clutch of eggs.

The Durmstrang champion ducked under the rocks as a ball of fire soared over his head, and then sprinted in to the next bit of cover, this time closer to the dragons nest. He stuck his head out, hurling a purple spell at the dragon. It missed, just clearing the animals shoulders as it pulled back to launch another burst of flame.

“What do you think he’s casting?”

“No idea,” Anwyn replied. “Hopefully he actually lands the next one so we find out,”

As the crowd screamed his name, Krum dodged around the rocks and launched another spell at the dragon before diving back into cover. This time the spark hit the beast directly in the face. It let out a bellowing roar, fire bursting from its nostrils, and started to stagger, huge eyes blinking heavily. Purple goop seemed to be gathering around its eyelashes, until it didn’t seem to be able to open them at all.

Krum ducked under its chest as it staggered, shooting forward to grab the golden egg at its feet. There was a barely suppressed scream from the crowd as the dragon staggered, one clawed foot coming down towards the boy at its feet. Anwyn held onto the barrier as the ground shook, but a burgundy figure shot out from under the dragon, safe from a crushing death by mere inches. The other eggs in its next were not so lucky.

“That’ll be points off,” Russell shouted over the applause, before leaning around Sarah to give Anwyn a meaningful look. “Potters up next,”

Anwyn swallowed heavily, trying best to push down the nausea. All three of the champions so far had survived, but by the skin of their teeth. And all three were seventeen, top performers, capable wizards. How was Harry going to do this?

When the dragon appeared, Anwyn was sure for a moment that she was actually going to vomit. The thing was huge, massive spikes running down its black back towards the tail covered in bristling points. A lethal predator, poised to rip its enemy apart, and that wasn’t even counting death by fire.

A tiny figure appeared at the edge of the ring, like a rabbit facing down a wolf. Of perhaps more accurately, a rabbit facing down a fire breathing dragon. She watched as he adjusted the grip on his wand, pointing it at his robes, attempting the fire protection spells she’d tried to teach him. Anwyn prayed he was better at it than she was.

And then he was running, darting towards the nearest rock, wand in the air. It was part of the plan, she knew it, but still it seemed crazy. Sitting and hiding, hoping his summoning spell was strong enough. The crowd were getting restless, muttering amongst themselves, and the dragon was bathing the rocks around him on a stream of fire, leaving them blackened and soot covered.

“What’s he doing?” Sarah asked. “Hiding until it gives him the egg?”

“Just wait,” Anwyn said. “Wait and see,”

People were starting to shout. Disparaging comments from the the Slytherins, encouragement from the Gryffindors. Anwyn could spot the mass of ginger amongst them, the Weasley family on the edge of their seats. And then there, in the distance. A blotch in the sky.

A broomstick. Coming to find its master.

Harry clambered onto the rocks, taking a running leap. He landed on the broom, a wall of fire following him, and then he was in the air, spiralling away as if he was born to be in the sky.

The nausea was gone. The fear was gone. He could do this.

Anwyn began to cheer.

———

“I—I’ve got to go!”

The minute Harry landed with the egg, Anwyn was squeezing herself past Sarah and Russell, ignoring the squaks of protest as she clambered over feet and legs and pushed her way onto the steps down. She nearly stumbled at one point, grabbing onto the banister to stop herself flying face first down the steps, and then took off for the champions tent as soon as she was on the ground.

She ducked in and out of the crowd, attempting to look as casual as possible. She wasn’t sure if she was allowed to be here, but no one seemed to notice as she pushed past the teachers that were milling around the tent. Anwyn dodged a particularly grumpy looking Snape, an elated McGonagall, and a overly excited Trewlawany before someone knocked into her shoulder, and she turned to apologise, words dying in her throat as a furious looking Karkaroff glared down at her from dark eyes. Anwyn swallowed heavily, stuttering an apology, and then stumbled back towards the tent flap, where a familiar face was pushing it open.

“Harry!” She called as he poked his head out of the tent, and he looked around for the source. A grin spread across his face, and she hurried over. “That was insane! You’re a bloody legend, I swear— did the spell help?“

Harry pulled a singed bit of his robes up so she could see them, a grin plastered on his face. “Absolutely useless thanks,”

Anwyn was giving a hysterical, relieved giggle when a ginger head appeared in the tent flap behind him, and Ron Weasley stepped out. “Alright Anwyn—“

She thumped him on the arm.

“Oww!” He whined. “What the bloody hell was that for?!”

“For being a dick”, she replied. “And not believing him when he said he didn’t enter—“

“Anwyn it’s fine, he’s apologised—“ Harry told her, fighting to keep the laughter from his voice.

“He better have!”

She fixed Ron with as furious a glare as she could muster, watching as he rubbed the spot on his arm that she’d punched, grumbling under his breath. Harry could barely contain his grin.

“What’s wrong with these girls?!” Ron exclaimed. “First Hermione and now you—“

“Speaking of Hermione, where is she?”

“Dunno,” Harry replied. “She just kind of burst into tears and ran off. We’re heading back up to the castle though if you want to come? I’ll need to let Sirius know I’m still on one piece,”

“Good idea”, she said falling into step beside them. “We better write before Remus has to lock him in the house to stop him coming to find you,”

Notes:

Hello folks, sorry for the delay! It’s been a busy week. This is a bit more of a filler chapter, so apologies if it’s not very exciting but I didn’t want to just jump past the trial with it being a fairly big event!

Next chapter will see a bit more progress on the Signe mystery, as well as some build up for the Yule ball….

Chapter 15: The Three Letters

Dear Miss Blackthorn,

You are hearby summoned to serve as a witness at the criminal trial of Mr Peter Pettigrew, date set as December 28th 1994, and the subsequent hearing for Mr Sirius Black III.

You have been selected to give witness testimony based on the statement you provided to Aurors on the morning of the 10th of June, 1994.

Your parent and/or guardian has been informed, and will be asked to accompany you to the hearing. Any alternative arrangements should be made via the aurors office at their earliest convenience.

Regards,
Archibald Fotheringham
Assistant Secretary of the Wizengamot

Anwyn reread the letter in her hands for the third time, cereal completely forgotten. Her stomach was leaden, as if she’d just eaten an enormous meal, and her heart was doing a funny little pitter patter in her chest.

She’d spoken to aurors last year. Talked about the trial with Sirius during the summer. Discussed Pettigrew’s fate with Harry during their lunch hours. But for some reason she’d never imagined actually attending the trial. Apparently the ministry had other ideas.

Anwyn stood, straining her neck to see over the sea of heads in the dining hall. Three more owls were landing on the Gryffindor table, crisp envelopes in their talons, and she could already guess what they contained. She hurriedly folded up her own letter, swinging her feet over the bench of the Hufflepuff table, and headed over to her friends.

“Testimony—“ Ron was saying as she reached the table. “What do they want me to say? A weird bloke pretended to be my pet rat and then a dog who wasn’t a dog broke my leg?”

“Just tell them the truth Ronald,” Hermione scolded. “We have to tell them exactly what happened,”

“What, even including the time travel?” Harry muttered, and then he spotted Anwyn hovering. “You got a letter too?”

She nodded, turning the parchment over in her hand. “What do you think they’ll ask? I’d rather not— I mean I’d rather not go over that night too much,”

“Just Pettigrew’s confession I’d think,” Hermione said, giving her a sympathetic look. “And his attempt to escape. I’m sure they won’t go into any other details,”

“Yeah, maybe,” Anwyn replied, although she wasn’t convinced. She shot the Gryffindors beside the trio a look, then slid into the bench, ignoring the disgruntled glances from the other students, and lowered her voice. “I just— what if— what if— some of these ministry types don’t exactly…like werewolves. You heard how Cedric’s dad was. What if they don’t believe Remus?”

“Well there’s the four of us too,” Ron replied. “And Snape, even that old bat can’t deny that he saw Pettigrew transformed. And Dumbledore’s on our side too,”

“There’s too much evidence against him,” Harry said. “There’s no way Pettigrew is getting away with it this time,”

“You’re probably right,” Anwyn said, thought she began to worry at her bottom lip.

“Your parent and/or guardian has been informed and will be asked to accompany you—“ Harry read out loud. “I wish I could see Uncle Vernon’s face when he reads this,”

“I’ll speak to Mum mate,” Ron said, grabbing another slice of toast. “She’ll already be taking me. Makes sense if we arrange it that you and Hermione stay over,”

“Yes, I’m not sure I want my parents first impression of the ministry to be a criminal trial,” Hermione admitted. “I take it you’ll just go with Remus, Anwyn?”

Anwyn shrugged. “I dunno, I guess so. Depends on how long they need me. He’s still staying with Mum anyway so it doesn’t make much difference,”

“At least we’ll get home for a bit at Christmas,” Ron said thoughtfully, and Anwyn saw far too much of the food he was chewing. “Mum’s mince pies are the best,”

“Would have been nice if they’d scheduled the Yule Ball on the same day,” Harry said with a grimace. “Then I wouldn’t need to dance,”

“Oh come on Harry, just ask someone already,” Hermione snapped. “You’ve faced down a dragon for Gods sake,”

“Yeah, and girls are far scarier,” Ron shot back.

The two Gryffindor’s began to bicker again. Anwyn fazed them out, the rising voices falling to the background as she looked back to the letter still clutched in her hands. What if she said the wrong thing? Or forgot something? What if they locked Sirius back up because of it?

One thing was for sure. She’d just had another thing to stress about added to the list.

———

December arrived with a flurry of snow that covered the mountains and froze the loch over in great sheets of ice. It was so cold that the students could see their breath fogging in some of the older corridors, and Anwyn had taken to wearing her scarf and full winter cloak at all times between classes, dreaming longingly of the little fireplace in the faculty tower, and the mug of hot chocolate she would no doubt have been nursing had things gone differently.

With the first trial over, talk of the tournament fell away, replaced with a new hot topic. The Yule ball. Though just under a month off, the entire school was abuzz with chatter; what would everyone be wearing, what would the feast be like, and most importantly, who was going with who.

Anwyn was going with no one.

Anwyn was fairly sure that it was a fact that wouldn’t change.

Sarah insisted on discussing all other alternatives.

“What about one of the Beauxbaton boys?”

“Have you asked Ernie MacMillan?”

“I saw Dale Richards look at you yesterday, maybe he’ll ask?”

The Hufflepuff girl seemed completely oblivious to Anwyn’s somewhat obvious discomfort, ignoring all attempts to dodge the subject. But however much Anwyn disliked the discussion of her non existent love life, there was one topic that Sarah was even more interested in that was better left alone. Russell.

“Do you think he’ll ask me today?” Sarah asked for the third time that morning.“We have Divination later, maybe he’ll do it then,”

“Why don’t you ask your crystal ball,” Anwyn replied rather sullenly, wrapping her scarf tighter around her neck. Maybe if she wrapped it hard enough it would put her out of her misery—

“I don’t think it works like that,” Sarah replied despondently, completely oblivious to the tone of Anwyn’s voice. “Maybe if I start talking to one of the other boys he’ll get jealous,”

“Maybe if you just ask him yourself, he’ll say yes, and then we don’t have to go over this again,”

“That’s not romantic at all! It’s all about the chase, he has to show he’s interested, and then—“

“That’s very old fashioned,” Anwyn interrupted.

“No, it’s like a fairy tale,” Sarah replied, pouting. “Do you think he really likes me? Yesterday he was playing with my hair, and then this morning he gave me his last pancake—“

“Wow, chivalry really isn’t dead—“

“Please Anwyn, this is serious!” Sarah said, stopping in the archway and grabbing Anwyn’s arm. The students behind them had to dodge to the side to avoid a collision, and shot them dirty looks on the way past. “I really like him, if he doesn’t like me back I might— I might— well I might just die!”

Overly dramatic as Sarah’s declaration was, her face was deadly serious, eyes pleading. Anwyn successfully managed to stop the amused smirk from breaking out on her face, and instead fixed Sarah with a firm look.

“Of course he likes you. It’s obvious he does. You just have to be patient,”

“I don’t know if I can!” Sarah moaned, before threading her arm through Anwyn’s and continue their march down the corridor. “It’s all I can think about—“

There was a figure in the corridor ahead, blonde hair sweeped back out of her eyes, fur cloak pinned loosely around one shoulder. Signe was holding an envelope, and as she spotted them approaching, raised it in the air, a small smile playing on her lips.

“Is that from your Dad?” Anwyn blurted out as they reached her, a little too quickly, colour rushing to her cheeks.

Signe gave a slight smirk. “It is,”

Anwyn shot Sarah a guilty look. “I need to go, catch you at dinner?”

“But what about Russell?”

“I don’t know,” Anwyn replied, exasperated. “Talk to him in Divination. Tell him his love line is looking particularly thick, or whatever it is you do in palmistry,”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “That’s not how it works—“

But Anwyn was already hurrying around the corner with Signe, into the wide atrium at the foot of the Defence Against the Dark Arts tower. The marble floors here only served to draw the cold in further, but as they ducked into one of the alcoves, her freezing fingers were the last thing on Anwyn’s mind.

“What did he say?” she asked Signe hurriedly.

“Its a bit of an essay, the boring bastard likes to drone on,” the Durmstrang girl said, tucking the parchment back into her robes before giving Anwyn a disbelieving look “What? No lecture? Most people tell me I can’t talk about my father that way,”

“Yeah well, most people don’t think I should be slagging off my cousins like I do, but they don’t know them,” Anwyn grumbled.

A smile quirked at Signe’s lips, but she didn’t comment further, instead ducking out of the alcove to stride away from Anwyn down the corridor.

“We’ll come on then,” she said over her shoulder. “Don’t you want to know what it says?”

Anwyn hurried to catch up, falling into step beside her, strides long in an effort to match her speed. “I can read the letter?”

“No, not unless you can speak Swedish. But I’ll read it to you. If you get me some of those pumpkin pasties from the kitchens,”

“Yeah, yeah I can do that,” Anwyn said hurriedly. “I’ve been in the kitchens loads of times. I mean a few times. I mean we— the hufflepuffs that is— we always go in. Uhh—“ She shut her mouth with a snap, cursing her awkward rambling. “When— when can we read it?”

“What do you have next?”

“Ancient Runes,”

Signe gave a short laugh. “That sounds better than Arithmancy. I should have taken that,”

“And then we have History of Magic after it,”

The other girl stopped in the doorway, giving Anwyn an appraising look before leaning in. She was slightly taller than Anwyn, and up close the piercing marks on her lips were far more noticeable, a stray strand of ash blonde trailing down over her eyes.

“You know the old classroom in the dungeons? Full of of cobwebs and broken shit?”

Anwyn’s brow furrowed. “Yeah,”

“Meet me there at 3pm,”

She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder in case one of the teachers had snuck up on them. “You want to skip class? I’m not sure, what if we get caught?”

“By that old ghost?” Signe laughed. “I heard he hasn’t even realised he’s dead yet. You want to hear what’s in the letter right?”

“Of course,” Anwyn said quickly.

“3pm it is then. And don’t forget the pasties,”

Signe pushed off the doorframe, strolling away from Anwyn down the corridor. She watched the other girl go, stomach rolling with nerves. She’d skipped class before, last year in fact, but things had been dire then, and the decision had usually been driven by a panic attack or a potions withdrawal. To do so by choice…well that felt like something completely different. Something mildly terrifying. And yet…mildly thrilling?

Anwyn swallowed her nerves, and hurried off to Ancient Runes. She’d worry about the consequences later. Today she might actually get some answers.

———

Somehow, despite her head screaming that she’d be found out at any moment, Anwyn made it to the abandoned classroom without bumping into anyone, student, teacher or ghost. He satchel was bulging with pumpkin pasties and fruit juice, and her brain felt close to breaking point too, something that only the contents of that letter could solve.

“I was beginning to think I was being stood up,” Signe said with a smirk, accepting an offered pasty.

“Had to get your pasties didn’t I? Now come on, tell me what he said,”

Signe took a bite of the pasty, lounging back on the desk she was sitting on, and then unfolded the letter in her lap, clearing her throat.

“The first part is pleasantries. Just asking after my brother, so I’ll skip it—“

Anwyn nodded impatiently, motioning for her to continue.

“The news of Blackthorns passing brings me much sorrow. He was a learned man, as I have told you before, a scholar with a keen mind for potions and an even keener grasp of those great— how do you say it uh—,” Singe’s face screwed up as she tried to find the correct translation. “—philosophical questions in life. What makes a wizard great? Where does our power come from? And what determines our differences with muggles— see I told you he was boring, he rants about this for the next page—“

“Keep reading,” Anwyn urged her.

“Alright, but I’m skipping the history lesson— uh here we go— Blackthorn came to us at a time of great turmoil. War had broken out in Europe, you had not long been born, leaving your mother ailing— oh he loves to rub that fact in,” Signe said bitterly. “And your brother was already showing signs of powerful, uncontrolled magic. Blackthorn was a stalwart friend in my hour of need, and his wife a joyful influence on your dearest, waning Mother,”

“My Mum was there,” Anwyn muttered. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, she knew they’d eloped straight out of Hogwarts, but her mother had never mentioned this family or any time spent in Sweden.

“By the time they made their leave,” Signe continued. “You were already learning to walk, and they’re absence left a hole in our home. I can only hope that you might rekindle some form of connection between our great families, a balm for the grief I now experience,”

She sat the letter down, and both girls stared at the flowing script in silence, brows furrowed. Signe finally tipped the envelope upside down, a second item falling out onto her hand.

“He sent this photograph,”

Anwyn took it from her with shaking hands, holding it up to the light. It was old, yellowed with time, but the occupants still shuffled together, squeezing into the frame. At the back stood two gentlemen, one a shock of near white hair on his head, the other a mop of dark curls. They were straight backed, faces solemn as they rested their hands on the shoulders of their wives.

Bethan, Anwyn’s mum, looked as energetic as ever, a bright smile across her features, bouncing a giggling baby with an already sprouting mess of curls on her hip. The other woman seemed tiny in comparison, a shrunken poor soul who seemed to sway slightly just from the effort of posing, the pale blonde baby on her hip bawling her eyes out. Between them stood a small boy, perhaps only two or three in age, lip wobbling dangerously despite the serious expression he was clearly trying to copy from his father.

“That’s us,” Anwyn said weakly. “That’s actually you and me,”

“No wonder our fathers got on,” Signe said, peering over Anwyn’s shoulder. “They both look as miserable as each other,”

“You would too if you grew up with the Blackthorns,” Anwyn replied, squinting down at the photo. She drew it closer to her face, looking at the little boy in the front. “What did your Dad mean? About your brothers uncontrolled magic?”

Signe gave a humourless laugh. “Oh, Anders was always the over achiever. He cast his first accidental spell before I was even born,”

“What did he do?”

“Set the dining table on fire when he didn’t get his favourite pudding. The whole thing up in flames,” she made an explosive motion with her hands. “Made my first spell look pathetic in comparison,”

Anwyn realised her mouth was hanging open, and shut it with a dull click of teeth. “What was yours?”

A wry smile tugged at Signe’s mouth. “I made father’s nostril hair grow down to his waist. It certainly stopped his lecturing for a second. How about yours? Do you remember it?”

Anwyn flashed a shy smile back. “I conjured a rain cloud in the sitting room when I was eight. Completely soaked my uncle,”

“Pfft,” Signe blew a gust of air between her teeth. “I bet he was mad”

“What?” Anwyn’s brow dropped in confusion. “What do you mean mad?”

“You said you soaked him? My father had be copying passages out of history books for days, I can imagine making a rain cloud didn’t go down well,”

Anwyn shook her head. “No— no there was no punishment. In fact he was proud. Said we should be celebrating my first spell,”

“Huh,” Signe gave her an appraising look. “Sounds like your mothers side are far nicer than your fathers,”

“That’s an understatement,”

Signe slid from the table, stretching her arms above her head with a groan. “Well there you have it. Your father stayed with my family for a bit. Does that answer your questions?”

Anwyn looked down at the photograph, watching as her father shuffled in place, his hand tightening on her mothers shoulder. She looked up at the Durmstrang girl, shaking her head. “No. In fact it just raises more questions. Why were we there? And where did we go after? Can you ask your father for more information?”

Signe crossed her arms. “I guess,” she said, although she looked unsure. “Although that’s more letters than I’d usually like to send to the old bore. Write down your exact questions and I’ll send them,”

“Thank you,” Anwyn said, eyes flicking back to the photo. “Do you think your brother— Anders was it? Would he remember anything,”

“I doubt it,” Signe replied. “But I’ll ask him. If he’s not too busy following the Beauxbatons girls around,”

Anwyn handed the photograph back to her, distracted. The whole thing was so odd. There was an entire span of her life that she didn’t know had existed. She rummaged in her bag for a pasty, biting distractedly into the soft pastry. There was only one thing for it. Signe wasn’t going to be the only one writing to home with questions.

———

Remus pushed absently at the cooling mashed potatoes on his plate, watching as his niece’s script spread across the page. The message book had started flashing a few moments after he’d sat down with the reheated leftovers, and he’d opened it immediately across the papers he’d been reading. To his relief, todays message contained no news of impending dragon fights, surprise death tournaments, or midnight panic attacks.

Hey, I wrote to Mum last week but she’s not replied. Did she get my letter?

Remus suppressed a groan, needling away at the bridge if his nose with his finger tips. It was a familiar question, one he’d found himself answering many times before.

I’m sure she has, but I’ll check. She’s been very busy with work lately. Is it urgent?

No response came, just a series of inky dots on the paper, as if Anwyn was irritably tapping her quill on the parchment.

Remus sighed, and then pressed his quill to the page. I’ll go ask her now. Give me a second.

The reply he received was quick, scribbled.

Thanks

He levered himself out of the window seat, and found that Bethan’s office door was shut, light streaming out from under it. There was a muffled response as he knocked, and when he swung the door open he found her pouring over photographs spread over her desk.

“Did you finish that Shepherds pie?” She asked absently.

“Just having it now, thank you,”

“Good, because you’re waisting away Remus, you need to remember to eat—“

“Have you had a letter from Anwyn?” He interrupted her lecturing, leaning on the door frame. “She’s asking if you’ve received it,”

“Playing post-owl now are we?” Bethan asked, still not turning around.

“I just said I’d ask,” Remus replied, already exasperated.

“Yes,” Bethan finally turned from the table. “I did get it. I’ve just not had a chance to reply, I’ve been up to my ears in interviews, and digging up things best left in the past has not been on my todo list—“

Alarm bells immediately started ringing in Remus’ head. “What do you mean things better left in the past?”

“Oh she’s asking about old acquaintances, people I’ve not spoken to in years. Friends of Sebastian’s—“

“This man from Sweden? Nillson was it?”

Bethan frowned. “How do you know about him?”

“She asked,” Remus said simply. “When I met her in Hogsmeade. Something about a Durmstrang girl saying that her father knew Sebastian,”

To his surprise, Bethan swore under the breath, hands gripping onto the back of her chair as she stared down at her feet, clearly conflicted about something. When she finally looked back up, her face was deadly serious.

“If she asks again, distract her. No good can come out of digging all this up—“

“She’s fifteen years old Bethan, I can hardly just wave some chocolate in front of her to grab her attention anymore,” he replied. “She wants to know about her father. And to be frank, with the way your reacting to this, so do I—“

Bethan’s voice was rising. “There’s nothing to discuss, it’s best left alone—“

“Why? Why do you need to hide him from her?” Remus finally stepped into the room. “I haven’t pushed Bethan, I’ve never pushed. Even when you turned up in the dead of night, I took Anwyn in, no questions asked—“

“Oh you asked plenty of questions, by my recollection,” she muttered bitterly.

“And I dropped them when you asked,” he ground out. “I can see that whatever happen clearly left its mark, and you’d rather not discuss it. Fine. I’ve given up on getting straight answers from you. But Anwyn deserves to know what happened to her father—“

“She deserves peace Remus,” Bethan interrupted. “And finding out about him won’t bring that,”

“And keeping her in the dark will?” He asked incredulously. “So you’ll do what? Just continue to sweep it under the rug? Because she’s clearly digging here Bethan, have you considered that this Nillson might tell her whatever it is your hiding? Wouldn’t it be better coming from you?”

Bethan opened her mouth to argue, but hesitated, turning back to the desk of photographs, her back to him once more. Remus eyes the table, catching movement on a number of familiar scenes. The death eaters at the Quidditch World Cup again.

“Nillson doesn’t know. Now will you let me get back to work please?”

Remus let out a deep sigh, absently popping the finger joints of his right hand. This was the way it always went. The way this conversation always ended. With Bethan stone walling him, and him giving in to her stubborness. He turned to leave, but a little worm of anxiety stopped him in the doorway.

“Is she safe?” He asked quietly. “Anwyn. Does any of this put her in harms way? Because if it does, I’d rather know—“

“She’s safe,” Bethan said as she began shuffling photographs. “Sebastian made sure of that,”

He nodded to himself, attempting to will away the worry that had lodged itself in his chest. He’d take her word for it. It’s all he could do.

“Just write,” he said as he pulled the door shut behind him. “She wants to hear from you,”

Bethan didn’t respond, her stiff back unreadable. Remus said no more, shutting the door with a quiet click. He knew when he’d lost the fight.

By the time he returned to the message book, his mashed potatoes were a congealed, cold splodge on the plate.

———

Wynnie,

Not long until the Yule Ball! Are you excited? I can’t wait to hear all about it, and I hear you’ll be home for the trial so be sure to tell me all the details! I’ve sent a little something in the box with this Owl. Now don’t be worried, this one was bought on a budget but I tried to keep the old dress in mind. Think of it as an early Christmas present from your uncle and I—

Anwyn sat the letter down, glancing at the black box sitting in front of her on her desk. She pulled at the the twine holding the lid on, and peaked inside, the contents appearing to be a carefully folded pile of mauve silk. She fingered the dress robes, a flicker of guilt thrumming through her chest as she remembered how she’d left the last one, and then tucked the box in under her feet, turning back to the letter.

Now, as to your questions. I’m afraid I don’t recall much about the Nillsons. We stayed with them for a short spell not long after you were born, I believe your father was interested in Mr Nillsons extensive library for his potions research, but past that point we lost touch when we moved on through Europe. I’m sorry to hear about Mrs Nillson. She was a lovely woman. It’s nice to hear that you’re making friends with her daughter.

“She’s lying,” Anwyn muttered, chewing on a fingernail as she skimmed the rest of the letter which was filled with empty small talk.

“How do you know?”

“It’s what she does,” she replied. “She— she distracts with— with presents or— or peace offerings and hopes that I don’t notice while she tells blatant lies to my face!”

Anwyn pinged the letter away with her fingertips, slumping back into her chair and fixing her eyes on the board at the front of the class. They had a few moments before the lesson would begin, and McGonagall was drawing complicated diagrams with chalk that already made her brain hurt. 

“It doesn’t quite line up,” Signe said as she picked up the discarded letter. “That they barely spent any time with my family. That’s not what father says at all,”

“So that implies that one of them is lying, doesn’t it,” Anwyn replied, tapping her fingers off the wood of the desk. “And it’s obviously her. She’s never straight up with me, she’s never told me what happened to my Dad—”

“Why?”

“Hell if I know”,

“Maybe”, Signe said, inspecting a chip on black painted nail, “-maybe she has some sort of torrid secret. Maybe your father is not your father. Or maybe she killed him—“

“Oh come on—“ 

“You never know,” she shrugged. “Families are full of secrets. Especially old ones. I’m fairly certain my grandmother killed my grandfather,” 

A flicker somewhere between shock and intrigue broke through Anwyn’s irritation. “Really? What makes you think that?” 

Signe opened her mouth to reply, but there was a shark clap from the front of the class. “If I can have your attention please,” McGonagall said sharply. “We will be turning to page 266 of your text books,” 

The room rustled with turning pages, and as Anwyn pulled her textbook towards her, she couldn’t help but shoot the girl beside her a curious look. 

Her mother was certainly lying about their involvement with Signe’s family. And Anwyn was beginning to wonder just what type of family they were. 

Notes:

The mystery continues!

Thanks again for reading everyone!

Chapter 16: The Yule Ball Approaches

Despite the winter chill which had well and truly descended, there was one place in Hogwarts that was always boiling; the greenhouses. The heat in there seemed to build up with the smallest amount of sunlight, and once the temperature rose, there was no escape. There was also no escape from Sarah’s frantic analysis of their Yule Ball date situation.

“I’m not speaking to him,” Sarah said resolutely with a firm pout. “If he can’t work up the courage to ask me, then he doesn’t get to talk to me,”

“Sarah,” Anwyn slammed her trowel into the dirt, hammering home each word with a hard scoop. “Just. Ask. Him,”

“No! That’s what he wants!”

“Then what’s the problem again?” Signe asked as she weaved the wicker support that would wrap around their shrub. “If he wants you to ask, and you want him to ask, just ask. And then it’s over with,”

“And we can stop talking about it,” Anwyn muttered, wiping mud from her cheek, and only managing to spread it further.

Sarah gave a dramatic little moan. “You just don’t understand. If there was someone you fancied—“

“Hey,” Anwyn pointed her trowel threateningly. “I fancy plenty of people,”

“The drummer from the Wyrd Sisters doesn’t count!”

Anwyn sighed, looking around the room for inspiration, and spotted the sea of yellow and black robes. “What about Cedric? Everyone fancies Cedric!”

“Who’s Cedric?” Signe asked in a monotone voice.

“The Cedric?” Sarah snapped. “Hogwarts Champion?”

Signe wrinkled her nose. “The short boy? With glasses?”

“No— that’s Harry! And anyway, it doesn’t matter, because Cedric is going with Cho Chang, so he’s obviously not going to ask Anwyn,”

“Ouch,” Anwyn replied. “True, but harsh Sarah. Very harsh. And here I thought our woodland ramble at the World Cup could have been the start of a grand romance,”

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Signe announced, sliding down off her stool to wedge the wicker into the dirt. “Boys suck. They spend too much time thinking with their dicks and not their heads,”

Anwyn felt her face heat slightly, and shot a look at Sarah who looked equally mortified. The other Hufflepuff was twisting one of the shrub leaves between her fingers to the point that it looked like it would snap off at any second.

“Russell’s not— Russell’s not like that,”

“Sure,” Signe said lightly. “If you say so. Perhaps if he’s so nice, you should ask him to the ball,”

Anwyn gave a snort of laughter, and then scooped one final trowel full of soil to the side, motioning for Sarah to drop the roots in to the hole she’d made.

Sarah cleared her throat, apparently composing herself. “Regardless. You two better start coming up with a plan. Or you won’t have anyone to go with,”

“What a shame,” Signe replied quietly, shooting Anwyn a smirk.

She returned it with a hesitant smile. If only she had Signe’s confidence, perhaps going to the ball alone wouldn’t bother her. But right now, she couldn’t help but feel it would just be another mark against her already dwindling social status.

----

“What are you reading?”

Anwyn lowered the book to her lap, glancing to her side. Signe was flicking absently through her own novel, a small, crinkled paperback that looked like it had been read a thousand times. They’d spent the past hour reading in a companionable silence, punctured only my Anwyn’s intrusive thoughts telling her she should try and make conversation.

“It’s uh— it’s a muggle children’s book. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe,”

“Muggle hmm?” Signe held out her hand, and after a moments hesitation Anwyn handed it over, waiting for the teasing to start, but when Signe spoke again it took her by surprise. “Sounds interesting. I’ve not read a lot of muggle books, is it good?”

“Yeah,” Anwyn replied, confidence growing in her voice. “Yeah it’s very cosy. I like reading muggle fantasy novels. It’s really interesting to see what they do with concepts like magic,”

“Do they get it right often?”

She screwed up her mouth as she thought. “Hmm. Not really. But it’s entertaining. What are you reading?”

Signe made a dismissive noise in her throat. “It’s shit. Some supernatural romance story, the authors just introduced a love triangle,”

“What’s supernatural romance?”

“Oh you know, like where the heroine falls in love with a monster. Like a vampire or a ghoul or something. This one’s a woman who runs away with an Inferi,”

Anwyn gave a snort of laughter. “That’s ridiculous,”

“Yeah, but it’s usually funny at least. This one’s just—,” she stopped mid sentence as a group of students turned the corner and started to walk down the stairs, and then jumped off the bench. “I’ll be back in two seconds”,

Perplexed, Anwyn watched her hurry to the stairs, following the group down, and then lowered her gaze back to her book, trying to ignore the feeling that she’d just been ditched. Signe’s book still sat on the bench where she’d left it though, so she focused on the words in front of her and pushed away the doubt.

Two pairs of feet appeared in her vision.

“This is Anders,” Signe said in a tone of voice that suggested she’d rather be doing anything else. “Anders this is Anwyn,”

Anwyn glanced up to find that Signe had brought over her brother, a tall boy with the same ashy blonde hair. Up close it was hard to describe him as anything but handsome, with a sharp jaw, high cheekbones and a mischievous glint in his cold, grey eyes. She gave what she initially thought was a relaxed, cool little wave, and then immediately felt foolish, her face heating up.

“Hi,” Anders said with a crooked smile. He reached a hand up, pushing his hair back off his forehead.

“Stop that shit,” Signe snapped, and he wheeled around, aghast.

“What, I didn’t do anything?!”

“You’re flirting. You do it with every girl,”

“I am not!” He protested, flicking Anwyn and uneasy look. “It’s just called being friendly Siggy, you should try it,”

“Don’t call me that, for fucks sake— right, just— just tell her what you told me and then leave us alone,”

He sighed, tapping his foot on the flagstones. “Can I sit down at least?”

Signe gave no response, her glare unflinching. He turned to Anwyn instead, his voice losing the whining tone.

“Can I sit down?”

Anwyn gave a quick nod, shuffling over to make room, and Anders chucked himself down on the stone bench, stretching his legs out leisurely in front of him, ankles crossed. He squirmed on the spot, before pulling out Signe’s now even more crumpled book from under him, snickering as he looked at the cover.

“Love After Death?” He read the title. “Really—“

Signe snatched the book out of his hands, pressing it against her chest. “Get on with it,”

“Right,” he said, matter of factly. “So Siggy—“

“Stop it—“

“Siggy says that your family stayed with us when we were young? I’m afraid I don’t really remember much, perhaps only snippets. A face here and there. I would have only been two or three after all. Do you have the photograph?”

Anwyn nodded, opening her satchel. The photo, which she and Signe had already inspected a few times since their initial read of the letter, was tucked safely inside one of the small internal pockets, away from any potions ingredients that could damage it.

“Here,” she held it out.

Anders held the photo to his face, screwing up his nose as if that would improve his eyesight. He then held it at arms length, closing one eye, and then turned it over, inspecting the back.

“Yes, I believe this was Winter 1980,”

“You remember that just from looking at the photo?” Anwyn asked incredulously.

“No,” he shot her a smirk. “It’s written on the back,”

“Oh give me that,” Signe grabbed the photo from him, turning it over, and Anwyn heard her curse under her breath. “So you’re saying you don’t remember anything?”

“Nothing at all,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“So this has been a complete waste of time then,”

“Not completely. I finally got to find out who you’ve been hanging about with all this time. Starting a little detective gang are we? Or a book club?

His grin only served to enrage his sister further, her nostrils flaring as she stared him down. It was the first time, Anwyn realised, that she’d seen Signe show anything other than cool indifference. It seemed that Anders knew exactly how to wind his sister up, and took great joy in doing so.

“Anwyn,” she ground out between clenched teeth. “We should get to Remedial Transfiguration,”

Anwyn frowned, looking up at Signe from her nervous perch on the edge of the stone bench. “But you don’t go to remedial transfiguration—“

Signe blinked rapidly at her from wide, piercing eyes. “We. Should really. Get. Going,”

She turned on her heel, and started to march towards the stairs, fur cloak flapping behind her like it had come back to life. Anwyn looked between her and her brother, who’s grin had widened and was watching his sister go with a raised eye brow.

“I better—“ she stuttered. “I better go,”

She scrambled to her feet, throwing her satchel over her shoulder, and nearly tripped over her feet in her effort to catch up, face heating to a hot, ruby red.

“Nice to meet you,” Anders called after her, a hint of mirth in his voice.

Anwyn shot a wide eyed looked back at him over her shoulder, giving another awkward wave, and then stumbled down the stairs after Signe.

---

Though the Yule Ball was just over a week away, the teachers didn’t seem to take that as a sign to lower the fifth years work loads. In fact they were piling on the homework, as if overloading the students would make up for a few weeks off for Christmas.

History of Magic was proving, once again, to be the most frustrating. Most of the answers to their essay subjects lay in massive books that were far too heavy to carry around the school, and the library only had a few copies of each. The only blessing was that everyone was so occupied with worrying about their date to the ball, that Anwyn found that she was often first to the library after dinner.

Tonight was one of those nights. She was scribbling dates down when the boy approached, eyes beginning to feel the strain as she held the lantern as close to the ancient, tinderbox pages as was safe.

“Hey Anwyn,”

The voice was not one she recognised. Anwyn looked up from her book, quill dripping ink onto her parchment. The boy hovering at the end of the aisle wasn’t in uniform, and his face wasn’t instantly recognisable, but she had a vague recollection of seeing him around. He had his hands buried into his pockets, flicking nervous looks around the library.

“How’s it going?” He asked.

She looked back to her parchment, hesitantly sitting the quill back into the ink pot. “Uh...fine? Thanks?”

“Uh I’m—“ he swallowed heavily. “I’m Alec? Alec Cartwright? I’m in the year above?”

“Yeah,” she replied, her voice coming out as a slight squeak. She cleared her throat. “Yeah of course. I’m Anwyn,”

His mouth curled in a small smile. “I know,”

“Ahh. Yeah,” she looked back down to her book, containing an embarrassed wince.

“Listen I was just wondering...I’ve seen you around and I think you’re...well I think you’re pretty cool. Do you fancy going to the Yule Ball with me?”

Her face was burning, a bright hot blush that spread up her neck and into her cheeks. She was suddenly having trouble swallowing as she looked wide eyed at the boy. Sure she didn’t know him, but he was kind of cute. He had little dimples, one slightly higher than the other, and his dark hair was messy in an effortless kind of way. And surely he got plus points even just for asking? No one else had shown an interest so far. Maybe it would be fun.

“A-alright,” she stammered. “Why not? That would be— that would be nice,”

“Great!” He said brightly. “I’ll meet you at the entrance hall. Just make sure you’ve dealt with the fleas before then—“

He broke off into something close to a choking laugh as the stacks behind Anwyn erupted into snickering, the hissing laughter of barely contained mirth. She felt the blood drain as swiftly from her face as it had rushed there, a familiar sick feeling growing in her chest.

“What— what do you mean?”

“Oh, you know,” he replied, his body now shaking with suppressed laughter. “The fleas. I’m sure you’re entire family is covered in them. They just love werewolves—“

Anwyn’s chair toppled over in her hurried effort to stand. The laughter on the other side of the stacks had burst out in full, and she caught a glimpse of two dark haired figures poking their heads around the end of the shelves, beside themselves with glee. Her hands shook with a mixture of rage and embarrassment as she slammed the book shut, bundling her work into her satchel at a pace that crumbled the parchment and smudged the ink.

By the time she shouldered past the boy, who she was now realising must have been one of the older Slytherins, her eyes were burning, and she was silently praying that the library floor would open and swallow her whole.

How could she be so stupid? Why did she think that any boy, never mind one that was even mildly attractive would be interested in her, with her frizzy hair, weirdo family and penchant for being overdramatic. The look on his face when he’d started laughing, Merlin—

Anwyn reached the common room door, scrubbing hard at her eyes. It did little to stop the tears that were leaking out of them, nor to ease the ache in her chest, but she shouldered her way through the round porthole, hoping that there wouldn’t be many people inside.

She was lucky, the crowd by the fire was small tonight, but it did contain Sarah and Annabelle, whispering between themselves as they shot looks at the fifth year boys on the other sofa. Sarah looked up when Anwyn entered, the smile sliding from her face somewhat.

“Anwyn, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she replied, voice wobbling. “I don’t want to talk about it,”

“Was it a boy?” Annabelle asked with a sympathetic grimace.

Anwyn hesitated before giving a miserable nod. “My cousins dared him to ask me to the ball. I’ve never been so fucking embarrassed in my life,”

“What an arse!” Sarah exclaimed. “Who was it, I’ll give him a leg locking jinx next time he passes—“

“No— no it’s fine,” Anwyn replied. “I told you, I don’t want to talk about it,”

“Come on, we can’t let him get away with it—“

“We can! We will!” She moaned, turning to the stairs. “I’m an idiot for even entertaining it— just…just leave it okay?”

The two girls looked between each other, clearly not convinced. But it was too late to argue any further. Anwyn was already at the top of the stairs, heading towards her bed for a good, old fashioned wallow in misery.

---

It was far to warm under her duvet, but she didn’t want to stick her head out regardless, far too ashamed of her puffy, blotchy face. She could hear the other girls in her room whispering excitedly despite the late hour, and she tried to keep her breathing even, as if she was asleep.

“He asked me for help on his astronomy homework,” Sarah was whispering. “So I met him at the top of the astronomy tower, and he’d brought these little cakes from the kitchen—“

“Oh that’s so sweet!”

“And then I was looking through the telescope, and when I turned back he was looking at me with this— this look on his face, and that’s when he asked! It was so romantic—“

They dissolved into excited giggles, and Anwyn sniffed miserably, her nose all but blocked with snot from the sticky crying she’d been doing for the past few hours. The book she’d tried to distract herself with lay abandoned on the mattress. She fingered the corners of the message book beside it, debating internally whether or not she should write.

Changed my mind, want to come home for Christmas

Hey, the Yule Ball sucks, I’m coming home

Did you know I’m a massive loser who only gets asked out as a dare?

Thanks for the dress that I’m sure you and Mum paid too much money for, shame it’ll go to waste because I’m coming home.

No, there were some things, she thought, that were just too pathetic to write home about. Some things that couldn’t be fixed with a bandage, a hug and a hot chocolate. She wasn’t a child anymore. She’d have to deal with her own problems. Especially when they were as embarrassing as this.

Anwyn pushed the books under her pillow, scrunching her itching eyes shut to stop the tears starting again, and tried to will herself to sleep.

---

“Alright badgers!” Sprouts booming voice seemed to bounce off the walls of the great hall. “Now, I’m sure you’re all as excited about today as I am, so please, girls line up on one side, boys in the other and we’ll get started!”

The two groups split off, some in more of a hurry than others, a murmur of excitement casting a faint buzz through the hall. Anwyn reluctantly shuffled over with the girls from her year, wishing she could have just snuck off on her own. It seemed pointless to learn how to waltz for a dance that she wouldn’t have a partner for.

Professor Sprout had asked for a volunteer, and Cedric had graciously stepped forward, earning a wave of giggling from what seemed like more than half of the room. He towered over the little Herbology teacher, bowing to her before offering a hand as the music started.

“Right!” Sprout shouted over the music as they took each others hands. “Watch us everyone, pay attention,”

The dance began, the odd couple spinning in the centre of the room while Sprout shouted the dance steps in a booming voice.

“Do you think Snape taught the Slytherins how to waltz?” She whispered to Sarah. “I can’t imagine him even attending the ball, never mind dancing,”

“What poor girl had to hold his hand,” Sarah replied with a grimace as Cedric spun Professor Sprout on the spot, the Herbology teacher giving a whoop of laughter. “I’d rather dance with Sprout any day,”

Anwyn, who’s brain chose that moment to remind her of the frantic minutes in the shrieking shack where she’d clawed at the iron grip he had on her arm, couldn’t help but agree.

“I’m really regretting not just asking to go home from the start,” she muttered sullenly. “I tried to ask Sprout and she didn’t want to hear it. Said it would be a good experience for me,”

“She’s right Anwyn, don’t let that arsehole spoil it for you!” Sarah have her a playful push. “I’ll dance with you!”

“You’ll be too busy dancing with Russell. I’m not going to be your third wheel!”

“Nonsense, we’ll both dance with you,”

“Everybody now!” Sprout shouted from the middle of the room. “Find a partner—“

The girls scrambled away from the wall, Sarah immediately disappearing from Anwyn’s side to meet Russell in the middle, who gave a deep bow, eliciting a burst of laughter from his partner. Anwyn looked at the line of boys left, all of them shuffling their feet and attempting to avoid eye contact with anyone. A short sixth year stepped forward, his shirt half tucked in to his trousers.

“Alright?” He asked, before dragging the back of his hand over his nose. He snorted, his breathing sounding stuffy and snotty. “Brian,”

Anwyn guessed that he was introducing himself, though it wasn’t necessary. Brian was well known in the common room as the boy who’d happily turn up to class in the same shirt he’d worn all week. Judging by the strong smell of body odour, today wasn’t much different.

“Come on badgers!” Sprout was urging them, and Anwyn reluctantly took Brian’s hand. It was terribly clammy.

They began with the first few simple steps, every single one ending with Brian’s feet crushing her own. His nose was starting to run, and he let go of her hand briefly to wipe it on his sleeve again. Anwyn forced herself not to grimace.

“STEP, STEP, SIDE STEP, TWIRL— COME ON, YOU CALL THAT A TWIRL O’DONNELL?—“

They spun past Sarah and Russell, the other girl sending Anwyn a sympathetic wince as they nearly crashed into the couple, and then after what seemed like a age, the song came to a slow, ponderous end. Brian mercifully let go of her hand, leaving it feeling sticky.

“Cheers,” he told her scratching at his side. “Good dance,”

“Umm— thanks. You…too?”

“You got a partner for the ball?”

Was this going to be it? Was Brian going to be her only option? In a split second, Anwyn tried to figure out of it was worth having a date if it had to be him.

“No…” she replied slowly.

“Ahh sucks to be you,” he sniffed. “I’m going with my girlfriend. She’s in Gryffindor,”

“Oh,” Anwyn said, trying to keep her face mild. “Well…uh…have fun? I guess?”

“Yeah,” Brian replied, but his attention was already gone, his gaze searching the crowd until he spotted his friends, and he slouched off without another word.

The next song began, and Anwyn slunk back to her seat, trying to decide if she’d dodged a bullet or sunk to a brand new all time low.

---

“Right anything else?” Signe asked. “So far I’ve asked about your fathers research, how long they stayed, why they left—,”

Anwyn watched as a Ravenclaw couple hurried past, linked so closely arm in arm that it was as if they were glued together. Merlin this was depressing.

“Hey!” Signe kicked her foot. “Are you even listening? Do you want me to write to Father or not?”

“Sorry,” Anwyn replied quickly, turning back to the Durmstrang girl. “I am listening, honest,”

Signe sniffed, cool eyes drilling into Anwyn’s face. “You’ve been quiet all week. More than usual I mean. What’s going on?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing,”

“Because if you’re getting bored, I don’t have to write to him, believe me, I’d prefer not to—“

“No!” Anwyn said. “No, really, I appreciate your help. It’s just...”

She trailed off, staring back across the atrium where another gaggle of giggling teenage girls were passing. Two Durmstrang boys passed them in the other direction, and Anwyn spotted one of them shoot a wink at the girls.

“Just what?” Signe asked.

“This whole Yule Ball thing,” she finally replied miserably. “I think I’m going to be the only person in the whole school going on my own,”

“No, you’re not,”

“I must be, everyone else has a date already—“

“I don’t,”

Anwyn’s head whipped round, eyes widening. “Seriously? I thought you would have had loads of proposals?”

Signe gave her a mischievous smirk. “Oh, you think so?”

Her tongue suddenly felt too big for her mouth, and she began to stutter a reply, but the Durmstrang girl was already laughing.

“I’ve had a few, I’ll admit. All from weird, snivelling little Slytherins. One of them was a second year, can you imagine? I think he just wanted a free pass to the ball”

“But you turned them down?” Anwyn asked.

Signe nodded, rolling her eyes. “They’re just interested because they think Durmstrang is some cool dark arts school. They’d be very disappointed,” she eyed Anwyn for a second, before leaning in conspiratorially. “One of them was your cousin. The dark haired boy,”

“Silas?” Anwyn choked. “Silas asked you out?”

“Yup. I told him I’d rather eat pickled slugs,”

The disbelieving laugh that burst out of Anwyn echoed off the stone walls of the atrium, and a few students looked their way. She clapped a hand over her mouth, trying to contain the sound, and Signe flashed her a smile.

“So you see, I don’t have a date either. We can be loners together,”

Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. She could eat too much food, watch the other students make fools of themselves and then head off to bed whenever she felt like it. Granted, Signe could pull off the cool loner look far better than her, she practically oozed indifference after all, but perhaps if they stuck together she’d look a lot less like a social outcast.

“Yeah”, she replied, a smile slowly spreading across her face. “Yeah I guess that would be good,”

“Great, it’s a date,” Signe said, turning back to the half written letter on her knee

Anwyn’s heart gave a little thrum at her words, and she fidgeted with the stitching on the sleeve of her robes, unsure why she was suddenly feeling so nervous. Singe’s attention was fully on the letter again however, so she didn’t seem to notice.

“So does that all sound okay? Any other questions? I’ll ask for any more photographs he has too,”

“Yeah that all sounds perfect, thanks,”

“Great,” Signe popped the lid back on her ink pot. “Come on then. I’m starving. You can show me how to get into the kitchens,”

Anwyn nodded, clambering to her feet, and tried to ignore the churning in her stomach. She wasn’t going to be alone for the dance. That was a good thing, wasn’t it? Maybe now she could just relax, and enjoy the last few days of term before her Christmas holidays started. Or at least, she thought resolutely, she would do her very best to try.

Notes:

Hey folks! Hopefully you’re all reading this and we’ve not been chucked out again…time will tell.

The down time gave me a chance to knock out another chapter so that’s good I guess. Thanks hackers?

As someone who grew up in Scotland with highland dancing being a winter gym class tradition, the idea of Sprout shouting like a drill sergeant filled me with great joy. Our teachers always took those classes way too seriously.

The Yule Ball is next up! I’m sure it will be completely uneventful….

Chapter 17: The Yule Ball

The buzz of voices echoed from the entrance hall, bouncing off the stone walls. She could hear them from where she hovered at the top of the stairs from the kitchens, trailing dress clasped tightly in one hand. It seemed like half the school were already gathered outside of the hall. Yet Anwyn couldn’t seem to work up the courage to join them.

She adjusted the dress around her feet, smoothing down the silk with sticky, clammy hands. The dress at least, was by no means ugly. In fact, her mother had done a fantastic job trying to find something that matched her old one, in both colour and fit. It was a lot plainer, missing the lace detailing and the beautiful trailing trains over the shoulders, but it still hung in a wave of silk from from her waist, leaving her feeling like she was floating with every step. She especially liked how the billowing sleeves flowed down to her wrists, transparent but enough to cover her arms. The bodice however, felt uncomfortably tight. She kept resisting the urge to tug at it, convinced that she looked like she’d been stuffed into too small a dress, and as a result, she’d never felt more self conscious in her life.

“Wyns,” Russell poked his head back around the corner where he’d disappeared with Sarah. “You coming?”

“Yeah”, she said hurriedly. “Yeah just getting used to these shoes,”

By the time she’d climbed the last few stairs and turned the corner, Russell was already latched back onto Sarah’s arm. The two of them, she had to admit, looked great together, Russell’s dark robes accented with a tie that matched Sarah’s emerald green ball gown. She followed them down to the entrance hall where Russell left them to greet a few of his friends, and the two girls found a spot on the balcony overlooking the great wooden doors.

“The other schools should be arriving soon,” Sarah told her excitedly. “And then the whole thing will kick off!”

She was right, Anwyn could already see Harry down on the floor below looking thoroughly miserable alongside a lace covered Ron, and the Hufflepuff champion was already climbing the stairs towards the great hall.

Cedric Diggory looked like someone had dressed a Greek statue and sent it off to the ball. His date, Cho Chang, was just as beautiful, and for a moment Anwyn and Sarah watched the two of them pass in silence. They weren’t the only ones, she noted. There were multiple broken hearted girls watching them pass, some openly glaring at Cho, others completely enraptured, murmuring breaking out behind them as they went.

“We never stood a chance,” Sarah sighed, and Anwyn nodded in agreement.

“They’re too perfect. Just…ugh too perfect,” She gave a vague sigh of longing, and then turned to see the Durmstrang students marching through the doors.

Krum was there at the front of course, with a pretty girl in a periwinkle blue dress. But her attention wasn’t on them. It was on the girl stepping through the door in a floor length, snow white gown, white fur around her shoulders. Her lips were stained a bright, vibrant red, and she’d enhanced her eyes with a little smudge of smoke.

As Signe spotted her, catching her eye, Anwyn’s breath caught in her throat. Her heart hammered, suddenly twice the pace in her chest, and she had another jarring sense of longing, not unlike the one she’d just experienced when—

Oh fuck, just like when she’d seen Cedric. And she knew what that meant, she was more than used to nursing that particularly unrealistic crush. But this. This was— this was Signe, and—

Oh shit.

She was coming this way.

“Hey,” Signe said lightly as she climbed the last few stairs, tucking a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

All Anwyn could manage to do was wave in greeting, not quite ready to test her voice. Her mind was racing, the implications of the way her stomach was flipping thoroughly and totally encompassing everything.

“Shall we find our table?” Signe asked, look past her into the hall where the other students were starting to gather.

Anwyn nodded, and then focused on placing one foot in front of the other. It was about all she could manage.

———

Christmas Day had been well and truly bizarre.

To begin with, it had been the first Christmas in 12 years in which Remus had been home, with no full moon, but no Anwyn. It was mildly unsettling at first, like they’d started the festivities without her and she was about to burst in at any second. By the time he’d settled in to the idea, he realised that he missed her more than he’d expected to. Christmas wasn’t quite the same without her reading the terrible cracker jokes out loud in stupid voices, nicking whatever chocolates he’d been gifted, and forcing them all to play stupid party games that they enjoyed more than they liked to admit. This was, he thought morosely, a depressing vision of the future. One day she’d be off on her own, perhaps spending time with her own family. It made him feel terribly, terribly old.

The second jarring point came in the form of Sirius Black. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he’d be sitting down for Christmas dinner with Sirius across the table from him, bright pink stovepipe hat from a cracker balanced on top of his head at a jaunty angle. It was somewhat like living in a fever dream, and every time Sirius looked his way he resisted the urge to pinch himself. He was actually there. Real and in the flesh.

He was doing so now. Sirius sat back with a contented sigh, throwing his napkin down on his plate. “That was possibly the best meal I’ve had in over twelve years,”

“I’ll take that,” Bethan replied with a laugh, raising her glass. “It’s not every day that someone compliments my cooking,”

“You did the sprouts and the gravy,” Remus shot her a disapproving look. “I distinctly remember rescuing the turkey,”

“Yes well,” she waved him away. “It was all very nice, none the less,”

“And I appreciate you putting up with me for the day,” Sirius added, picking up his own glass of wine.

Remus’ brow furrowed. “Nonsense. You’re welcome here anytime,”

Sirius shot him another one of those smiles, a half grin that was a flash of teeth, and then took a sip of wine. Remus found himself clasping at his own glass.

“Alright,” Bethan said suddenly, setting her glass down. “I’ve kept work chat away from the dinner table, but now we’re done I’ve got some news I’ve been desperate to share,”

“Congratulations Bethan, you’ve lasted a whole hour,” Remus replied dryly.

She shot him a withering look, but ploughed on regardless. “I’m hearing reports that a certain Barty Crouch is missing in action,”

Sirius sat forward in his chair. “Really? Since when?”

“Apparently he’s not been right since the World Cup, but he’s taken a leave of absence, stress related I hear. He won’t be at the Yule Ball tonight, I think he’s sent his assistant instead,”

“Interesting,” Sirius muttered, absently stroking at his stubble. “Very interesting,”

“A sign that it’s all too much for him?” Remus suggested. “Or trying to cover his tracks?”

Bethan shook her head. “Hard to say. I’ve been trying to track down the house elf but it appears she’s disappeared off the face of the earth,”

She pushed her chair back from the table, drawing her wand from the pocket of her cardigan and gave it a lazy wave. Dishes started to stack themselves, leftovers rolling off into a pile in one of the serving platters.

“Anyway,” she said. “I think it’s time for more wine, don’t you?”

Remus glanced across the table at Sirius, who was stretching his arms above his head, but noticed the distracted look on his face. He was clearly still thinking about Bethan’s news, and today was supposed to be a time for him to relax before the trial.

“Quite right,” Remus said loudly, sounding far more jolly that he felt. “Get some music on too. I’ll grab the chess board. Perhaps I can continue my winning streak,”

The grin was back on Sirius’ face, genuine and wide. And Remus had just made it his personal mission to keep it there.

———

Merlin, her head was a mess.

She’d spent the entirety of the meal trying to keep her eyes focused on her plate, which should have been easy considering the food had magically appeared on it by her own request. But she couldn’t help but shoot Signe furtive glances every few seconds, and the moments in which she’d been caught looking had sent her heart racing in her chest.

Maybe she was freaking out over nothing? Maybe she just wanted to be like Signe, that would be understandable—

“I like what you’ve done with your hair,” Signe said to her left.

Oh shit, her face was burning again. Anwyn cleared her throat, touching a hand up to the curls that were half bundled on her head. “Oh thanks, it was mainly Sarah’s work”,

“She wouldn’t sit still,” Sarah said to her other side, taking another spoon of trifle. “Absolute nightmare,”

“It’s suits you,”

She was suddenly crushed under pressure of giving a compliment back, completely lost as to what she should actually say. In the end her words came out as a hurried, blurted mess.

“I like your fur. It looks very…warm,”

Fur? What on earth was she thinking?

She was saved from any further embarrassment by Dumbledore standing up at the head table, tapping a spoon against his glass to get everyone’s attention.

“I think it’s time for a little musical entertainment, wouldn’t you say,” his voice echoed around the hall as a quiet hush fell.

He raised his wand, and the floor began to rise up in the centre of the room, a makeshift stage with floating blue candles shaped like icicles. The students began to rise from their chairs, crowding around the dance floor, and as Anwyn peered through the gaps she saw black clothed figures emerging.

All thoughts of romance took a swift departure from her brain.

“Is that— holy shit is that the Weird Sisters?” Anwyn practically screeched.

Sarah’s head snapped round.

“No fucking way,”

Signe gave them both an amused look. “Fans are you?”

“Eh…yeah, a little…” she replied, trying not to seem too deranged, but Russell had other ideas.

“Don’t you have posters of the drummer all over your bedroom?” He laughed , leaning over the back of his chair for a better look.

She sent him daggers across the table.

The band kicked into a slow, mournful song, black robes floating down to the floor, lit by the cool blue lights. Anwyn could feel the kick of the base drum in her chest as champions took to the floor, and she could just make out Harry turning Parvati awkwardly in a circle, but her attention was stolen once more by the band. Actually there. Right in front of her. For a second she thought she might actually cry.

“Come on,” Sarah grabbed her hand as she stood from the table. “We’re dancing,”

She didn’t have time to shoot Signe a look before she was dragged into the crowd. Students were already joining the champions in the middle, and as they reached the dance floor the music picked up into a frantic beat, the two girls flinging themselves into the group, jumping and dancing as if it was only them in the room. For a moment Anwyn didn’t care what she looked like, or who was watching, caught up in the pure euphoria of hearing her favourite band live, right in front of her.

“Wow, you really are a fan, aren’t you,”

Signe and Russell had managed to track them down, and Sarah immediately flung herself at the latter with an excited laugh, pulling him away into the crowd as the next song started up. Anwyn found her feet suddenly glued to the floor, face heating up. But Signe was looking expectantly at her.

“What? You don’t want to dance?”

“Uh—I—“ Anwyn stammered, her limbs feeling leaden. “Sure,”

Singe’s hand grabbed hers, immediately spinning Anwyn on the spot. She let out a nervous burst of laughter, feet stumbling underneath her, and when she turned back the other girl was grinning, her other arm held aloft as she danced on the spot. Her movements seemed effortless to Anwyn’s untrained eye, who’s own in comparison felt awkward, clumsy, and as the song continued she started to become more and more self conscious, overly aware of her limbs, the stiffness in her back. As the band faded out to an explosion of cheering, she hesitated on the spot, before muttering her excuses.

“Gonna— gonna go get a drink,”

The refreshments table was free from the press of bodies at the dance floor, and she gulped in greedy breaths, trying to stop her hands shaking as she spooned mulled wine into a glass.

“Are you alright?”

Anwyn flinched, nearly spilling the mulled wine all over the table. She turned to find Signe looking at her, one eyebrow raised as she crossed her arms.

“Yeah!” Anwyn squeaked. “Just thirsty,”

“It’s just you’re acting really odd tonight,” Signe grabbed a glass of her own, helping herself.

“Am I?” She tried to control the slight tremor in her voice. “I guess I’m just nervous. I’ve never really been to a big party like this before,”

Signe gave her a knowing smile. “It is a bit much isn’t it? A bit busy. We can go for a walk if you’d like? Get some fresh air?”

Anwyn looked across the dance floor, painfully aware that every single person there seemed to be coupled up and already showing varying degrees of infatuation. She spotted Sarah and Russell in the crowd, mouths locked together despite their Transfiguration teacher being mere metres from them.

She grimaced. “Yeah. Let’s get out of here,”

The entrance courtyard of the castle was gone, at least the form that Anwyn was familiar with, replaced instead with a sprawling rose garden conjured just for the night. Snow was thick on the ground, and the only light came from glimmer fairy lights sprinkled around the place. One of the lights lifted from a bush as they passed, and Anwyn realised that they were in fact real fairies, dotting every rose bush and shrub.

The benches near the doors were already occupied, and as they skirted the courtyard it seemed that other students had decided to take a nighttime stroll too. They’d reached the side furthest from the door when Signe made a revolted sound in her throat.

“Oh hello Siggy,” Anders greeted as he untangled himself from the Beauxbatons girl beside him. “Having a nice night?”

“If Karkaroff sees you—“

“Oh the old troll is too busy skulking around after Snape, who last I saw was taking house points off Hogwarts students for not keeping a foot apart at all times,”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Anwyn told him. “He has a nasty habit of turning up when you least expect it,”

“Don’t worry, I have my wits about me,” he flashed a disarming smile. “Now, introductions. Siggy, this is—“

“No,” Signe cut him off, grabbing Anwyn’s hand a sending a thrill of shock right up her arm. “Not doing this,”

She ignored her brothers startled laughter, and dragged Anwyn further into the gardens until it was clear that her destination was beyond the glowing light of the courtyard. They stepped out through the archway and onto the long drawbridge at the front of the castle, finally coming to rest in the dark gloom a few strides out. The dull glow of fairy lights still lit the bridge, and the feint sound of music floated on the air.

The wind here was bitterly cold. Anwyn could already feel the hair on her arms standing in end, almost painfully, and her teeth had started chattering together. Nothing she did seemed to contain the shaking. Signe wordlessly unfastened the cape from around her shoulders, holding one side out, and dipped her head in invite. Anwyn shuffled under, immediately feeling the benefit of the thick fur. Satisfied that the Hogwarts girl wasn’t going to freeze to death, Signe started to rummage in her skirts.

“Pockets? In your dress?” Anwyn asked, surprised.

“Added them myself,” Signe replied. “Perfect for— ah-hah, here we go,”

She produced a packet of cigarettes from one side, and her wand from the other, sliding a single cigarette from the box. The glow from its tip lit her face in warm orange as she raised her wand to it, and she took a long drag before exhaling.

“That’s better. Feels like I can breath a bit more out here,”

Anwyn gave a hum of agreement, shuffling against the wall. She was painfully aware of how Signe’s arm was pressed against hers.

“I’m not a fan of being in big groups of people either,” Signe continued. “Too loud. I much prefer my own company,”

“Doesn’t that get lonely?” Anwyn asked, thinking about the crushing void that had descended on her last year.

Signe shrugged, pressing the cigarette to her lips. “Sometimes,” and she didn’t elaborate further.

“So…what does Christmas usually look like for you?” Anwyn asked, fingers fiddling absently with the fur of the cloak as she scrambled for conversation.

“If I’m at home, then usually a formal dinner,” Signe said, and she could hear the bitterness in her voice. “Where Father quizzes us on our school performance. Needless to say, I’ve stayed at school the past few years,”

“Does Anders stay too?”

Signe snorted. “Unfortunately,”

Anwyn shot her a look. “Is he really that bad? He seems…nice,”

The other girl didn’t reply for a second, exhaling a slow breath of smoke. When she finally spoke it was resigned. “Thought you might say that. He wins everyone over. Perfect grades, perfect friends, perfect…personality. The dream child. Everybody loves him,”

“But not you?” Anwyn asked, brow furrowing.

“I’m the weird one in the family,” Signe said. “The disappointment. I’ll never come out of his shadow,”

“I…don’t think you have to,” Anwyn said, choosing her words carefully. “You’re your own person. And you don’t need to be like him. I think you’re pretty cool as you are,”

Her face reddened slightly as she said it, and she was suddenly grateful for the cold air stinging her cheeks. At least it disguised her blushing.

Signe shot her a look, eyes widening slightly in surprise, but there was a crooked smile quirking at the corner of her mouth. She didn’t comment any further. “What about you?” She asked instead. “What’s your Christmas normally like?”

Anwyn sighed, feeling an unexpected sharp pang of homesickness, but pushed it aside. At least with the trial she’d be home tomorrow, even if she’d technically missed Christmas.

“It’s quiet. Usually my Mum hosts and my Uncle comes over. And we open presents and eat too much and then fall sleep on the sofa,”

“Sounds pretty idilic,” Signe said.

“Yeah it’s good,” Anwyn replied, but a bitter note had snuck into her voice. “If my Mum makes it home. She travels for work and…well let’s just saw she’s not always around for the important dates,”

“Are you close?”

It was a difficult question to answer. She loved her Mum, and most days she was fairly sure that her Mum felt the same, but it was hard not to feel the sting of abandonment, or feel like she just wasn’t her Mum’s top priority.

“Yes?” She replied, questioning herself. “No? It’s complicated. She tried to make up for it when she’s home. I just wish that was more often,”

Signe didn’t reply, but held out the cigarette, the end glowing in the gloom. Anwyn hesitated. She knew she’d be in big trouble if anyone found out. But there was no one around, was there? And as Signe looked expectantly at her, there was a part of her that really, really didn’t want to disappoint her.

She took the cigarette, holding it to her mouth, and inhaled a deep, slow breath. Smoke exploded out of her mouth and nose as she spluttered, her throat burning.

“Fucking hell,” She croaked, handing it back. “That’s disgusting,”

“You get used to it,” Signe replied, laughter in her voice.

Anwyn sucked in frigid air until her lungs felt like they were starting to clear. The wind was picking up, and she subconsciously moved closer to Signe, painfully aware of how their arms were pressing against each other. She turned to the other girl, watching as she took another drag of her cigarette, eyes far off on some unknown point in the distance. This close she could see the holes left by the piercings, running down the length of her ear and in her nose. There was one stud left in her lobe, small and silver.

“Can I ask you a question,” she blurted.

Signe inclined her head in acceptance.

“You’ve had piercings right? Why’d you take them out?”

“My, you’re observant aren’t you?” Signe’s mouth quirked in a smirk. “Yes, I had quite a few as you can probably tell. Father made me remove them during the summer,”

“You did them at school?”

She nodded. “Marta did them. And I pierced her ears in return. It’s pretty easy,”

Anwyn ignored the flicker of jealousy at the mention of this Marta. “And the school was fine with that? We’d probably get detention if we tried something like that!”

Signe scoffed. “Karkaroff doesn’t care, he’s too busy fawning over Krum. I don’t think he’d even know my name if it wasn’t for Anders being in the running for the Triwizard champion,” she took another drag. “Why do you ask? You want me to pierce your nose?”

“Oh— no I’m way to much of a coward,” Anwyn gave a small laugh. “Plus I’d be in so much trouble as soon as I turned up in class,”

“What about your ears,” Signe pressed. You’d look cute with your ears done,”

“Yeah maybe,” Anwyn said weakly. She’d said she’d look cute—“

“Or a lip piercing. Right in the centre, there—,” she flicked the tip of her finger against Anwyn’s bottom lip.

Her eyes lingered there, and she was so close now that Anwyn could smell the smoke on her breath. She had a small smirk on her own, cigarette balanced between two fingers. Anwyn couldn’t take her eyes away from that smile, her heart thundering in her chest. Her entire mouth had gone bone dry, tongue feeling far too big.

Impulse took over. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to Signe’s.

Anwyn felt the other girl stiffen slightly at the contact, and immediately pulled back, apologies already spilling out of her mouth.

“Shit, I’m so sorry— I don’t know what—“

“Anwyn, it’s fine—“

“I just— I don’t know why I— I did that—“

She tried to back away further, but Signe grasped at her hand. “I’m not mad. You just took me by surprise, that’s all,”

Anwyn riggled out from her grasp, slipping out from under the cloak. The wind whipped through the sheer sleeve of her dress, stinging her arms

“I— I don’t know what I’m doing—“ she babbled, clasping at her hair. “My head feels fried,”

“It’s just a kiss,” Signe replied frowning. “It’s not like you just declared your love, it’s not a big deal—“

“Isn’t it?” Anwyn asked, voice near a whine as she started to pace on the spot. “Fuck, I’m so embarrassed, can we just— can we just forget—,”

She stopped herself, taking a deep breath before turning back to Signe. “I…am going to go. Let’s just— let’s just pretend this didn’t happen and—“ she trailed off with a frustrated groan, and then turned on the spot, marching back down the drawbridge to the castle.

———

Watching Sirius get ready to leave was painful. Part of him wanted to beg him to stay, to never go. After all it had been a near perfect, dream like day, one that he’d never imagined being possible. But he knew that the dream would be shattered by the Aurors turning up if he didn’t leave soon.

Sirius seemed as reluctant to go as Remus was to watch him leave. He’d grown quieter and quieter as the evening went on, and the return to the safe house loomed. An ever present reminder that he was not a free man, that his future would hinge on the next few days. He hesitated at the door, slipping his arms into the sleeves of his leather jacket, and Remus took a chance.

“The night is still young,” Remus said lightly. “I could come over for a few beers? If you’d like,”

“Yeah”, Sirius said lightly. “Yeah that sounds like a plan. Bethan won’t—“

“Bethan will be falling sleep on the sofa and probably spilling her hundredth glass of wine on the floor in approximately five minutes,” Remus interrupted. “She won’t mind,”

“Right,” Sirius’ face cracked into a smile. “Better leave her to it then,”

The safe house was just as depressing as always, despite the tiny Christmas tree that had been crammed into the corner, sad vines of tinsel drooping off its sparse branches. They’d started by continuing their chess grudge matches, and then moved on to cards, until the conversation had become more interesting than the game itself, and the deck had been left abandoned on the table in front of them.

“You know, I’m somewhat jealous of the kids,” Sirius was saying. “Getting to spend another Christmas at Hogwarts. During a Yule Ball year no less. Almost made me want to jump on the train with them,”

“I’m not too sure either of us would be all that welcome at Hogwarts right now,” Remus said wryly, taking a swill of beer.

Sirius gave a bark of laughter. “No, probably not. Still, it was odd sending Harry off. Felt a little like watching James leave without us,”

Remus have a hum of agreement, leaning back against the foot of the bed.

“Do you miss him?” Sirius asked quietly.

“Who, Harry?”

“No, James you idiot,”

Remus paused, bottle half way to his mouth before finally replying. “Every day,”

“Sometimes I’d dream about him,” Sirius said, his voice barely a whisper. “In Azkaban. Nothing exciting, just normal, every day stuff. Mucking about with a quaffle. Us all sitting round the fire in the common room. His Mums kitchen back home. Then I’d wake up and remember he was dead. And it was like it hit all over again,”

Remus stayed quiet, though his chest was so tight he wasn’t sure if he could speak if he tried. But Sirius barely ever mentioned Azkaban. And if he was now, maybe it’s because he needed to talk about it.

“The dementors would have a field day when I woke up,” he continued. ”There would be dozens of them, all clustered around the cell door, reaching in with those hands—“ he shivered, and then took a deep quaff of his drink. A trickle ran down his chin. “I’d turn into a dog for a bit just to fend them off. They didn’t seem to care about me as much then,”

Remus swallowed heavily, trying not to think of Sirius in that cell, surrounded by dementors, alone, with no where to go. “I can’t begin to imagine what that place must have been like,” Remus he said quietly.

“I wouldn’t want you to. It was…indescribable. Sometimes I almost pity Peter. Death would have been a swifter end for him than the one he’s about to get,” he took another swig of beer. “But then I remember what that bastard did, and I think that he maybe deserves it,”

Sirius stood suddenly, clearing his throat, and strode over to the sink, sitting his bottle down with a clink. There was a stiffness to his shoulders, and when he finally turned back to Remus his face was expressionless once more.

“I can’t believe the trial is almost here. Never thought I’d see the day,”

Remus gave him a small smile. “By this time next week you’ll be a free man,”

Sirius didn’t return it. Instead, a flicker of some other unidentifiable emotion ran across his face. “We’ll see,”

“Your case is sound Sirius,” Remus replied, a frown lowering his brow. “And Peter was caught red handed, he’s not getting out of it this time”,

“I know, I know,” Sirius crossed his arms, leaning back against the countertop. “I just— I— sometimes I wake up and it’s like I’m still there. Like last year never happened. And I see what they say about me in the Prophet, not everyone’s convinced. They think maybe I was in on it with Peter, or that I made him confess, or— or— had him under the Imperius curse,”

His voice was rising as he ranted, and it was like he was no longer able to keep his arms still, hands flailing. Frown deepening, Remus sat his bottle down on the table, before slowly clambering to his feet.

“I know what it looks like Remus. I know who my family were, and how that reflects on me. People expected me to follow in their footsteps, and this whole business just confirmed it. And my actions— well they don’t exactly look like the actions of a sane man, I broke into a school with a knife for Merlin’s sake—“

“You were trying to protect Harry—“

“I was half mad! If you hadn’t stopped me I would have killed Peter in front of the boy, does that make me any better than him? How am I suppose to argue my case when I was— unhinged?!” He brought his hand suddenly up to his face, covering his mouth, but his eyes were wide, panicked. “What if— what if they don’t believe me Moony? What if they try and send me back? Fuck, I can’t go back there, I cant—“

“You’re not going back,” Remus replied firmly. “You’re innocent—“

Sirius voice shook, a new, panicked quality to it. “And they’re going to believe that? If you knew how half of these Aurors look at me—“

“Like you’re an animal? A monster that should be locked up in a cage?”

Sirius shot him a guilty look, but Remus crossed the tiny room until he was in front of the other man. He laid a hand on his shoulder, grip tight.

“Sirius, listen to me. You are not going back to that place. And if they try, they’ll have to send me with you, because Merlin knows I’m not letting you go again without a fight,”

He was faintly aware of exactly how much his words were giving away, but in that instance he didn’t care. In fact, whether fuelled by the intensity of how much he meant it, or the look of pure misery in Sirius eyes, he wasn’t sure, but he reached out to him, wrapping his arms around him. Sirius tensed at first, a rigid response of primal fight or flight, and then melted into him. His fingers gripped at the back of Remus’ shirt, the tight clenched fist of a man holding on to the only thing keeping him from drowning, and Remus felt his heart break as he wondered when the last time someone had held Sirius, had properly hugged him. He’s waited far too long himself.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Remus muttered through clenched teeth. “You’re staying right here,”

Sirius didn’t reply, but Remus could feel his grip adjusting on the back of his shirt, a thumb pressing into his spine. It nearly stole the air from his lungs, and his heart thrummed at the proximity. Merlin, how long has it been? Thirteen years. It was like he’d spent thirteen years without oxygen.

When Sirius finally let go it was at a bit at a time, moment by moment, a slow slackening of the arms until they were barely touching. At first Remus thought that he’d made a grave mistake, that Sirius was about to pull back, step away, pretend it had never happened. But the other man seemed reluctant to let go completely, reaching a hand up to gently cup the side of Remus’ face.

“Thank you Remus,” he said quietly. “You always were the voice of reason,”

He withdrew his hand, finally letting go completely, but Remus could still feel it in the stubble of his cheek, his throat tight. There was something in Sirius’ eyes as he looked at him, a far off look that made him consider that perhaps his feelings weren’t so one sided. The thought terrified him.

“I should probably go,” Remus said, his mouth suddenly incredibly dry.

“If you want,” Sirius replied lightly. “Or you could stay,”

There was a question there, one that Remus was not ready to answer, and he had to stop himself all but fleeing from the room.

“That’s against the rules isn’t it?” He asked instead, ignoring the slightly strangled quality of his voice. “I thought you weren’t allowed guests for that long,”

Sirius smirked. “Ever the prefect Moony,”

He swallowed hard, before clearing his throat and striding over to where he’s draped his coat over the foot of the bed.

“I’ve got work tomorrow. And Anwyn’s arriving. Any more beer and I’ll be hungover,” he said, busying himself so he didn’t have to look at Sirius.

When he did finally glance back, Remus could have sworn that he saw a flash of disappointment cross his face before it disappeared.

“You’re probably right, it’s a stupid idea. Thanks for coming over. This place is depressing all year round, never mind at Christmas,”

“We’ll, you won’t have long to wait and you’ll be a free man,”

There was a flicker of unease across Sirius’ face, but again, it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. “We’ll see,” he replied once more, the cheery note to his voice obviously forced.

He opened the door, and Remus spotted a figure in the corner of the lobby, the red flow of a cigarette lighting his face in the gloom. Dawlish. When he turned back towards Sirius, he was struck by how tired he looked, the excitable energy of the day having left him now that he was back in his cell.

“I can come back the night before the trial if you want?” Remus asked quietly.

“You’ve got enough to get on with,” Sirius replied, leaning on the door frame. “You don’t have to worry about me,”

“I don’t mind,” Remus insisted. “I’m not the best of cooks, but I can bring something with me,”

A small smirk spread across Sirius face. “Are you offering me dinner Moony?”

Remus felt his face flush, hot. “No— I mean— it’s dinner of a sort, but not— it’s just— aren’t you fed up of takeaway— I only meant—“

“I’m just teasing you,” Sirius interrupted him. “Stay at home, spend time with Anwyn while she’s here,”

“Alright, if you’re sure,” Remus replied, running his hand through his hair. “I better—,” he pointed towards the stairs, and shuffled out of the door, giving Dawlish a brief awkward nod as he emerged.

“Night,” he called turning back to the doorway. Sirius was framed by the light behind him, hair a carefully curated mess down to his shoulders, still leaning into the doorframe. In the gloom it was as if the last twelve years hadn’t happened.

“Night Remus,” he replied quietly.

Remus fled down the stairs before he could change his mind.

Notes:

Gah, this is such a chapter of big moments, to say I was nervous is an understatement. I ended up rewriting it three times 🙃

I hope so got the reveal for Signe/Anwyn right, I didn’t want it to be immediately obvious but also needed it to not come out of no where. Although we had a little clue in chapter one that Anwyn might be more interested in girls than she realised (bonus points if you worked out what the Veela reference meant)

The Wolfstar scene too, good lord I’ve been sitting on that for an age. I had it written to originally happened on September 1st after they’d dropped the kids off at the train, but it didn’t feel like we’d had enough tension for that pay off, so I pushed it back to just before the trial. I think it fits better there anyway.

Anyway, enough rambling, thanks again to you all for reading, and bookmarking and subscribing and commenting. It makes me unreasonably happy that you folks are enjoying my stupid little story, especially considering I had no game plan for GOF until I was half way done with POA.

OOTP however…that’s a whole different story.

Chapter 18: A Moment of Calm

Notes:

CW: slight mentions of homophobia, not directed at our MCs

Other than that it’s pure fluff

Dumbledore’s office was completely silent, save for the gentle tick of clock mechanisms, and the occasional ruffle of feathers from the corner. The tension in the room was palpable. Something had clearly happened last night, but Anwyn was completely out of the loop, and had probably been far too busy making a fool of herself to notice. Still, the way Hermione stood separate from the other two suggested all was not well, and Ron’s seeming inability to even look at her backed up this theory.

Harry, stuck between the two of them, looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. Anwyn caught his eye, raising an eyebrow in question and he gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head, clearly not wanting to discuss it.

If Professor Dumbledore noticed the awkward atmosphere however, he did not comment on it, nor did he seem in any way perturbed. He sat with his fingers steepled on the desk, a small, calm smile on his face as the clock ticked quietly away.

A bell chimed somewhere in his office, and he stood in one graceful motion.

“I believe that’s our cue. Anwyn, would you do us the honour of going first?”

She shot another look at Harry, before stepping over to the fireplace and grabbing a handful of floo powder from the pot.

“148B Chapelcross Road,” she said as clearly as she could. The fire burned a bright green as she chucked the powder in, and then she took a deep breath, ignoring the churning of her stomach, and stepped in, leaving the tense atmosphere behind.

———

The vibe on the other side of the fire couldn’t be more different. When Anwyn stepped out of the fireplace, she was immediately hit by a wall of scents, a big hug in the from of roast turkey, cinnamon and chocolate. It was like the distilled smell of Christmas at home, and it caught something in her chest.

The sitting room was festooned with Christmas decorations, a huge tree sat in the corner, dripping with real candles and sparkling glass orbs, many of which had been in the family for longer than Anwyn had been around. Though London was snow free, someone had charmed the window to show constant flurries outside, a build up of crisp white snow on the sill. The record player was crackling away, and her Mum was sitting on the sofa with a book in one hand and a mug in the other, glasses perched on the end of her nose. She looked up at Anwyn’s arrival, smile breaking out on her face as she pressed her finger to her lips, nodding towards the armchair by the fire.

She peeked around the back cushion to find that Remus was fast asleep, his own full mug abandoned on the side table next to him. His mouth was open in a silent snore, and he didn’t seem to have heard her arrival. She shot an amused glance at her mother, who was quietly clambering out of the sofa, giving a silent jerk of the head to indicate that Anwyn should follow her.

Her Mum stopped when they reached the kitchen, turning to squeeze Anwyn in a tight hug, peppering her forehead with kisses.

“Oh it’s so good to see you Wynnie!” She exclaimed, nearly crushing the air out of her lungs. “Merry Christmas!”

Anwyn squeezed her back, giving a choked laugh. “Merry Christmas. Is that turkey I smell?”

“It is indeed. Just the leftovers I’m afraid, but there’s plenty of it. Hungry?”

“Starving,” she said, only just realising how much that was true.

“Good, because we’ll be eating it all week at this rate. Give me a hand with the plates,”

They started pottering about the kitchen, humming Christmas songs and dodging the kitchen utensils that were busily mashing potatoes and stirring gravy. The smell in the air was enough to make Anwyn’s mouth water. There was still no movement from the sitting room, and as she shot a glance across the hall, a flicker of unease ran through her.

“Is Remus alright?” She asked as she filled three glasses with some sort of sparkling drink.

“He’s just worn himself out,” her Mum replied, disapproval clear in her voice. “They had him working this morning. On Boxing Day! Who’s going shopping at 8am on Boxing Day? Muggles honestly—“

“So he’s still working himself to death then?”

Her mum grumbled under her breath. “Just a tad. Though he’s given up the cleaning job at least. It’s your job to help me bully him into eating a bit more, he’s a stubborn git—“

“You know it’s rude to talk about people behind their back?”

Anwyn turned to find Remus standing in the doorway, eyebrows lowered in a disgruntled look that was ruined by the smile tweaking at the corner of his lips. His hair was still all over the place from his nap, but the bags that had been under his eyes the last time she saw him were a little lighter. Clearly her Mum’s nagging was having at least some effect.

“Sleeping beauty awakes!” Her Mum exclaimed. “Right on time, you can carve the bird,”

“My favourite job,” he replied. “Means I can get a pick of the best bits,”

Remus shot Anwyn a wink, stepping into the narrow kitchen and rolling up his sleeves. He gave her a swift kiss on the head as he passed, and then began to conduct the remains of turkey onto a board for carving.

Anwyn’s attention turned back to the kitchen. At the back of the counter sat a Yule log, covered in thick chocolate icing, a dusting of sugar on top. The very sight of it made her mouth start watering, and after a quick glance at her Mum beside her, who was occupied with directing the side dishes as they floated into plates, she stuck a finger in the icing.

“Fingers out of the cake please,”

She jumped as two hands landed on either arm, gently guiding her away from the Yule log. She hurriedly stuck her finger in her mouth, and was happy to find that the icing tasted as good as it looked.

“Go make yourself useful and set the table,” Remus instructed, his voice carrying only the mildest of rebukes.

“Can I use magic?” Anwyn asked, attempting her best innocent face.

“Certainly not,”

“You’ll give in one day,” Anwyn grumbled, heading back towards the sitting room.

“Yes, on your seventeenth birthday!” Remus called after her.

———

Despite her mothers warning that the turkey was yesterday’s leftovers, the little table in the sitting room was nearly filled to the point of collapse. There was just enough space for the three of them to squeeze in with all the side dishes, and by the time Anwyn had filled her plate with everything that caught her fancy, she was fairly sure that she wouldn’t need to eat for the rest of the week.

The quality of the food spoke for itself, and they ate in silence for the first few minutes before her Mum finally looked over to her.

“Did the dress fit alright?”

Anwyn nodded. “It was lovely. Thanks for sending it over,”

“And the ball?”

There it was. She knew the conversation would be coming, but she’d hoped to avoid thinking about how the night had ended, the memory shooting a bolt of embarrassment through her that was nearly strong enough to make her physically cringe.

“Yeah. Good,” she said lightly, pushing the food absently around her plate.

She looked up to find Remus watching her carefully from across the table, and then swiftly looked away. Her Mum, however, didn’t seem to notice her reluctance.

“Good? Come on, you must have more to say than that? Who did you go with? Did you dance with any cute boys—“

“Mum!” She groaned. “Please, can we not do the interview routine?”

“I’m just asking!”

“No, you’re—“

Remus cleared his throat, interrupting the threat of their squabbles. “Was the feast good?”

Anwyn caught herself, shooting him a grateful look. “Yeah, it was sort a choose your own meal situation. You asked out loud for what you wanted and it appeared on your plate,”

“I wouldn’t mind having that arrangement for dinner every night”, he replied with a small smile.

“And you’ll never guess who they’d hired for the music,” she said, starting to relax a little. “The Weird Sisters!”

“You’re kidding?” Her mum asked, the Brussels sprout on her fork dropping off with a plop.

“Nope, it was actually them, in person,”

“How did Dumbledore manage that I wonder?” She asked thoughtfully, taking a sip of her drink. “I suppose that went down quite well,”

“You could say that,” Anwyn replied, thinking of her own ecstatic squealing when she’d spotted them.

“And you’re telling me you didn’t get a dance or two in when they were on stage?”

Anwyn shot her mother an exasperated look, but she only gave a snort of amusement in return before clambering to her feet.

“Alright, alright, I get the message. No more questions. Now who’s for Yule log?”

———

The food coma that the Yule log tipped them over the edge of was deep and all encompassing. It was all Anwyn could do to collapse on the sofa, stretched head to toe from one end to the other. Her Mum dropped onto the sunken cushions at one end, hot cup of tea in hand, and Anwyn shuffled back until she could use her knee as a pillow.

“We missed you yesterday,” her Mum said, playing idly with her curls. “It was very odd not having you home,”

“It was odd not being home,” Anwyn murmured, eyes half shut, already dozing. “Your presents all arrived all right? I thought it might be too heavy for Gwyn—”

As she cracked an eye open, Remus appeared through the sitting room door, a mug in each hand.

“Reeeemus?” She asked in her most innocent voice.

He stopped half way across the room, a wary look on his face as he recognised that tone. “Yes?”

“Did you get that box of chocolates I sent? The big Honeyduke’s one?”

“Yes, they were very nice, thank you,” he replied, a guarded note to his voice before he sighed. “Would you like to try one?”

Her face broke out into a grin.

Remus rolled his eyes, and placed the mugs down on the table. “How you have room for any more food, I don’t know…” he muttered, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he disappeared out of the room again.

When he returned to the sitting room, chocolate box in hand, he had something else tucked under one arm, a large leather bound book of some sort.

“I do have one more present up my sleeve,” Remus said. “It’s for everyone really,”

“You can’t regift the chocolates,” Anwyn replied in a deadpan voice as she used the back of the sofa to drag herself upright, tucking her feet under her.

“You won’t be wanting any after all then?”

“I did not say that,”

He sunk down into the sofa on her other side, passing the chocolate box over for her perusal. She slipped the top off, the smell of cocoa and caramel hitting her, and despite the full stomach her mouth started to water again.

“Remember the photo box I found under the bed?” He asked. “I thought this would be a better way of storing them,”

The book under his arm was a wide, leather photo album. Her Mum reached across the chocolate box to take it, immediately letting out a gasp as she flipped it open to the first page.

“I wondered where these photos went! Did I leave them with you Remus?”

He gave a noise of confirmation. “I found them with Anwyn’s documents when you left her with me,”

The first photo on the page was a faded square, a younger version of her mother staring out at her with the widest grin imaginable. In her arms was a baby bundled in blankets, tiny and gurgling, her hand clasped around her mother’s finger as she cooed over her.

Interest caught, Anwyn handed the box of chocolates back to Remus, and her Mum passed over the photo album so she could hold it in the middle where they could all see it. They flipped the page and found two photos side by side. The first was familiar, the wedding picture that Remus had shown her last year, but the other was new to her.

Anwyn looked a little older in this one, standing with her father crouched beside her in a lush looking garden. She was wiggling on the spot, all movement where her father was nearly still, but every now and again if she squirmed too much he would ruffle her hair, or bring her a little closer into the centre, a tenderness in his movements despite his emotionless face.

“Ahh I remember taking that one,” her mother said softly beside her. “Summer 1981 I believe,”

“Where were we?” Anwyn asked, peering closer to the photo. She couldn’t make out anyone else in it, and there were no identifiable features save for a large ornamental hedge in the background, cut into the shape of some kind of animal.

“Oh, I’m not sure,” her Mum said. “Somewhere in Europe. A lot of these houses blurr into one,”

Before Anwyn could ask any more questions, her Mum turned the page, and let out a burst of laughter.

“Look Wynnie, your first Christmas in the UK,”

Another small Anwyn stared back at them, this time perhaps a year older than the last. She was surrounded by torn wrapping paper, a slab of chocolate in one hand, half melted into her fingers, laughing at someone off camera.

And the happy photos continued. Anwyn and her Mum dancing in the garden of Shepherds Lane. A gap toothed Anwyn grinning at the camera, brandishing her newly lost tooth. Remus, floppy haired and sunburnt carrying a laughing Anwyn on his shoulders.

“I was a pretty cute kid,” she muttered, swallowing past the unexpected lump in her throat.

“Was?” Her Mum said, brushing a stray curl from her face. “You’re still ridiculously cute Wynnie,”

“Shut up,” she replied, blushing but unable to control the bashful smile on her face.

“This was a fantastic idea,” her Mum said, flicking through the pages. She seemed genuinely touched, lingering on the wedding photo for another few moments. “Thank you Remus,”

“It was no trouble,” he said, leaning back into the sofa and throwing an arm over the back of it. “I found my old camera too. Broken, of course, but perhaps we can try and restore it. It’s about time we add some more memories to the book,”

But as Anwyn sunk her head back down onto her Mum’s lap, feet now propped across Remus’ knee, she was fairly sure that she didn’t need a camera to record that moment. Warm, full of food, and with no immediate worries to spoil the cosy mood, she was fairly certain that she was happiest she’d been in a long time.

———

When Anwyn appeared in the sitting room the next morning, hair a tangled birds nest of curls, old spotty dressing gown on, and perpetually yawning, she found both of the adults of the household already up and dressed.

Of the two of them, her mother looked more put together, a smart dress and heels a direct contrast to Remus’ old woollen jumper and corduroy trousers. He was sitting at the little table with the Daily Prophet spread in front of him, a plateful of toast and marmalade weighing it down, and shot her a smile as she sunk down into the chair opposite him. It quickly slid off his face when she stole a slice of toast from his plate.

“Are you going out Mum?” She asked, watching as the woman darted around the room, checking her hand bag before summoning her scarf and jacket.

“I’m afraid so, it’s just you two today, I’ve a meeting to today that I can’t miss,”

“I’m sure we can entertain ourselves,” Remus said peering over the top of his newspaper. “Who are you meeting?”

“Hopefully a very hungover and therefore very loose lipped Ludo Bagman,” she replied, sorting her hair in the mirror by the door.

“You’re still looking into who submitted Harry’s name?” Anwyn asked, a little shocked. She’d expected her Mum to be chasing the next big headline by now.

“Of course. You don’t think I’d leave the biggest mystery of the year to your uncle and his idiot pal?”

“Uncalled for,” Remus said, not looking up from his paper this time. “He’s not even here to defend himself,”

The mention of Sirius, no matter how lighthearted reminded Anwyn with a sickening jolt of why she was here in the first place. The Yule ball, and all of its stress had managed to push the trial to back of her mind, but it loomed suddenly larger, a dark stain on the week ahead.

“So what’s the plan for tomorrow?” She asked hoping that the anxiety didn’t come through in her voice.

“You’re only needed on one of the days, so I’ll take you in then,” her Mum replied, crossing the room to the table, and leaning on the back of Anwyn’s chair. “Remus, you’ll be staying for the full thing I take it?”

“That’s the plan,” he replied, folding up his paper.

“I intend to sit in as much as possible,” her Mum continued. “They’re letting media in after all,”

“But if you’re both there, where am going to go? I won’t have to go to Thornhill will I?” Anwyn asked, and this time the nervous edge truly did slip through.

“No,”

“Absolutely not,”

She’d expected Remus to be against the idea, but her mothers flat out refusal shocked her enough that she didn’t immediately answer. In fact it even seemed to take Remus by surprise, and she caught him sending a glance his sister’s way.

“You’re old enough to stay in the house by yourself,” her Mum replied, voice bright once more. “No house parties,”

“Damn, there goes my plans for the week,”

“If all goes to plan, you hopefully won’t be waiting for us long” Remus added. “I believe the first day will deal with most of the witness testimonies for Pettigrew. Day two should be shorter, focusing on clearing Sirius’ name,”

“Are you being called as a witness too?” Anwyn asked him.

He nodded. “They’ll be speaking to all of us who were there on the night,”

Anwyn’s brow crinkled in worry, her eyes fixed on a spot on the rug as her fingers drummed on the table. What happened if they didn’t all give the same account? Or if she mucked up her story? Could Remus get in trouble? Would it be enough to lock Sirius up again.

“Try not to worry Wyn,” Remus said, obviously spotting the concern on her face. “It’ll be over before you know it,”

But worrying was what Anwyn did best, in fact she was getting so good at it these days that it felt like she could make a career of it. It followed her for the rest of the morning; during breakfast, and in the shower, to the little bay window where she liked to relax. The book in her hand went unread. The breath in her chest felt shallow, unsatisfying. She couldn’t seem to keep her fingertips out of her mouth, the nails ragged, bitten.

“Anwyn,”

She all but jumped out of her skin, head turning quickly to find Remus watching her from the sitting room door, a knowing look on his face. She realised that she’d been chewing at her nail again, and hurriedly jammed her hand under her thigh.

“Why don’t we get some fresh air?” He asked gently.

But again the worry was squirming away inside her. It rooted her to the spot, made her want to just curl in a ball and not move for the day. In that moment, the idea of leaving the house seemed impossible.

“I dunno…” she muttered, picking at loose thread on her dungarees. “I kind of just want to stay in,”

“I think you’ll like what I have in mind,”

He ducked back out of the sitting room, leaving her staring after him, and after a few moments she reluctantly prised herself off the window seat.

Remus was waiting for her in the hall, standing up from where he had stooped to tie the laces on his old, word shoes. Anwyn slid her feet into the battered training shoes left lying in the pile on the floor.

“You’ll need your coat,” Remus said, lifting his own from the hook at the door. “Wrap up warm,”

“Why?” She asked, taking her dusty duffle coat down. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he said with a small smile, still infuriatingly vague.

She frowned back, zipping up her coat and stuck her hands sullenly in her pockets. There was an old sweet wrapper in there, and she immediately began to fidget with it, picking at the edges.

Remus gave a cluck of his tongue. “Come on, that’s not nearly wrapped up enough,”.

He removed his wand from his pocket, giving a quick wave, and something whipped past Anwyn’s ear. He grabbed a hat, and then the following scarf from the air, jamming the former over her ears, and wrapping the latter round her neck, before holding out his hands in offering.

She looked at them warily. “We’re not apparating are we?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to walk all the way,”

With a sigh, Anwyn pulled her hands from the pockets and gripped his gloved fingers in hers.

A sharp tug. A whipping of wind. And then the smell of salt, brine and seaweed, the call of gulls overhead. Anwyn swayed on the spot as her equilibrium adjusted to the sudden shift, feeling the fingers tightening around hers for a second. Satisfied that she wasn’t about to tip over, Remus let go and took a step back, revealing the landscape behind him.

They were on a short, curving beach, pure white sand littered with craggy rocks. The cliffs curved round into a huge outcropping of stone that formed a weathered arch over the bay, and she could see white birds fluttering about on the cliff face, their clammering calls echoing on the wind. The sky was a dull grey, threatening perhaps, and Remus had been right, she did need the hat and scarf. The wind was cold enough to sting the skin of her cheeks, but she was far too captivated by the view to care.

“Where are we?” Anwyn asked, clambering up onto one of the rocks for a better look.

“I believe it’s name is Traeth Gwrach,”

She shot him a quick look. “We’re in Wales?”

“We are. Your Gran used to bring us here in the summer,”

The thought set off an odd ache in her chest. She’d been so occupied lately thinking about her father’s side of the family that she’d barely given Wales a thought, but now that she did, there was a familiar pang of home sickness.

“Come on,” Remus motioned down the beach. “There are some fantastic caves to explore. And if I remember correctly there were some particularly good rock pools,”

“There’s rock pools?!” She asked, a little too loudly, and then remembered that she was almost sixteen. Sixteen year olds didn’t get excited about rock pools.

But Remus was looking at her with a small smile, like he knew exactly the sort of war going on in her head. “You might find a crab or two if you’re lucky,” he nodded towards the craggy rocks. “Go on,”

Her excitement won, and she took off across the rocks as quick as she could. The surface was fraught with limpits and shells, and her feet slipped on the seaweed, arms wheeling about her to keep her balance.

“Careful though!” Remus shouted after her. “I’d prefer if you didn’t break an ankle!”

They were, in her inexperienced view of rock pools, particularly good ones. She managed to find an odd looking crab, a star fish as big as her own hand, and a scattering of small fish in one of the larger pools before her body seemed to remember that it was winter, on a beach, in Wales, and the shivering began to overtake her.

“Cold?” Remus asked as she clambered back over the rocks towards him.

She gave a juddering nod, teeth chattering together, and he held out a hand to help her off the rocks. Satisfied that she was on stable ground, he drew his wand, muttering a quick warming spell, and she instantly felt the cold begin to leave her bones.

“Thanks,” She smiled, and then linked her arm in with his. “Let’s see those caves then,”

It was a short walk to the yawning cracks in the cliffs, but the wind was blowing directly in their faces, and the soft sand meant that they made slow progress, their feet sinking with every step. Still, her chest felt lighter, her head clearer.

“Why have we never come here before?” She asked as they neared the closest cave.

“We actually have,” Remus replied. “But it’s been a while,”

Her brow furrowed. “When was that?”

“Not long after you started staying with me. I used to bring you here when your Mum dropped you off. It seemed like a good distraction,” he pointed towards the other end of the beach. “You nearly stood on a jellyfish over there. I seem to remember you falling in one of the rock pools while trying to catch a crab too. And then you’d run out of energy and I’d have to carry you on my back over the rocks,”

“I think I remember the jellyfish,” she said, screwing up her face as she thought. “And this sand is pretty exhausting, any chance of a piggyback?”

“Not with these old knees,” he said wryly. “You’ll be carrying me back at this rate,”

The caves opened up into towering, craggy spaces with high, almost vaulted ceilings. The tide was coming in swiftly, a thin channel cutting through the rocks and filling up the pool that lay inside, so they couldn’t explore too far, and had to content themselves with resting on the rocks outside where they could watch the surf crash against the cliff side.

“Local folklore tells of an old witch that lived in the furthest cavern and used to lure the village children inside to cook for her supper,” Remus told her.

“As in she got them to cook for her, or she cooked them?”

He gave a small chuckle. “I think we can assume the latter,”

“Is there any truth to it?”

“Hard to say. Witch burnings were common at the time, but whether or not it was just an old muggle woman who was a little bit odd remains to be seen. I’m fairly certain she didn’t eat children regardless,”

But looking at the dark crack in the cliff, it wasn’t difficult to imagine that it hid something secret, ancient. It’s was the kind of little space that she thought Signe might like to explore. She’d said that she liked poking about the nooks and crannies of the castle, and there were so many hidden places to find, maybe they could explore some of them together when they got back—

Her stomach did a sick little flip. When she got back, she’d have to explain herself. Face Signe, try and act normally like she hadn’t completely embarrassed herself. She’d been so worried about bumping into her that she hadn’t left the Hufflepuff common room all day yesterday, not until it was time to go to Dumbledore’s offices. Maybe time apart would make it less awkward. Maybe it would make it worse.

She twisted the woollen tassels of the scarf around her fingers, over and over, an absent repetitive motion that stopped her from noticing that Remus was watching her actions once again, just as he had been at the dinner table the night before, and the sitting room this morning.

“Is something bothering you Wyn?” He asked quietly. “You’ve been…distracted since you got here,”

“Sorry,” she said quickly, dropping the scarf. Her fingers itched to fidget with something else.

“No, no, don’t apologise. But if there’s anything I can help with…”

He let the question hang in the air, an open invitation, and she considered it for a moment. Talking about her love life seemed like the completely opposite of how she’d like to spend her time. I’m fact the idea made her want to shrivel into a cringing little ball. And yet her brain was still thoroughly muddled with the revelations of the last few days. Confusion, shame, and the general undercurrent of anxiety that always seemed to be there bubbled away. Her Mum would probably make a big fuss out of it. Sarah, well Sarah didn’t seem to fully trust Signe anyway, so she wouldn’t understand. But Remus…there wasn’t anyone she trusted more than she trusted him.

“There is something,” she finally said. “It’s a bit stupid,”

“I’m sure that’s not the case at all,”

She worried at her bottom lip for a second, before blurting out her thoughts. “How do you know if…if someone likes you? Like really likes you?”

“Well…” Remus leaned back on the rocks, his gaze out on the water thoughtful. “They might do something to show you they care. Like making an effort to spend time with you, or complimenting you. Going out of their way to help you perhaps,”

“And how do you know if you like them back?” She asked. “Like what’s the difference between just thinking someone is— is really cool and— and actually liking them…r-romantically?”

He flicked his eyes down to her. “Am I correct in thinking we’re talking about someone in particular?”

She flushed a bright, hot red, and gave a hesitant nod.

But Remus didn’t tease her, or press further. Instead he looked back to the ocean, a genuinely thoughtful look on his face. “That’s sometimes hard to pinpoint,” he said. “Matters of the heart can be…confusing, especially when you’re young. But they’ll stand out. You think about them often, even when they’re not around. And when you’re with them it feels…different,”

She wasn’t entirely sure that had helped at all, but there was one last question eating away at her. One that she couldn’t keep to herself. She shuffled the toes of her shoes into the damp sand, working up the courage to speak. She had to ask. Or it would drive her mad.

“What if—“ she stopped, clearing her throat, but Remus didn’t pressure her to continue. Anwyn shot him an uncertain look, before dropping her eyes back to her feet. “What if it’s another girl,”

Remus didn’t answer immediately and she was far too terrified to look up in case she should turn to him and find disgust in his eyes, or disappointment. She swallowed heavily, already starting to regret saying anything, but then his arm came around her shoulders, giving her a tight squeeze.

“Then she’s found a particularly wonderful person to spend her time with,”

Her head shot around, and she found Remus was looking at her with a warm smile that lit up his eyes. “You’re— you’re not mad?”

His brow crinkled in confusion. “Why would I be mad?”

“Matthew in the year above told his parents he liked boys and they sent him to live with his grandparents,” she said weakly.

Remus screwed up his face. “What a backwards way of thinking. No, of course I’m not mad, Wyn the only thing that matters to me is that you’re happy. Whoever you end up with,”

Anwyn felt a slight sting in the corners of her eyes, but it didn’t stop the smile that was spreading across her face. She flung her arms around his waist, burrowing in, her heart pounding rapidly.

“Besides,” he said lightly, though his voice was slightly hesitant. “It would be rather hypocritical of me,”

“What do you mean?” Anwyn asked, letting him go to fix him with a quizzical look.

“Well I’ve eh—“ he hesitated. “Never been particularly interested in women myself,”

Her mouth opened in a little ‘Oh,”. It wasn’t something she’d ever really considered, Remus had always been a solo package, and she’d hardly considered his love life.

“How did you know?” She asked, “Like how did you figure it out,”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Well, I’d always had an inkling. But I met someone in particular who was just…right. And after that everything else made sense,”

“When was this?”

“Oh, a good while ago now, when I was around your age in fact. It uh— didn’t quite work out,”

A puzzle piece clicked into place in Anwyn’s head. All of those looks, the weird nervous energy Remus seemed to be consumed by whenever Sirius was in the room. His reaction to the news of the breakout last year, the way he’d poured over the newspapers. The ripped up photo.

Merlin’s beard, Remus was in love with Sirius.

Was it mutual? They certainly seemed to spend all of their time together. But they’d never mentioned it, never seemed to confirm it. She filed it away, conscious that it had clearly been a sore topic in the past for him. He’d tell her if he was ready.

Instead she just tightened the hug, returning her head to his side. Though the prospect of facing Signe still hung at the back of her mind, it was like some of the weight had lifted, the list of worries one item lighter.

“Just promise me one thing,” Remus said after a moment. “Be yourself. You don’t need to change for anyone. If they’re worth it, they’ll appreciate you for you,”

That seemed terribly unlikely, but she kept the thought to herself. Signe was so completely different, she was in another league. In fact it seemed incredibly unlikely that she’d ever reciprocate these strange feelings. Anwyn pushed the thought away for now, eager not to loose the warmth in her chest.

“Can we head back?” she said instead. “I’m starting to loose feeling in my toes,”

“Alright,” he chuckled, letting go and turning to face her before fixing her with a sincere look. “Thank you for telling me cariad,”

“Thanks for…understanding,”

“Did you really think I’d be annoyed?” He asked quietly, a slight furrowing of his brow showing the worry that lay behind his question. The wind whipped her tangled hair into her face, and he reached out to brush it back.

She looked at her feet, shuffling them in the sand. “I didn’t know what you’d think. I don’t think I know what to think yet,”

“Hmm,” Remus gave a little knowing nod. “You’ve plenty time to figure these things out. And I’m here with you every step of the way,”

He held out both hands, still covered with those fingerless gloves she’d knitted him last year. Anwyn took a deep breath, wiping at her eyes with the back of her own hand, and then placed her fingers in his, gripping then tightly.

And this time, even the sickening jolt of apparition couldn’t ruin her mood.

Notes:

This chapter. Pure, shameless fluff. Hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Traeth Gwrach, as far as I know, doesn’t exist (and I hope I didn’t butcher the Welsh language), but it’s based on photos of Traeth Ynys y Fydlyn, which looks beautiful, though is on a smaller scale than I’m going for here.

Chapter 19: Under Scrutiny

Notes:

This is a big one, grab a drink and snack, and maybe some tissues.

October 31st 1981

It was the kind of morning that seemed to be a rare gift these days, the sort of soft fog that swamped the brain and made the hours roll into one. He’d slip in and out of sleep, not quite dreaming not quite awake, burrowed into the duvet and pillows, just enjoying the warmth. He wasn’t sure what time it was when there was finally movement beside him, an untangling of the feet that were twisted with his.

“I should really get moving,” Sirius said, his voice rough with sleep.

Remus gave a moan of discontent, not quite awake enough to manage any meaningful words.

“I’ve got places to be,”

“Five more minutes,” Remus finally managed to mutter into his pillow.

There was a tired chuckle to his right. “You say that every morning Moony,”

“I mean it every morning,” he rolled onto this side, cracking an eye as he fixed Sirius with a tired smirk. “I’m not a morning person,”

Sirius picked up his watch from the bedside table, rubbing his eye as he read it. “Well lucky for you it’s not morning anymore,”

He leaned over, placing a tender kiss on Remus’ temple. The act made his breath catch in his throat, a gentle flutter in his chest, still after all these years. Remus watched as he clambered out of bed, ruffling the mess of black locks that seemed to sit just perfectly even when he was just awake, and stretched.

“Where are you off to today anyway?” Remus asked, shutting his eyes against the stream of sunlight that filtered in when Sirius opened the curtains.

“I’ve got an assignment,”

“Where?”

There was a pause. A hesitation that lasted long enough for Remus to crack his eyes open once more, just in time to catch the uncertain look on Sirius’ face. He caught Remus eye, and quickly turned the corners of his mouth up.

“Top secret I’m afraid,”

Remus didn’t press him, instead sinking his head back down into the pillow, shutting his eyes. But it was too late. The gentle calm of their lazy morning had gone, replaced instead by the tense air that seemed to hang over them constantly now.

There was a traitor in the ranks. A traitor far too close to home. They hadn’t discussed the possibility that it was one of them, but the question still hung unanswered over them in other ways. Missions for the Order that they no longer divulged the details of. Quiet departures in the night without telling the other. Long, terse silences whenever the subject of Voldemort, the War, or the Potters came up.

They needed to win this thing, and soon. If not just for the safety of the young family they were protecting, but their relationship. Remus had a horrible, twisted feeling in his gut that it wouldn’t survive this mistrust and secrecy for much longer.

“Don’t fall asleep again,” Sirius voice jerked him out of his thoughts.

“I won’t,” he croaked.

“I’ll be back tonight,”

There was the gentle press of lips on his, but they were gone before he could return the kiss fully. By the time he cracked his eyes, there was no sign of Sirius.

If only he’d know that it would be the last time he’d see him in thirteen years.

———

December 28th 1994

Lumos

The dull glow from his wand lit up the room. It was brighter than he’d expected, and he screwed up his eyes, blocking out some of the glare with his hand as he squinted at his watch.

A little after 4:30 in the morning. Too early to leave. No chance of getting back to sleep.

The couch was sagging somewhere in the middle, and he’d sunk into an uncomfortable ditch that left his back aching. He snuffed the light from his wand, and levered himself upright, untangling the sheets from his feet. Remus ran a slow hand down his face, scratching at his beard. The house was silent with the heavy blanket of sleep, but the chill morning air made it feel more like a mausoleum.

Even after killing time in the shower, after meticulously shaving the ragged beard he’d let take over his face, it was still ridiculously early. He stared at the sad, tired looking man in the mirror for a few seconds before swinging open the bathroom door and tiptoeing along the pitch black hall as quietly as he could.

Someone loomed out of the dark.

The embarrassing sound of surprise that he made was masked by the louder squeal in front of him.

“Wyn,” he hissed in a whisper. “What are you doing up?”

“I can’t sleep,” she replied. “Heard you were up. Why are you walking about in the dark?”

“I didn’t want to wake anyone. Why are you walking about it the dark?”

“You won’t let me do magic at home remember?” She replied sullenly.

“If you two are going to continue this conversation, can you do so away from my bedroom door please?”

They both jumped at the sound of Bethan’s voice to the right, and after a moment of muffled swearing a wand lit the hall before they replied in unison. “Sorry,”

“Well we’re all up now,” she muttered, wandlight bouncing of a very disgruntled expression. “May as well have breakfast,”

Bethan, it seemed, was just as on edge as the other two, though she showed it in different ways. She made them pancakes for breakfast, beating the batter by hand, the muggle way, to kill time. Her nagging at both of them to eat was sharper than usual, and by the time they’d picked at their pancakes, it seemed that her and Anwyn were destined for a falling out.

“You’re slouching again—“

“I’m not, I’m just sitting—“

“You are, you can’t be slouching at court, you need to be presentable—“

“Okay, okay, I get it already—“

Remus looked at his watch. 6am. Still too soon. His leg bounced under the table. He looked between the other two. Anwyn was slumped down in her seat, picking tiny bits of pancake off with her fingers, eyes unfocused on a far off spot. Bethan in comparison was rigid, pancakes untouched, mug of coffee nestled between her hands.

He checked the time again.

“Checking your watch isn’t going to make time go any quicker Remus,” Bethan said over her mug. “You’re making me anxious just watching you,”

“Sorry,” he muttered, and then checked his watch again to make sure he’d read it right.

“Anwyn,” her attention turned to her daughter again. “Stop picking at your pancakes and eat them properly please—“

“I’m not—“

“You were, I just watched you—“

Merlin, he was going to go insane. Remus stood quickly from the table, pushing his chair in.

“I’m going to head over to the safe house,” he said, “See how he’s doing,”

“But we haven’t spoken about the trial— what— what questions are they going to ask?” Anwyn asked, voice strangled. “Will I have to stand in front of everyone? What if I can’t remember—“

“You’ll be fine Wyn,” he told her, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Keep it simple, answer their questions and take your time,”

“But what do I tell them about the map? And the— the cloak? “

“Oh Anwyn, we’ve been over this,“ Bethan moaned, sitting her mug down on the table.

Her daughter shot her a bashful look, eyes dropping back to her pancakes which she started picking at again. “Sorry,”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Remus soothed. “Just keep your story simple remember? If they ask about the map and the cloak, don’t lie, but otherwise—,”

“Don’t draw attention to them,”

“Exactly,”

Anwyn nodded, taking a deep breath as she attempted to calm herself. “Alright. Tell Sirius good luck?”

“Will do,” Remus took a step towards the door. “It will all be fine Wyn. Don’t worry,”

Hopefully she didn’t realise that he was trying to tell himself the same thing.

———

He had a handful of spare muggle change in his pocket, so his first stop was a little greasy cafe near the safe house to grab Sirius some breakfast and a coffee. It was quiet outside. Most people were still in bed, enjoying that fuzzy time between Christmas and New Year when the days seemed to blur together, and so the streets were abandoned as he discreetly left the park he’d apparated into and crossed the road. It was still dark, the streetlights illuminating his path in warm orange glow, and his breath fogged in front of him. Though it set off an ache in his bones, the cold was a welcome distraction from the buzz of nerves in his chest.

Sirius was a very particular shade of green. He was pacing the room when Remus opened the door, a short, fast zig zag between the corners of the tiny flat. He looked up, a relieved look immediately crossing his features.

“How are you feeling?” Remus asked, trying to keep his voice light.

“Like I’m about to vomit all over the fucking floor,” Sirius muttered, pulling at the collar of his dress robes.

He was well groomed, his beard trimmed to a neat goatee, hair hanging in silky waves around his face. He’d donned a pair of neutral grey smart robes, nothing too fancy, but it was a savage contrast to the state of the room. The bedsheets were on the floor, one of the pillows spilling feathers out of a sagging hole, and the little coffee table was in its side, a leg shattered beside it.

Sirius caught Remus’ worried looks at the debris, and finally stopped pacing. “I got a little…frustrated,” he muttered.

“It’s alright,” Remus replied calmly. “We can fix it up,”

He drew his wand, directing it at the table first. The leg snapped back into place as it righted itself, looking more spotless than it probably had before the break. Feathers whipped up into a miniature whirlwind, swirling down into the pillow, the tear closing behind them.

“Better,” he said, turning back to Sirius. “At least the Aurors wont have any questions when they pick you up,”

Sirius made an affirmative noise in his throat, but he didn’t seem to be listening, again pulling at the collar of his robes before tugging at his tie. “This fucking thing— I feel like I suffocating, the prison jumpsuit was comfier,”

Remus sighed, stepping past the remade table. “Let’s see,”

The tie was squint for one thing, too tight on one side, pulling the robes until they were crinkling. Remus reached up, his hands hesitating for a second at the proximity and then loosened it, working quickly to adjust the size and shape. Satisfied with his work, he pushed the tie back up to Sirius’ throat. He couldn’t help but notice how Sirius swallowed heavily as his fingers brushed the skin, and he wasn’t sure if he imagined Sirius’ breath hitch slightly.

“There,” he said softly, fingers lingering on the tie for a moment. “Much better,”

He didn’t dare look up from the tie. He was terribly aware of how close they now were, terrified of what his face might give away at this distance.

Sirius cleared his throat. “Remus…if I don’t come out of that courtroom—“

“Don’t be daft,” he said, perhaps a little louder than intended.

“Please,” Sirius replied, a tremulous note to his voice. “I didn’t— I didn’t get to say goodbye last time. I’ve spent thirteen years thinking about what I would have said given the chance. Just let me—“

“This isn’t goodbye,” Remus shook his head, shutting his eyes. “I refuse to believe that,”

“Will you stop being so stubborn for two seconds Moony?” Sirius bit out, a hint of disbelief in his voice.

Remus finally looked up. Sirius was staring at him with wide, intense eyes, filled with fear, and grief, and something else that he didn’t want to believe was there, because how could it be after he’d left him to rot in that prison?

“I…don’t want to go back there,” Sirius said, voice quiet now. “But even if there’s the smallest chance that I might— I’m thankful that you finally know the truth. I should have told you from the start. I should have trusted you,”

“If a lack of trust is your only crime, than I’m just as guilty as you are,” Remus muttered. “If not more so,”

Sirius made a dismissive noise in his throat, shaking his head. When their eyes met again it was like the air had been sucked out of Remus’ lungs. So many things he wanted to say, to do. But to admit them now, before the trial, felt like admitting that Sirius wasn’t coming back. And that was a line of thinking that he couldn’t give in to.

“Remus…” Sirius said again, his voice almost imperceptible. Such a simple thing, hearing his own name, and yet it seemed to root him to the spot.

Sirius leaned forward, tilting his head up, their eyes still locked, and before Remus could even process what he was doing he was leaning down to meet him, hot breath on his lips as he hesitated there, as if waiting for permission.

A sharp knock came on the door, and Remus immediately took a step back just as it swung open, his heart slamming in his chest. Dawlish stood in the door frame, another figure behind him, and if he suspected anything he certainly didn’t show it. In fact he looked as if he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Time to go Black,”

The two aurors stepped into the room, taking their places at either side of Sirius. They didn’t chain him this time, a small mercy, but it was evident who was in control of who, and Sirius seemed to shrink between them.

“You’ll be there?” Sirius asked him hurriedly.

“For the whole thing,” he nodded. “I intend to be the first person to greet you as a free man,”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he flashed Remus the briefest glimpse of that wolfish grin.

And then they were gone, leaving Remus standing in the sad, decrepit safe house alone, the moment and whatever courage he’d had fleeing with them.

———

Anwyn fidgeted with a loose thread on her sleeve, staring balefully at her reflection in the full length mirror. They’d picked out an old grey school skirt and shirt, and her Mum, being nearly of identical size now, had given her a smart black cardigan to wear over the top. After wrestling her curls into a tight ponytail, she looked somewhat presentable for once. Still, it did nothing to help with the mounting nausea.

“Ready?”

Her Mum appeared in the hallway, coat already on, looking as prim and put together as always. She always seemed professional, confident, and it was something that Anwyn admired about her, but didn’t think she’d ever be able to emulate.

“I guess,” she replied, taking one last uneasy look in the mirror before stepping out to the hallway.

“Let’s see you,” Her Mum said, holding her out at arms length, and gave her a once over. “Perfect. What are you?”

“Shitting myself?”

“No,” she replied matter of factly, ignoring the language. “You are confident, you are calm and you are ready. What are you?”

“Mum—“

“What are you?” Her Mum asked again, stare unyielding.

Anwyn sighed, giving in. “Confident, calm and ready,” she muttered, though she felt anything but.

“That’s my girl. Right, let’s get moving,”

“How are we getting there?”

“By floo,” her Mum said, stepping into the sitting room towards the fire. “Try not to get soot on your white shirt,”

She wasn’t sure what she’d expected the ministry to look like. A stuffy old office building perhaps. But the atrium that they stepped into was certainly not that. In fact she was so taken aback that her Mum had to drag her away from the fireplace before the next person to arrive could careen into the back of them.

There were so many wizards and witches buzzing around that Anwyn felt lost just looking at them. She stuck close to her Mum’s side as they crossed the polished floor, mouth agape as she craned her neck to look at the ceiling miles above them. A huge, golden statue stood in the middle of the room, an heroic looking wizard and witch surrounded by magical beasts; a goblin, a centaur, and a house elf, all looking adoringly at the humans. It didn’t take many guesses to work out whose idea that had been, and it certainly wasn’t the goblins.

There was a grand golden gate separating the hall of fireplaces with the rest of the ministry, and as they approached it a ministry official looked at them expectantly from behind his booth.

“Mrs and Miss Blackthorn here for the Pettigrew trial?” Her Mum introduced them, and the official checked the list on front of him.

He nodded. “Yes, I have you here. If you’d please present your wands,”

Anwyn shot her Mum an anxious look, but she seemed unfazed.

“Standard practice Wynnie,” she said. “Nothing to worry about,”

Though Anwyn spent a fraught few minutes worrying that she was about to be arrested for a crime she didn’t even know she’d committed, the official seemed happy with whatever he was doing with their wands, and handed them back without issue. “You’ll be in the main courtroom. Bottom level, the lifts are just ahead through the gate,”

It took a few moments for them to find a free lift, with crowds of people obviously arriving for work. Even the one that they found space in was packed, and Anwyn found herself pressed in at the back, uncomfortably cramped.

Down the lift went, plummeting at a pace that made her stomach climb up into her mouth. Just as she was getting used to the speed, the lift jolted to the left, then down again, and she was flung into the wall, only staying on her feet because her Mum grabbed her arm.

“I’ve got you,”

When it seemed that they couldn’t sink any lower into the earth, the lift finally came to a juddering halt, the metal doors screaming as they opened. A stiff backed ministry official waited on the other side.

“Right this way please,”

The corridor be led them down was a dark passage of black tile, burning sconces lighting the walls. It seemed to twist and turn this way and that, and Anwyn gave up attempting to remember the route. When the aide finally stopped, he ushered them into a small waiting room, already populated by Harry, Ron, Hermione and Mrs Weasley. There were a number of stiff looking sofas with old coffee tables, and a station over by the wall with tea, water and biscuits, indicating that they might be waiting a while.

“Please wait here until your are called,” the aide said. “Someone will be along shortly when it’s your turn to testify.

The aide breezed back out, and Anwyn shot a look towards the other teens. Harry gave a half hearted wave, which she returned, but continued to stick by her Mums side as if that could save her from having to step into the court room.

“Morning Molly,” her Mum greeted Mrs Weasley. “No Arthur today?”

“He’s working I’m afraid,” Mrs Weasley replied. “Might be popping in later, but just me for now. Oh Ron, will you come here, your hair is a mess—“

Anwyn’s Mum turned back to her as Ron was wrestled, protesting, into his mothers clutches. “I’m going to have a poke about,” she said quietly. “See which reporters are already here,”

“What if I’m called?” Anwyn asked anxiously.

“I’ll be back long before then,” she assured her.

Anwyn bit her tongue, fighting back her protest. How often had she heard promises like that? But her mother seemed unaware of her displeasure, giving a quick wave to the others before slipping out the door.

Anwyn did what any self respecting witch would do under stress. She went to get a cup of tea.

———

Remus lowered himself into the hard wooden bench, glancing up at the writhing ceiling of dementors above him. It was a chilling sight, one he’d have to try and warn the kids about before they came in lest it threw them for a loop. The Wizangamot judges in front of him weren’t much better. Fifty rigid figures in plum covered robes, austere and impassive. A full court. Nothing less for the trial of the decade.

He tapped his fingers on the wooden banister in a short staccato of rhythm, a simple pattern that he and his friends had worked out in class to grab each others attention without alerting the teacher. Apparently it was still effective, as Sirius, two rows in front of him in a little wooden stand of his own, looked quickly over his shoulder.

He was pale, shifting slightly from side to side, but seemed to relax a little when he spotted Remus, giving him a grateful nod which he returned before movement across the court distracted him.

Someone was being led into the room in chains.

At first he wouldn’t have recognised Peter if he hadn’t been led in by the Aurors. The man was a shell of a human, the weight having shed off him in the months since they’d last met in the shrieking shack. His hair, though limp before, was clinging in only a few meagre patches, and his skin had a dull, sallow look to it, as if he was already dead.

Pettigrew looked his way. For a moment Remus felt true pity, tinged with grief for the boy he’d know before. He could see him there, under the skin of this shrivelled man, small and insecure, somehow even quieter than Remus had been when he’d first started school. Sirius and James had been instant trouble makers, full of the bravado of youth, but he’d found a familiar soul in Peter, and they’d grown out of their shells together.

But they’d ended up on very different paths.

Lily. James. Harry. Sirius. All of the muggles caught in the cross fire. Countless other lives that they may never know the true scope of. Just how many had he ruined with his fear and selfishness?

Remus met his eyes, held that watery gaze. Tightened his jaw, and straightened his back, determined not to give into the flickers of pity in the back of his mind. Pettigrew was muttering something as the aurors ushered him into place in the cage that stood opposite, clinging now to the bars, but he was too far away to hear over the murmur of the growing crowd.

And then a figure rose at the front of the court, tall and resplendent in the plum robes of office, long silver beard dropping down to his waist. The voices around him immediately fell back, silence ringing out save for the quiet snuffling of the man in the cage.

“Witches and Wizards of the Wizangamot,” Dumbledore said. “We gather here today for the trial of one Mr Peter Pettigrew, who stands accused of committing terrible, terrible acts in the name of Lord Voldemort. Judge Coronus, if you would be so kind as to read the charges?”

The severe looking man beside Dumbledore stood. “Certainly. The charges brought against the defendant today are as such. That he did willingly and knowingly gather information on the ministry and its assets with the intent on informing He Who Must Not Be Named. That these activities led to the deaths of multiple members of our community, including Mr and Mrs Potter of Godric’s Hollow—“

Remus glanced down at the seats below him. Sirius, who after six months of good food and company could not have looked any more different from the man in the cage, was glaring across the courtroom at Pettigrew with unrestrained rage.

“— that he did willingly and knowingly seek to escape justice, falsifying his own death while murdering upwards of thirteen muggles, leading to the wrongful arrest of one Mr Sirius Black. It is also accused that Mr Pettigrew also broke statute 435 of the Laws and Guidance for Animagi, living as an unregistered animagus while posing as a child’s pet,”

The courtroom erupted into muttering once more, and Dumbledore had to hold up his hand to get everyone’s attention.

“We have a long day ahead of us, so let’s not waste any time. Please proceed with the first witness testimonies Judge,”

“Certainly sir. I call our first witness, Auror Augustus Savage,”

And so it began.

———

Somehow, despite the events pressing on them, the Gryffindors were still locked in whatever feud had polluted the atmosphere in Dumbledores office. Anwyn had watched them from afar for the first few minutes, nervously hovering around the table of teas and coffees, before finally giving in, and slumping down on the sofa beside Harry. If she was going to be stuck waiting here, she may as well find out what was going on.

“What’s going on with those two?” Anwyn asked quietly, jerking her head towards the other students who were still pointedly ignoring each other.

“They uh— had a falling out at the ball,” Harry replied. “Ron wasn’t happy that Hermione went with Krum,”

Anwyn’s eyes widened. “That was Hermione?!”

“Yeah,” Harry said weakly. “And now she’s not talking to me either. I don’t really know what I’ve done wrong. Who did you end up going with?”

“No one,” Anwyn replied quickly. Her situation was far too complicated to explain.

But Harry didn’t seem to notice her awkwardness, instead looking a little crestfallen. “I thought you’d be going with Russell or someone? If I’d know, I would have asked, we could have just gone as friends. Might have been a lot less awkward than the night I ended up having,”

“Russell went with Sarah, didn’t you notice that they were glued to each other all night?” She replied wryly, but there was an unexpected clash of emotion in her head. On one hand, she was grateful that Harry thought of her fondly enough to consider it an option. And on the other, she was mildly annoyed that he’d done so after the event was over. She pushed both feelings down. “Besides, didn’t you have to open the ball with a dance? I think I dodged a bullet there,”

“Fair,” Harry conceded.

“Did you maybe think…look Harry, don’t take this the wrong way,” she grimaced. “Maybe Hermione’s upset because neither of you even thought to ask her? You’re her best friends. That’s got to hurt,”

“How was I supposed to know?” He protested. “And…what if we wanted to go with other people?”

“Did you? Want to go with someone in particular?”

“No,” Harry replied, far too quickly.

Anwyn smirked. “Okay. Sure,”

He opened his mouth to say something else, but was swiftly interrupted by the door swinging open.

“Ahh, just the people I’m looking for,”

Remus, who’s head was sticking around the door, stepped in and immediately headed their way. Anwyn and Harry clambered to their feet, and Hermione appeared beside them, obviously more interested in what Remus had to say that keeping her silence.

“Harry,” Remus greeted him, giving the boy’s shoulder a steadying squeeze before turning to the Gryffindor girl beside him. “Hermione. Good to see you,”

“Same to you. Just a shame it’s in court,” Harry said weakly. “How’s it going in there?”

“Good, I think,” Remus replied, and he seemed to mean it. “Dumbledore is presiding as Chief Warlock,”

“Dumbledore’s here?” Ron appeared at Harry’s other shoulder. “See, I told you mate, it’s going to be fine!”

“They’ll be calling you soon I expect,” Remus pressed on. “I’m aware of how intimidating this whole experience may be, so there’s a few things to be aware of,”

Harry gave a nod, attention fixed firmly on his old teacher.

“First things first, the room is full of dementors—“

“Oh hell—“ Anwyn whined

“You’re in no danger from them,” he said soothingly. “They’re there for Pettigrews benefit, as is standard with such a high profile trial. There will be a wall of patronus between you and them, so they can’t feast, but the sight enough can be a little jarring,”

Somehow, that still didn’t make the idea any more appealing.

“You’ll be shown into the room, through the stands. They’re a little packed; pay them no mind. The only people you have to worry about are Dumbledore and the presiding Judge, who will be asking the questions. You’ll be asked to sit in the centre of the room, again, the chair is a little intimidating but it’s not there with witnesses in mind, it won’t hurt you. You’re not the ones on trial,”

“And we just have to answer their questions?” Hermione asked, a slight tremor to her voice. “And then we can go?”

“Precisely,” Remus nodded with a small smile.

“I think we can do that,” she replied reluctantly.

“Of course you can. I have no doubt you’ll all perform admirably. Harry, I expect they’ll call for you last. Tied to the case as you are, your testimony will make the greatest impact,” “Great,” Harry muttered, despondent. “I can’t wait,” Remus gave him a sympathetic look, before checking his watch. “I best get back. Just remember, it’s scarier than it looks,”

He went to step away, but Anwyn found herself grabbing at the arm of his suit, anchoring him in place.

“You’ll be in there right?” She said. “When we have to go in,”

“Of course,” he replied. “I’ll be there the whole time,”

Anwyn bit her lip, but let go of his arm. Everyone kept telling her she could do this. Maybe they were right?

“Good luck,” Remus told them, stepping back to the door. “All of you. I’ll see you on the other side,”

It took all of five minutes after him leaving for Anwyn’s nerves to return ten fold.

———

Dread, perhaps. The first inklings of it. Stirring down the back of his spine.

“To put it simply,” Snape drawled. “I had concerns that Black had help entering the castle. From an inside source. And when I discovered them both in the shrieking shack, I did as anyone would. Attempted to apprehend them and protect the children,”

Protect the— the snivelling bastard. He could still see Anwyn’s terrified face as she’d been dragged into the room, still hear her begging the potions master to let him go.

She’d ended up with a concussion and a dislocated arm. That didn’t sound like protection.

“And when did you realise that Pettigrew was in fact there that night?”

“On the hillside,” Snape replied clearly. “He’d been bound and left on the ground. It’s been some years since I last saw him, but I recognised him immediately,”

The judge leaned forward on the lectern. “What were your next steps?”

“I continued with my attempt to apprehend Black, and summoned the dementors. It was, in my opinion, unclear whether or not Black and Pettigrew were league with each other,”

Remus prised his eyes away from his ex colleague, and looked down at Sirius. His head had dropped, and his hands were clasped tightly around the wooden banister.

“And your opinion on the matter now?” The judge asked.

Snape didn’t reply at first, allowing the silence to draw out. When he spoke again, his voice was laced with self assurance.

“I believe Black’s innocence to still be, at best, debatable,”

Shit.

———

“Miss Blackthorn? The court is ready for you,”

For a few seconds it was like Anwyn was rooted to the spot, and she felt tempted to look around just in case some other Blackthorn was sitting in the room. But the aide looked at her expectantly, so she clambered to her feet, shooting a nervous look towards Harry.

“Good luck,” he told her with a grimace.

“Thanks,”

She was relieved to find her Mum was waiting at the door for her, her presence somewhat reassuring during the walk down the long, dark tiled corridor towards the court. Alone, she may have easily gotten lost, as numerous corridors split off along the route, all identically tiled and forboding.

The presence of Aurors increased, seemingly indicating that they were reaching their destination. From the doors beyond stepped out a familiar figure, dressed as always in trailing black, looking particularly fitting within the gloomy confines of the lower levels.

“Blackthorn,” Snape greeted, his cold eyes flicking from her to her mother who he gave the most imperceptible of nods.

“Have you— have you been giving your account Professor?” She asked, half expecting him to snap and tell her to mind her own business, but instead, a small sneer appeared on his face.

“In full. It is, after all, a very important case. One wouldn’t want them to get the wrong idea, would we?”

Anwyn did reply to that. Instead she internally prayed that he hadn’t thrown them all to the lions. Surely Dumbledore wouldn’t be happy with that.

The aide was motioning her forward again, so she set her mouth in a thin line and stepped towards the door.

“Oh and Blackthorn?” Snape stopped her. “Try not to stupify anyone in the courtroom won’t you? You seem to have a habit of doing so,”

Her mother bristled beside her. “I beg your pardon—“

“Right this way please,” The aide interrupted, rather forcibly, and before her Mum could protest any further Snape had already swept off along the corridor.

“Come on Wynnie,” her Mum grumbled beside her. “Let’s get this over with,”

The double doors opened into a dull room beyond, the sound of many voices floating out to her. There was only one way into the centre of the courtroom; right down the middle between the stands. They rose up on wooden stilts at either side of her as she entered, towering over the chair that she could see straight ahead, and every row seemed to be packed with purple robed officials, awaiting her arrival.

A quick glance up confirmed Remus’ earlier warnings. The ceiling at first looked like it was just above the courtroom, a swirling mass of pale, glowing white. But the longer she looked, the more she realised that the room extended far beyond the barrier, and above their heads swam hundreds of dementors, swooping as close to the wall of Patronus as they dared. Anwyn immediately averted her eyes. She couldn’t feel their icy touch, but the sight alone was enough to make her heart race even faster.

The chair itself looked like some kind of medieval torture device. It was a huge thing of thick, heavy wood, with a number of leather and metal straps hanging down from the arms of it. Her knees shook as she lowered herself down, feet dangling slightly. It was cold and hard under her, incredibly uncomfortable, and she pointedly held her arms close to her body, terrified that if she touched the arms of the chair, that the straps would restrain her against it.

The Wizengamot were muttering amongst themselves. She craned her neck, looking around at the stands, her eyes first finding Sirius standing on his own near the front and sure enough Remus was just a few rows behind him. He gave a small, reassuring nod, and she swallowed hard. She could do this. It was just a few questions, wasn’t it?

“Miss Blackthorn,” she looked straight ahead to find a sharp looking man with a carefully manicured moustache glaring down at her. “Can you please confirm that you were witness to the events involving Mr Peter Pettigrew and Mr Sirius Black on the night of June 9th?”

“Yes,” her voice came out as a squeak, and she cleared her throat. “I was yes,”

“And that you gave a testimony of these events on the morning of June 10th, am I correct,”

“Yes that’s correct,”

She glanced to the man’s right, immediately recognising her Headmaster, and tried to take a calming breath.

“Can you tell us in your own words, what you saw that night?”

“Uh—“ her fingers fidgeted with one another in her lap, clammy and damp. “Well I arrived in the s—shrieking shack a little after eight—“

“Why were you at the shack?” The judge immediately interrupted.

“I— I realised Remus hadn’t taken his potion that night, so I was trying to get it to him,”

“And what potion would that be?”

Anwyn felt the first flicker of annoyance break through her fear. What did that have to do with anything? She grit her teeth. “His Wolfsbane,”

Judge Coronus leaned forward. “So you are aware that your uncle is a werewolf?”

“Of course I am,” her retort had an edge to it that she didn’t mean to add, but then why was he asking stupid questions? What was his game?

The judge, Coronus, clearly caught the tone of her voice, a scowl spreading across his face. Anwyn shuffled slightly in the seat, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut. She shot a quick look in Remus’ direction to find that he was watching carefully, a small frown line appearing between his brows.

”And so you took it upon yourself to delivery the potion,”  

Anwyn nodded. “When I arrived at the shack, I could hear voice upstairs. So I went toward them, and that’s when I bumped into Professor Snape,”

She paused, looking up at the judge to see if he would stop her, but he gave no sign of doing so.

“He— well we entered the room, and there were five people already there. I saw Harry, Ron and Hermione first, and then Sirius and Remus were—were behind the door. Professor Snape argued with them for a bit, and then we uh—“ she hesitated, glancing over at Dumbledore’s impassive face. “We— that is Harry, Ron, Hermione and I, we uh— disarmed him? And after that, Sirius and Remus cast a spell of some sort on Ron’s rat, and he turned into Pettigrew. I mean he was Pettigrew,”

“Why did Professor Snape argue with Black?”

“He wanted to take them in. Hand them over to the dementors, but they were trying to tell him about Pettigrew and he wouldn’t believe them,”

“And why,” Coronus’ voice was slow, ponderous. “Did you feel the need to attack your teacher? Why not try and talk him round?”

Merlin, this was not going the way she’d expected. It felt more like she was on trial than Pettigrew.

“I— I—,“ she fought the urge to seek out Remus in the crowd again, instead blinking rapidly. “I— he was— he had bound Remus and he was going to summon the dementors. I couldn’t— I mean I just acted—“

“When Pettigrew’s true form was discovered, do you remember what he said?” Dumbledore spoke up, and Coronus shot him a quick look, but didn’t interrupt. It was clear that he’d been overruled.

Anwyn turned her attention to her headmaster, relieved to have a change of subject and met his blue eyes. She could have sworn she saw a familiar twinkle behind them.

“At first he tried to explain away how he was still alive,” She said, straining her mind. That part of the night had been so frantic, it all seemed like a blur. “He said that— that Sirius was lying I think? But that didn’t make sense, because how could he be alive? And then it all started coming out. And he began to beg for his life, saying that he— he sold out the Potters because he was scared,”

There was a murmur around the courtroom. She hoped it was the right reasons.

“And what was Black’s reaction to this admission?” The Warlock asked.

“He was angry, understandably,” Anwyn said. “Every one was. But they agreed to leave him to the dementors,”

“Did Black and Pettigrew seem familiar with each other?”

What? What was that supposed to mean? She felt a scowl slipping down her face once more, and she shot a quick look to Sirius. He wasn’t looking her way, instead he was staring at the ground with a sort of resigned expression.

“Well…yes,” she replied slowly. “But they went to school together, so of course they would,”

Coronus made a noise in his throat, not quite affirmative. “And that’s when you all left the shack?”

A familiar churning had started in her gut. She knew it would come to this. Knew it was part of the events that made up that awful night. But she’d tried to avoid thinking about it for six months, despite the dreams that still haunted her. Anwyn looked down at her hands, clamping her fingers together.

“Not all of us,” she said, fighting to keep her voice even. “The Wolfsbane had smashed in my pocket. So we had to leave Remus behind,”

“How unfortunate,” the judge commented, thought she got the impression that he didn’t not mean that at all. “What happened after you left the shack?”

Her brow crinkled as she tried to think. It was just flashes for while after that, the tunnel, Sirius urging her. Hermione trying to calm her down.

“I think…we decided to take Pettigrew to the castle. To Dumbledore,” Anwyn flashed the headmaster a look, and he gave an almost imperceptible nod. Emboldened, she continued, slightly more sure of herself. “We stopped at the stone circle on the hill. But that’s where Professor Snape came to, and him and Sirius started duelling. Pettigrew transformed, and then ran off back down the hill, so Sirius chased after him,”

“And you stayed on the hill?”

“No,” she shook her head. “Professor Snape summoned the dementors, and I— uh…panicked,” she couldn’t help but flick a look at the mass of black robes above her, immediately looking away as the sight turned her stomach. “I ran back down the hill. But I fell, and the rest of the night is all black. I woke up in the hospital wing a few hours later,”

“Did you see who was at the lake side?”

She screwed an eye shut, as if it would help her memory. “Harry…and Sirius. I didn’t spot Pettigrew, but if he was still a rat I was probably too far away,”

“Hmm,” the judge sat back, checking his notes. He seemed to pause, drawing out the silence for an impossible long time that made her squirm. When he finally spoke again, it was in a tone reminiscent of a teacher commenting on a particularly bad essay. “I have it on record here that you were also witness to Mr Black breaking into the school, is that correct?”

Fuck. She wasn’t expecting this.

“Yes,” Anwyn replied hesitantly. “On Halloween,”

“And that you reported him wielding a knife?”

She looked between the judge and Dumbledore. Surely the headmaster would step in? This was completely off topic.

“He was tracking down Pettigrew—“

“Did you or did you not see him with a knife,” he asked sharply.

Anwyn flinched. “I— yes I did,”

Coronus nodded, as if that was the answer he’d been expecting, and turned to his next page of notes, rubbing at his moustache as he prepared his next attack.

“Would you say that Black was in his right mind when you met him in the shack?”

Anwyn shuffled in the seat, and started to pick at one of her nails.

“I would say so,”

“You wouldn’t say you were scared?”

“Well— yes but— I didn’t know he was innocent—“ she started, but the judge was nodding again, and there was a murmuring from the others around him. She was, Anwyn realised, very quickly losing any semblance of control, if she’d ever had it, and her next words came out as a near shout. “He’s not mad! Or dangerous! He— he— if he’d been in on it he could have killed Harry at any point. And he— he saved my life,”

Judge Coronas fixed her with a piercing gaze. “Elaborate,”

Her face flushed a deep red, the shame welling up. She didn’t want to air her problems in the court. It seemed unfair that it should even have to come up, but still her embarrassment was a small price to pay for Sirius’ freedom.

“I had an…accident. In the lake last year. Sirius pulled me out. He saved my life,” she repeated. “He’s a good man,”

This time when she looked over, Sirius was watching her, a strange look on his face, almost like he couldn’t quite believe she was defending him. Remus in comparison, almost looked pained.

“You are aware that Black and your uncle knew each other? How are we to be sure that he didn’t save your life to ensure that your uncle would continue to work with him?”

“No,” Anwyn all but moaned. “It wasn’t like that, Remus didn’t know—“

But the judge was already cutting her off, steepling his fingers as he leaned forward. “One does have to wonder if Mr Black had other motives. Take the night of Pettigrew’s escape for instance, You say you fell and lost consciousness?”

“Yes, but—“

“So how are we know that the events occurred as you remember them? How can we be sure that Pettigrew didn’t have help—“

“Because he was right in front of me,” she replied incredulously. “I saw Pettigrew transform, I remember that clearly—“

“And you’re completely sure that your Uncle did not leave the shack?”

Cold. She felt terribly cold. As if someone had plunged her in freezing water, but at the same time a sweat had broken out on her back.

“Yes,” she replied, no longer able to contain the trembling. “I’m sure,”

“But you didn’t see him transform?”

“No,” she swallowed, throat feeling like it was closing up.

Don’t do this. Stop talking. Don’t do this. How to get the air in? How to breathe? Was that the smell of damp wood? The creek of rotten stair?

“Then how can you be sure?”

Their conversation on the hill came back to her.

“How much did you see…or hear. Last night“

“Nothing,”

Remus had been so broken that day, just holding it together, so she’d lied, for his sake or her own she wasn’t sure, but the lie kept going. Or at least she’d never corrected it, and a lie of admission was still a lie, wasn’t it?

And she’d promised she wouldn’t lie again, hadn’t she? After the potions lab, after the lake, after months of solitude and that deep, dark pit that Remus had worked so hard to drag her out of. And here she was lying again, but this time his freedom might be on the line.

He’d be terribly upset with her.

He might even be furious.

But she couldn’t let them think he was in on it.

“It was— the moon— he— it—,” she couldn’t find the words, couldn’t seem to take any more air into her lungs either. She was hot, no cold, no somehow both at the same time, sweating and shivering in equal measure. “We were— we were the last ones out— I didn’t want to leave but— Sirius“

“But how can you be sure,” Coronus pressed. “It sounds to me that you’d left before any transformation took place—“

“Because it— he— I know it happened,”

“I’ll ask again Miss Blackthorn, did you, or didn’t you see your uncle transform?”

“I didn’t—“

Coronus had let a smug smile slip onto this face. “Then it’s clear to me that you cannot confirm his where abouts. How else would you know—“

“Because I heard it!” Anwyn blurted, though it felt like she had to force the words out, and when she spoke again her voice was weak. “I heard it,”

She couldn’t look over to the stands now. Even if she wanted to, which she didn’t. In fact, she wasn’t too sure if she could move even if command to, her limbs suddenly leaden, room spinning.

Merlin, she didn’t want to see Remus’ face right now.

“What exactly did you hear?” Coronus asked slowly.

Don’t make me say it. Please.

“I—,” her voice broke. The room was spinning, far far too hot. There were so, so many eyes on her. And in her head the screaming had started. “I— uh— I—“

“I believe,” Dumbledore cut in, his voice low, calm, a sharp contradiction to the way it felt her heart was tearing out of her chest. “That Miss Blackthorn has confirmed enough of the details for us to verify her story,”

Coronus looked disgruntled, his moustache rustling as he blew out a frustrated sigh, but he leaned forward on the lectern.

“No further questions Chief Warlock. Witness dismissed,”

It wasn’t until the court started murmuring that she realised that she should be moving. Her knees felt weak as she stood, legs shaking as she stepped away from the chair. Each step felt like she was floating, unreal, nightmarish. The stands loomed above her but this time she couldn’t stop her self from looking up, as if an invisible force was dragging her eyes towards them.

She locked eyes with Remus. His face was pale, scars standing out against a stricken expression. Anwyn immediately looked away.

“Wynnie, this way,”

She looked up to find her mother standing at the door, arms beckoning. Why was she so far away? Why did her legs not want to work?

The few steps between the stands felt like a mile, and by the time Anwyn stepped through the double doors into the black corridor beyond, her mother was all but holding her up.

Notes:

Decided to start this chapter with pain, sorry not sorry.

Decided to end it with pain too, oops

That initial scene was never actually planned in, but I was listening to The Night We Met by Lord Huran on a loop and it just kind of happened. It’s obviously now my wolfstar soundtrack because I like pain.

Spent a lot of time trying to get to us one right. It was initially even longer but this felt like a good place to end it for now.

Chapter 20: A Weighing of Guilt

Notes:

CW: Panic attacks, discrimination

A recess of thirty minutes. Enough time for most of the people in the courtroom to grab something to eat, refresh themselves, take a breather. Remus only had one goal in mind.

He’d expected comments, questions even. Knew that his ties to Sirius would be called into question, knew that his time as a teacher at Hogwarts would be under scrutiny. He’d fully prepared himself for his own testimony to be a thoroughly uncomfortable experience when they finally called him to the stand.

He hadn’t expected them to subject Anwyn to the same level of questioning.

There were a number of rooms along the corridor that the courtrooms were situated in. The first one he ducked into was empty, perhaps waiting for someone still in the court. He’d all but ran from the stands after all. The second, contained the other students, with Hermione sitting quietly in the corner having just given her own account, and Ron dodging his mother’s fussing. Harry sat on the bench beside them, spinning his wand idly in a way that was the spitting image of James. He looked up as Remus poked his head in.

“Is it time?” He asked, voice tight.

Remus shook his head. “They’re taking a thirty minute break. Has Wyn been in?”

“No,” Harry replied. “Haven’t seen her since she went in,”

He gave a quick nod, and then ducked back out of the room, anxiety growing.

When he found them in the next room, he knew straight away that this was a bad one. Bethan was talking hurriedly, in low tones, when he entered, and when she looked up he was immediately struck by how shaken she looked, face pale, drawn, eyes wide.

“I can’t get her to calm down,” she told him desperately. “She’s just— just gasping for air— Remus how do I calm her down?!”

The panic in his sisters voice nearly toppled him over the edge, but he took a steady breath, falling into a crouch in front of Anwyn. Her hands were clasped tightly around her arms, fingers pressing so hard that the tips were turning white. He wondered idly if she was leaving bruises. He reached out, grasping her arms, and found that she was trembling violently.

“Wyn,” he said gently, trying to get her attention, but her eyes were wide, far off as she gulped in rapid, ragged gasps of air. “You’re alright, it’s over,”

Her eyes finally flickered over to his at the sound of his voice, but instead of relaxing she slammed them shut, her breath picking up again.

“I fucked up, I fucked up—“ she muttered rocking on the spot. “I’m sorry, I fucked up—“

“You didn’t,” he told her firmly. “You did perfectly well,”

“No,” her voice was more of a moan than anything else. “No— they think— they think he— that you— oh fuck, the— the Wolfsbane— I’m such an idiot—,” she cut off in a panicked sob, doubled over as if in pain, clamping her hands into her hair.

Bethan’s arm tightened around her shoulders, and he met his sisters wide, panicked eyes. “Shhh Wynnie,” her voice was shaking almost as much as her daughters. “You’re alright, you’re alright—“

“It’s my fault—“ Anwyn cried. “It’s all my fault, it’s all my fault—,”

Remus had only heard panic in her voice to that degree once before, and it sent him right back to the mud at the side of the black lake, cradling his shaking, freezing niece as she begged with him to find the dragon pendant in the depths. But this time her cousins weren’t the cause. He was.

“Anwyn,” he said quietly as he swallowed heavily, trying to control his own distress. “You’ve done nothing wrong, we’re all safe. Your Mum is here. I’m here.” And then he remembered her own words when she’d met him at the base of the whomping willow, how the Welsh had soothed him. “Rwy'n ddiogel, cariad bach. Rwy'n ddiogel, dwi gyda chi,”

Her eyes stayed shut, but she took a deep, juddering breath, a crinkle between her brows appearing as she tried to focus. Remus reached out and gently prized her hands from her head. He clasped his own around them, containing the tremors that were snaking down into her fingers.

“I’m safe,” he repeated, pressing their clasped hands to his chest where she could feel his steady, if a little fast heart beat. “Just focus on breathing, like we practiced. In and out, nice and slow, that’s it,”

Something seemed to give in her. Slowly but surely her breathing calmed, and though they didn’t stop, the tremors lessened. The rigidity left her arms, and when he finally let go of her hands, she slumped against her mother’s side, tears still streaming down her face, looking totally and utterly exhausted.

Remus checked his watch. The half hour had disappeared, he’d need to get back to the courtroom.

“Take her home,” he told Bethan quietly. “Keep her warm, give her something sweet,”

“What if she gets worse again?” Bethan asked, a tremor to her voice.

“Then stay calm, talk to her. Be her anchor,”

Bethan’s bottom lip shook, but she nodded, her face solidifying into a mask of calm. Still, he could see how shaken she was, and as he levered himself to his feet, knees protesting from his time on the floor, he grasped her shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

“I’ll be home as soon as I can”, he told them, and then stooped, kissing Anwyn on the top of her head. She didn’t seem to notice he was there. “I promise,”

When he returned to the courtroom, he could have sworn that the patronus guards had been dismissed. The cold touch of dread that had settled down his spine was not far from that of the dementors touch.

Sirius turned on the spot in his stand, eyeing Remus with barely concealed concern. Remus forced his face to remain calm, even trying a small, thin lipped smile. Sirius didn’t look convinced.

His eyes slid across the court room to the cage on the opposite, only to find that Pettigrew was watching him once again, grubby fingers clasping at the bars.

This time Remus couldn’t meet his eye.

———

The journey home was like a dream, not quite real, not quite solid. She barely noticed the roaring of the floo network, grasped tightly in her Mum’s arms so that she couldn’t careen off into a random fireplace, and before she knew it they were already standing in the fireplace of Chapelcross Road, air full of the smell of spice and chocolate once more.

“This way sweetheart,” her Mum said gently, guiding her towards the hallway. “Let’s get you in bed, hmm? A little nap will do you good,”

“Do I have—“ she cleared her claggy throat. “Do I have to go back there?”

“No. It’s over and done with. You don’t have to go back,”

She changed into her pyjamas in a daze, going through the motions, and by the time she was clambering into bed the gravity of what had just happened was catching up once more.

“Is Remus angry with me?” She asked, voice barely a whisper.

Her Mum paused where she was, duvet in her hands half raised. “Why would he be angry?”

Anwyn sniffed, nose blocked from crying, and felt her eyes threatening again. “I lied. I told him I didn’t see or hear anything. I didn’t want him— he was so upset the next morning, I didn’t want him to worry but— but I didn’t want to lie,”

“Oh sweetheart,” Her Mum tugged on the duvet, tucking it under her chin, and then sat on the edge of the bed. “I don’t think that’ll matter to him,”

“But the last time I lied he was so mad,” her voice was strangled, and the tears started streaming down and soaking into the duvet cover.

Her Mum sighed, brow folding as she looked down to her feet in thought, and then turned back to Anwyn, using her thumb to brush the sticky tears from her face.

“Was that the potions situation by any chance?”

She felt her cheeks heat a little despite it almost being year since it had happened, and nodded.

“Then this is a very different,” she said assuredly. “He was worried about you. And you were hurting yourself, taking risks. He’ll know that in this case you were just looking after him,”

“I technically was trying to then too,” she muttered, but her eyes were growing heavy, a heavy, thick exhaustion seeping into her limbs. The rhythmic strokes of her Mum’s thumb on her cheek was somewhat hypnotic, and she found her breathing slowing.

“It’ll all work out my darling,” she heard her Mum tell her as her eyes shut. “Everything will be alright,”

And for once, she was far too tired, and far too miserable to do anything but accept her word.

———

“The court calls upon Mr Remus John Lupin,”

Contrary to the reassurances that he’d given his former students, the walk to the witness chair was a contender for one of the most nerve wracking things Remus had done all decade. Her could hear the court muttering around him. Little snippets worked their way through, “—the werewolf—“ being one of the most repeated. Attracting attention was something that wasn’t entirely new to him, despite how hard he tried. Doing it in a courtroom was somewhat of an additional level of stress however.

He settled in the chair, propping his elbows on the arms, and attempted to appear relaxed, confident. He wasn’t sure if it was working.

“Mr Lupin,” Coronus began. “If you would please confirm that you were a witness on June 9th to the events involving Mr Pettigrew?”

“I was, that is correct,”

“And that you gave testimony of these events June 10th?”

“I did,”

The judge stared at him for a second, his eyes hard, cold, and then immediately launched into his questions. “When did you first meet Mr Pettigrew and Mr Black?”

“During my first year at Hogwarts. We were sorted into the same house,” Remus replied clearly.

“And you met Mr Potter during this time?”

“Yes, that’s correct,”

“At what point did they become aware of your lycanthropy,”

Straight for the throat. It seemed that despite Coronus’ efforts to bring everyone’s attention to his condition during Anwyn’s testimony, it hadn’t been enough.

Remus kept his voice measured. “It was sometime in my second year, if I recall correctly. I had been disguising my disappearances as family health emergencies, but naturally they started to notice a pattern,”

“And it was during this time that you and your friends created the map of Hogwarts?”

“We started work on the map in our fourth year. It wasn’t completed for a number of years however,”

“Still, quite the achievement. A most impressive set of enchantments, for school boys,” Dumbledore added lightly, and Remus thought he almost heard a hint of pride in his voice.

Coronus’ mouth was a thin line, clearly not as impressed. “Were you aware that during this time your friends had become animagi?”

Remus tapped the pads of his thumbs together, resisting the urge to squirm in his seat. “Yes, they did so for my benefit. They theorised that I would pose no risk to them while in animal form. A theory that would come to be correct, though the thought of them taking such a risk fills me with horror now,”

“And yet you didn’t report either the map, nor his animagus abilities when Black was arrested?”

“It didn’t seem relevant—“

“It didn’t seem relevant that a mass murderer possessed an ability that may help him escape and gain access to Hogwarts?” Coronus interrupted.

“With all due respect, I was under the impression that Azkaban was inescapable,”

There was a murmuring amongst the judges, and Coronus scowled down at him. He could have sworn, however, that Dumbledore gave an amused smile. The judge didn’t press any further however, immediately launching into his next line of attack.

“What was your initial reaction when you heard that Black had escaped?”

Somehow, ‘I nearly had a panic attack and then didn’t leave my bed for days’ didn’t seem like an appropriate response for the court. He flicked his eyes over to Sirius. He wasn’t watching, but he could tell by his face that he was listening carefully, eyes staring at a point far off.

“Shock, mostly. And concern, for Harry’s safety of course,”

“And why, at this moment, did you not think to I inform the ministry of Black’s capabilities? Or at any other time during the school year?”

It was a good question, one he’d asked himself many times during the school year. He rubbed at his chin, considering his answer, and then finally looked back to the judge.

“I will admit that my motives here may have been purely selfish. My friends and I were…troublemakers, to put it mildly. I am under no illusion that my very existence at Hogwarts was gift. Not every headmaster would have been as accommodating as Professor Dumbledore,” he looked over at the old wizard. “Our nighttime activities, the others becoming animagi. These actions felt like a betrayal of the kindness he’d shown me in my youth. That he was still showing me with his offer of a job. I didn’t disclose these because I couldn’t face admitting that. To put it simply, I was too much of a coward,”

It was a sentiment he’d shared with Dumbledore, on the day he’d resigned, but saying it out loud, this time in front of over fifty people filled him with a churning, burning shame. The look of smug assurance on Coronus’ face certainly didn’t help matters as he leaned forward on the lectern.

“And yet,” he said slowly. “You took the teaching post at Hogwarts?”

“I did, yes,”

“Why?”

“I was initially reluctant to accept,” Remus replied. “In fact I turned down the offer at first. But after the news of the breakout, and after discussing the situation with Professor Dumbledore, I felt that I could be of some use at Hogwarts,”

“I’m sure I speak for court when I say that I fail to see how employing someone with your…condition would be beneficial for the school,”

Thirty one years. Thirty one years of dealing with this and he still was faced with a flood of shame, anger, and, most overwhelmingly, self disgust. Because Judge Coronus was right, wasn’t he? It was the exact same doubts he’d shared when offered the job. What good could be do? Everything he touched turned to shit. He’d even managed to ruin Anwyn’s life.

Remus shot a glance at Sirius. He was outright glaring at the judge, not a great look when his innocence was in question. He opened his mouth, floundering for an answer, hoping to keep the attention on himself before anyone could notice, but was saved by a quiet clearing of the throat.

“I would be happy, Judge Coronus, to answer any questions you may have about my recruitment decisions outside of this court,”

Dumbledore’s smile was quite pleasant, as if he was merely discussing the weather, but the effect his statement had on Coronus was as if he’d just cast a particularly potent stinging hex on him. The judge shot upright, straight backed, and for a brief, satisfying second Remus swore he could see a flash of panic in his eyes.

It was only a second however, before he seemed to collect himself, venom returning to his voice. “You said you were reluctant but took the position? Perhaps you thought it would be the perfect opportunity to help Mr Black into the school?”

Remus shook his head, emphatic. “That was not the case. For one thing, I was otherwise engaged on both occasions that Sirius managed to gain access to the castle,”

“Otherwise engaged how?”

He swallowed heavily. “Halloween night was a full moon. And Anwyn was unwell the night of the second…event. I was with her,”

Unwell. Suffering from potions withdrawal, most likely. Another of last years failures to add to his list.

“How convenient,” Coronus said dryly, in the same condescending tone he’d just with Anwyn. Remus grit his teeth. “Did Mr Black make any attempt to contact you during your time at Hogwarts,”

Remus shook his head. “He did not,”

“And were you aware that he’d been in contact with your niece? That he’d saved her from drowning?”

His throat felt tight, as he silently hoped that her struggles weren’t about to be used as another form of attack. “I was not, no,”

Judge Coronus looked down at his notes, silence ringing out. Remus tried his best to keep his head raised, fighting against the urge to look down. Merlin, they hadn’t even covered the night in the shack yet. Fifty plum robed judges looked back at him. He avoided each and every one of their eyes.

“Your relationship with Mr Black before his arrest. It was of a…romantic nature?”

Remus’ chest tightened, and he swallowed past the lump in his throat, fighting to keep his voice even. “It was, yes,”

“And since the breakout, have you continued this form of relationship?”

“I hardly think that’s relevant—“ he spluttered, but the judge held up his hand, cutting him off.

“A simple yes or no will do, Mr Lupin,”

He glanced over to Sirius. His head was bowed, face unreadable. Still he didn’t look his way.

“No,”

“Hmm,” Coronus looked briefly between the two of them before checking his notes once more, releasing what seemed like a bored sigh. “Talk us through the events of June 9th,”

Finally, the subject they were here for.

“I was inspecting the map when I spotted Pettigrew’s name, along with Sirius and Ron heading towards the Whomping Willow. When they disappeared, and Harry and Hermione followed. I knew exactly where they’d gone, and I left immediately. When I arrived at the shack, I instantly recognised the rat for what he was. I’d seen him transform so many times in the past, it was hard to mistake. Which begged the question; if Peter was alive, what else had we gotten wrong?”

“You decided to hear Black out?”

“I did,” he replied, marvelling at how calm his voice sounded while his heart hammered away. “The children, naturally, were confused and scared, so I tried my best to explain the situation, but before we could transform Peter into his true form, Severus arrived,”

“With you niece?”

He swallowed past the flicker of guilt. “Yes. Sirius, Severus and I never saw eye to eye at school. He didn’t want to hear our explanation, and we quarrelled. He disarmed me and made to apprehend us,”

“And that’s when the students attacked him?”

He grimaced. “It was a high pressure situation, they only meant to disarm him—“

“Your niece stunned him, did she not?”

“She was only trying to protect me,” he replied emphatically. “Anwyn wouldn’t harm a fly otherwise. And she respects Professor Snape, potions is her favourite subject,”

“You didn’t encourage her to attack her teacher—“

“Certainly not!” He replied firmly. “As I said, the children were all under a severe amount of stress. But they acted with the best of intentions,”

“Yes,” Coronas replied, dead pan. “As you said. And after they attacked Professor Snape?”

Remus grit his teeth until his jaw throbbed. “We forced Pettigrew to transform. Held him until he admitted his crimes,”

“And what was that admission,”

“That Sirius had passed the secret keeper role to him. That he had sold the Potters to Voldemort to save his own skin, and that they had been killed because of that,”

“And the attack on the muggle street?”

“He knew Sirius would track him down. He made sure to find a public setting, make a bold announcement, and then severed his finger to fake his own death. A heroic sacrifice that would be sure to stop anyone questioning his loyalty,” he said bitterly, avoiding looking at the little man in the cage.

“After Pettigrews confession, where did you go?”

“I stayed in the shack. It was, after all, a full moon, and I had not taken my potion. I wasn’t willing to put anyone at risk by leaving,”

Too little too late. So he hadn’t physically harmed them. What sort of harm had he done mentally, emotionally?

“Surely by taking the job the the first place you were putting innocents at risk,”

The worst part was that Coronus was correct. He’d know it from the start, had felt it in his gut when offered the job. He should never have let himself be talked round.

“I—“ he fumbled for a response. “I— we, that is, Professor Dumbledore and I, agreed to my acceptance on the condition of Wolfsbane being available. Otherwise, I would not have taken the role,”

“But you did. And four children were nearly faced with a fully grown werewolf,”

“Which is something that I will regret until the end of my days, believe me,” he said, and this time he fully meant it. “It’s a thought that…weighs heavily on me,”

“You wouldn’t say you put your own livelihood before the lives of your students?”

“I would not,” he replied, though the guilt felt close to smothering him. “I was bitten at four years old. I had to navigate the horror of that from a young age, all the way through school and I still wrestle with the impact it’s had on my life. I would never— never willingly put a child through the same experience I’ve been through. I— I cannot state that enough,”

Coronus didn’t reply, instead narrowing his eyes. Unsettled, Remus looked around at the other judges, and found a mix of reactions, all of them making him feel two inches tall. Pity, revulsion, disbelief. His resolve finally folded, and he swallowed hard, dipping his head.

“Brilliantly put, I would say,” Dumbledore said mildly. “I believe that brings the questions to an end, thank you Remus. Witness dismissed,”

———

By the time his watch had passed 5pm, Remus was beginning to loose both the feeling in his lower back, and what little hope he’d had. He was fairly certain that the seats had been made as uncomfortable as possible, and he’d given up trying to maintain a decent posture sometime during Ron Weasley’s stuttered, garbled account of how he’d come to own a pet rat, followed by a frankly disastrous account of the events of the shrieking shack that had left Sirius sounding even more like a mad man.

They were running behind, but the chair contained the final witness. And Harry certainly caught the courts attention. They’d begun to mutter the moment he set foot in the room, whispering between them selves as the boy shot nervous glances towards the crowd. He’d sat in the witness chair, giving it the same nervous look that all his friends before him had, and then shot a glance towards Sirius. One nod from his Godfather and Harry had stilled, collecting himself with a deep breath.

Coronus had started simply, asking him the same series of questions they all had gotten about the order of events on June 9th, before drilling down into his thoughts surrounding Sirius, each question more leading than the previous one.

“Did Mr Black seem in his right mind?”

“Would you say Black was happy to see Pettigrew?”

“Did you at any point feel threatened? Did he attempt to harm you in any way?”

Harry was resolute. Though he looked just like his father, he had a hardness to his voice as he answered that had not come from James, who Remus was sure would have been trying to squirm his way out from the uncomfortable questions with ill timed jokes. An inheritance from Lily perhaps, or a firmness that he’d cultivated in his time with her muggle family. What sort of environment would have nurtured that in a fourteen year old?

“Did you, at any point during the school year, observe any behaviour from Mr Lupin that would suggest he’d been helping Black into the castle?”

“No,” Harry said. “Professor Lupin had multiple opportunities to harm me. Private lessons, classes. I never felt threatened, far from it,”

“He gave your private lessons?”

“Yeah, I…struggled with the presence of dementors at the school. He taught me how to guard against them,”

“He taught you the patronus charm? That’s very advanced magic,” Coronus said, a note of disbelief in his voice.

“He’s a very good teacher,” Harry replied stubbornly.

“You must have trusted him a great deal then. Would you say you felt…betrayed perhaps? When you found out he was a werewolf?”

“I don’t think betrayed is the correct word,” Harry said, frowning. “Shocked, yeah. Confused. But I get why he didn’t tell anyone,”

“And why might that be? Wouldn’t you say keeping a dangerous secret such as this was a complete and utter abuse of his position?”

“You only need to look at the way this court treats him to see why,” Harry bit back. “And I don’t see what Remus being a werewolf has to do with Pettigrew betraying my parents,”

Coronus seemed taken aback. “We’re merely covering all possibilities. If there’s any chance that he was aiding Pettigrew—“

“But he wasn’t, was he?” Harry interrupted. “The only thing Remus did was help me last year. And it kind of feels like you suspect him just because of his condition. Which is a load of nonsense if you ask me,”

Remus heard a huff of amusement from in front of him, and Sirius ducked his head to try and hide the smirk that was evidently on his face. There was no such smile on his own face, he was far too busy staring wide eyed at Coronus, waiting on his reaction to Harry’s accusation. Merlin, James’ backtalk and Lily’s temper certainly made for an explosive combination.

“I can assure you, this court is impartial. I’m merely suggesting—,” Coronus finally replied through gritted teeth. “— that with past behaviour—“

“I think we’ve laboured this point quite enough,” Dumbledore cleared his throat. “And I’m sure we’d all like to get home at some point tonight. Harry, what exactly did Pettigrew confess to you?”

Harry’s scowl slipped, replaced by a hollow look that only served to ram home how young he was. How unfair it was that he was having to go through this at all. Again, Remus found him cursing himself. He’d been so wrapped up worrying about Sirius that he’d failed to consider how harrowing this might be for the boy.

“He said that he sold out my Mum and Dad to save his own skin. He told Voldemort where we lived. And they’re dead because of him,”

Another wave of murmuring came from the crowd, but this time it was accompanied by looks of pity.

“And you’re certain that there was no involvement from Mr Black?” Coronus asked.

“None,” Harry replied firmly. “Sirius is innocent. He deserves his freedom,”

“You’re certain that he didn’t ask you to say so—“

“Coronus,” Dumbledore interrupted, and this time there was almost a note of frustration to his voice. “You’re not seriously suggesting that Harry would lie about is own parents untimely demise?”

“Of— of course not—“

“Then wouldn’t you say our questions have been answered on full? In fact, unless I’m much mistaken, all but one of our witnesses from the night have testified that only Pettigrew carries the guilt here,”

“Professor Snape—“

“Was unfortunately unconscious during Pettigrew’s initial confession. But he made one more that night, once in custody, of which we had another witness to,”

Coronus started to shuffled through his notes, panic evident. “I— I’ve called all witnesses, who is yet to testify—“

“Me,”

Dumbledore stood from his seat in the centre of the judges pews, and started to slowly descend the steps towards the floor.

“You see, when faced with the prospect of a stay with the dementors, Peter confessed his crimes to me in the early hours of June 10th. He was scared, yes, but I believe he was sound of mind during his confession,” he told the judges as he reached the floor of the courtroom. “Convinced of his loyalty, Lily and James Potter asked Peter to be their sole secret keeper, unaware that he was, in fact, the spy that we had long suspected to be in our ranks,”

It was as if an invisible hand was clutching at Remus’ heart, tight and painful, squeezing the life out of it. But he couldn’t look away as Dumbledore stepped up behind Harry in the witness chair, placing a supportive hand on the boys shoulder.

“Eager to keep his master’s favour, Peter took this information to Voldemort, who subsequently murdered Lily and James on the night of Halloween, 1981, leaving Harry here the only survivor,”

Harry’s face was drawn, pale, his jaw clenched in something between grief and anger. He was glaring at Pettigrew with barely contained hatred.

“Judges of the Wizengamot. As chief warlock, I understand my testimony may not be taken as evidence. However, I urge you, in the strongest terms, to consider the witness statements you’ve heard to day, not least from Harry himself,” Dumbledore said, his gaze sweeping the court. “Think of the damage that has already been done to this family. And tomorrow, we will reconvene for a final verdict. Judge Coronus?”

The other man looked thoroughly disgruntled, completely thrown by Dumbledore’s speech, but cleared his throat.

“We adjourn for the night. Court will be in session at 9am sharp,”

———

It was a little after seven o’clock when Remus shut the front door with a dull click. He stayed where he was for a few seconds, finger tips still pressed against the wood of the door, and strained his ears to listen.

All was quiet.

He tiptoed down the hall, avoiding the floorboards he knew creaked the most, and stepped into the sitting room. It was dark, no lamps on, just the glow of the candles on the Christmas tree. Bethan was sitting on the sofa, a near empty glass in hand, staring at a point somewhere past the opposite wall.

“Wyn?” He asked.

“She’s asleep,” she said quietly. “Crashed out the moment I put her to bed,”

“Good,” he replied. “She’ll be worn out,”

Bethan gave a small, shallow nod, exhaling roughly.

“How did it go?”

Remus sighed heavily. “They gave me the fourth degree, as expected. I think Harry might have won some of them over though. And Dumbledore…well, he did what he does best,”

“That Coronus is a bastard,” Bethan said bitterly. I almost think he enjoys it. The way he pressed Wynnie—“

Remus gave a grunt of agreement as she tailed off, running a hand through his hair, and began to shrug his jacket off.

“How did you do it?” Bethan asked suddenly

He paused, before chucking his jacket over the back of the armchair. “Do what?”

“Last year. How did you keep yourself together enough to…help her?” She brandished her glass, talking with her hands as she always did when she got animated. “This wasn’t even her at her lowest and I— I had no idea how to deal with it,”

He rubbed at the stubble already protruding from cheek, letting out a long breath. “I can’t pretend it wasn’t hard. That moment at the lake…I nearly lost myself there. To the panic. But she needed someone, so I had to be that person for her,”

“I’m not sure I’m cut out for that,”

“You are,” he said gently. “I’d like to say it gets easier but…it doesn’t. You just find ways to deal with it. Merlin knows I made enough mistakes last year in the process,”

Bethan winced, attempting to hide her reaction with another sip of wine, but he’d already clocked it.

“What?” He asked warily. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing,” she replied, far too quickly.

“Bethan…”

She tapped her fingers off the glass in her hand, a rhythmic burst as she ran her tongue along her teeth, considering her words.

“She thinks you’re angry with her,”

He frowned. “Why would I be angry?”

“Because she lied about what she heard that night. And the last time she lied was about her potions lab,”

He cursed under his breath. It seemed his poor reaction last year would forever come back to haunt them. He’d have to talk to her, but it would be a painful conversation, one he’d have to tiptoe around to avoid her reading his reactions incorrectly.

Because he was angry. Angry at himself for having put her in that situation in the first place.

“What did she mean Remus,” Bethan asked quietly. “When she said she heard it? The transformation?”

He didn’t reply immediately, swallowing heavily as he sunk down onto then edge of the armchair. It was a conversation they’d never really had. In fact Bethan tended to avoid the topic of his lycanthropy completely. She was supportive, yes, she opened her home to him, made she he had some where to stay, food to eat. Fussed over him when he returned after a full moon, supplied potions for the pain. But never discussed it. Today was a first.

“The process is…violent,” he finally replied, voice tight. “I don’t remember much of it, but there are flashes. Bones breaking, flesh tearing. It’s not something you can stay quiet during,”

Bethan was silent, staring at him with unblinking eyes, and then she scrunched her eyes shut, pressing the heel of her hand to the bridge of her nose. “Fuck—“

“It’s not something I ever wanted her to hear,” he said, voice barely a whisper.

“It’s not something you should have to go through in the first place,” she replied, almost sounding angry. “I mean— fuck me, that’s horrific Remus! And you were just a child—,” her voice broke as she tailed off, and then took a deep glug of wine.

“She’s just a child,” Remus said. “And she’s in the state she’s in because of me—“

“Bullshit,” Bethan interrupted. “If anyone is to blame, it’s Greyback for starting all this. Or Pettigrew for bringing you to that shack in the first place. Not you,”

Remus didn’t reply, staring at the glowing tree instead. He couldn’t quite agree with that sentiment. Eleven years he’d managed to her safe from all of this. Eleven years and he’d blown it in one night. It had been minutes, seconds even, between them escaping in time and him murdering four students, Anwyn included. No amount of regret could stop that from being fact.

Bethan sighed, going to take another sip of wine before realising her glass was empty. She sat it down on the side table, and stood, slowly, as if the entire day had aged her by ten years.

“I’m going to bed,” she muttered. “Try to get some sleep won’t you?”

“Yes,” he replied, distracted. “Good night,”

But despite the lethargy dragging at his limbs, sleep was something that evaded him. He lay straight backed on the sofa, eyes wide as he stared at the ceiling, sinking into the crack between the cushions, and went over every minute of that night in the shack. From the moment he stepped through the door, to the moment he clambered from the tunnel, and everything in between, the rage he’d felt seeing Pettigrew, the fear in Anwyn’s eyes when he’d levelled his wand at his old friend. The sound of her begging Sirius as wrestled her down the stairs.

Had he seared this trauma into her? Had all their work last year to pick her back up been destroyed in one fell swoop? There were some sights, some sounds that stayed with you, shaped you, broke chunks of you off.

Greyback was an obvious one for him. But there were others. The sound of his mother’s crying in the nights after the attack. The look in his fathers eyes. The sight of the Potter’s house, torn apart. Dumbledore at his door the day Sirius was arrested.

After an hour of mentally torturing himself, Remus clambered to his feet. He wouldn’t wake her, but the nagging urge to check that she was alright wouldn’t let him lie any longer.

The door to Anwyn’s room was cracked open, but no sound came from inside. He eased himself around the door, blinking his eyes until they adjusted to the low light. At first he thought that she was asleep, duvet pulled right up to her chin, but as he took another step inside she flinched, covers rustling.

“Just me,” he said lightly, before crossing over to the bed. Her eyes watched him, wide. “Sorry if I woke you,”

“I was awake,” she croaked, voice heavy. “Did the trial…is it over?”

“I’m back in tomorrow,” he said. “They’re deliberating,”

Remus lowered himself on the floor, suppressing a groan as his back protested at the poor support, and propped himself against the bed side table so he could be level with her. Anwyn rubbed at her eyes, and then shuffled her head closer on the pillow.

“Remus, I’m really—“

“If you say you’re sorry, I’ll turn you into a toad,” he said, voice laced with faux disapproval. “It’s been a while, but I’m sure I remember how,”

He turned his head to find that she hadn’t cracked a smile, but was instead chewing anxiously on her bottom lip, fingers clasping tight at the duvet.

“Anwyn,” he said, far gentler this time. “I understand why you didn’t tell me. I’m not angry. Far from it in fact,”

She didn’t reply, instead shooting him a doubtful look with red tinged, watery eyes.

“Do you… want to talk about what you heard?” He asked slowly, dreading the answer.

She considered his question, chewing once more on her lip, and he found himself silently hoping she’d say no, that he wouldn’t have to face up to whatever damage he’d done. But that wasn’t fair, and so he tried not to look too pained when she finally spoke.

“It’s…stuck in my head,” Anwyn replied, voice thick as a tear finally broke free, snaking down her cheek onto her nose. “Sometimes it just…plays over and over, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it,”

“I’m sorry you had to hear it. If I could take it back I would,” he told her, reaching out to smudge the tear from her nose with his thumb. “I would wipe every second,”

“Can you not though?” She asked, suddenly intense. “You know memory charms right—“

Remus was already shaking his head.

“They are…imprecise. Even expert healers use them sparingly, there’s no guarantee that the correct memories would be erased. I could wipe my entire existence from your mind. Although perhaps that would be preferable,” he failed to stop the note of self disgust from sneaking into his voice.

“Don’t say that!” She shot up, half propped up on her arm. “That’s not— thats—”

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry,” he soothed. “No memory charms,”

She settled her head back down, shuffling closer still and rolling onto her front until her hand was trailing off the edge of the bed. He took it in his, slumping further down the bedside table until he could lean his head on the edge of the mattress. His neck was already horrified.

“You know,” he said quietly. “I think you were fantastically brave today,”

She gave a small snort of derision. “I had an anxious meltdown and nearly cried in court,”

“Quite a reasonable reaction when faced with that judge,”

She was silent for a moment, her slow, even breaths tickling his ear, and when she finally spoke her voice was heavy with sleep.

“He was an arsehole,”

Remus gave a small chuckle. “Normally I’d correct your language, but…yes. He was an arsehole,”

He expected a laugh, or a cheeky comment in return, but none came, and as he tilted his head, straining his neck at an awkward angle, he found that her eyes were shut, the frown lines between her brows finally smoothing out.

After a few quiet minutes, when he was sure that she was properly asleep, he slipped his hand out of hers, and retreated back to his makeshift sofa bed.

This time, sleep finally came.

———

Anwyn shrugged her dressing gown on, slipping a pair of fuzzy socks onto her feet, and shuffled through to the sitting room. It was already empty, the sheets from Remus’ make shift bed already having been tidied up. His coat was missing from the hook by the front door, and his shoes too were gone, but a pair of heels sat in place. Frowning, Anwyn padded down the hall to her mothers bedroom.

She knocked, poking her head round the door, and was shocked to see her Mum still in bed, nursing a mug of tea with the paper open over her lap.

“Morning sweetheart,” she said when she spotted Anwyn by the door. “How are you feeling?”

“Uhh fine— are you okay?”

“Yes,” her Mum said, confusion evident. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I’ve never seen you have a lie in,” Anwyn replied stepping into the room. “And the trial. I thought you wanted to report on it? I’m guessing Remus has already left?”

“Oh yes, he went about an hour ago,” her Mum replied, folding up the paper. “I decided to stay home. There were already plenty of reporters clammering for a story yesterday, I think I’m of more use here,”

She pulled back the duvet cover, and patted the mattress beside her in invitation.

Anwyn hesitated for a second, completely at a loss for words, and then clambered into the bed, kicking off her fuzzy socks in the process.

“What do you want to do today?” Her Mum asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “We can do anything you want,”

“I don’t know,” Anwyn said, genuinely perplexed. “We could umm… get the radio out and catch up on Auror Abroad? I’m really behind on episodes,”

“If that’s what you want?”

Anwyn shrugged, and then gave her best puppy dog eyes. “And maybe…maybe have some hot chocolate?”

Her mother raised an eyebrow. “For breakfast?”

Anwyn nodded, hopeful.

A small smile tweaked at the corner of her Mums mouth. “You and hot chocolate, what are you like? Okay. Just this once though”,

She slipped out of the other side of the bed, grabbing her dressing gown from the back of the chair in front of her vanity. Anwyn wormed her way further under the duvet, enjoying the soft warmth for approximately two seconds before she felt the firm grasp of anxiety around her heart.

“Have you heard anything from Remus yet?” She asked her Mum, her voice coming out as a bit of a squeak.

“Nothing yet I’m afraid, but he’s not been gone long,”

“How long do you think it’ll take? Will we know today?”

“I’d certainly hope so,” she replied distractedly, tying her dressing gown, and then looked up when Anwyn didn’t say anything further. “Try not to worry—“

“But I am worried!” Her voice cracked. “That judge is determined to implicate Sirius, and the things he was asking about Remus I wouldn’t be surprised if he wants him locked up too—“

“Well he can ask all the questions he wants, Remus isn’t the one on trial,” her Mum said firmly. “So put that particular worry out of your head,”

Anwyn bit at her lip, chewing on the dry skin. Was that true? Could they not arrest him if they really want to? What if her answers yesterday led to it, what if she’d made things worse? In fact, what if they marched him straight off to Azkaban today, while she sat drinking hot chocolate, and she wouldn’t know until it was too late? She wouldn’t even get to say goodbye, he’d disappear just like her Dad—

“Oh sweetheart, don’t cry, please,” Her Mum said, sitting down on the end of the bed. “Really, it’s fine, it’ll all be fine,”

“Sorry,” Anwyn snuffled, wiping at her face. “I just…I just get all wrapped up in my thoughts and it’s…all I can think about,”

Her Mum took her hand, giving her a small smile. “Would that hot chocolate help?”

Yes. No. Maybe. What she really wanted was an instant declaration for Sirius’ innocence. Remus home, safe. A cure for lycanthropy. A cure for whatever the fuck was wrong with her head. Maybe even a hug would do. But her Mum was dithering around, looking terribly uncomfortable and out of her depth, poised on the edge of the mattress as if she’d run at any moment.

“Yes,” she said instead, voice stuffy. “With whipped scream please,”

“Now that’s something I can sort,”

Her Mum sprang off the bed, and bustled through to the kitchen. Anwyn sat back, wiping her hands slowly down her face, taking the tears with them, fed up of the way her eyes seemed to constantly sting. She looked around, taking in the room, its pristine tidiness. The sheets smelt of her rose perfume, familiar and comforting as she dragged them up to her chin.

The photo album lay on the beside table to her right, and desperate for something to take her mind off whatever was currently happening in the court room, Anwyn leaned over and slid it onto her lap, flicking through the pages back to front in an odd sequence where she watched herself de-age.

She really had been a happy kid. Most of the photos seemed to be her grinning or laughing, usually hanging off her Mum or Remus, or on some occasions both. Where had it gone wrong? Why had these worries, these crippling doubts started to work their way in until the smallest of things seemed to break her? What was wrong with her?

The page fell open onto the photograph of her and her father in the garden. Sebastian Blackthorn, poe faced and rigid, black curls immaculate on his forehead, especially compared to her wayward Lupin birds nest. She stared at him intently, fingers gripping tightly at the book as she willed herself to feel some kind of attachment, some kind of emotion other than curiosity and an odd longing. She’d cried for him at one point, or so her Mum had said. Had missed him desperately. But the memory of it had faded to the point that it was just a strange echo somewhere in her chest.

She leaned in closer, nose almost touching the photograph as she peered at the garden in the background. The manicured hedges, the grey sky. There was something familiar about it that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

How old was she when this was taken? Younger than three obviously, so it must have been about 1991 or early 1992 perhaps. She was old enough to walk at least, so it was later than the photo that Signe’s father had sent—

The photo. The group photo taken at Signe’s home.

Anwyn slipped off the bed, abandoning the book and all but darted through to her bedroom. Her satchel was where she’d left it, in a heap at the bottom of her bed. It took her a few minutes of searching through old quills, half eaten bars of chocolate and crumbled parchment before she found the photo tucked into an inside pocket. She drew it out, holding up to the light, and scrutinised it.

It was hard to see. The group took up most of the frame, and she hadn’t paid much attention to their surroundings before. It looked like some kind of conservatory, glass walled and bright.

But there. Through the window. The unmistakable shape of an animal hedge.

They were taken in the same place. Years apart. Which could mean only two things; either they had visited the Nilssons numerous times, or they had stayed for an extended period. Either way, it was now terribly apparent.

Her Mum was lying. And she had proof.

Notes:

I want to start my apologising to any Welsh readers for potentially absolutely massacring their beautiful language. Google Translate is helpful but obviously not always accurate.

A little translation though:

Rwy'n ddiogel, cariad bach. Rwy'n ddiogel, dwi gyda chi

I am safe, little love/darling. I am safe, I am with you.

On another note for our little family here, I found writing Bethan’s reaction to all this an interesting process. It made sense to me that there would be a breaking point for her prioritisation of work over family, and seeing Anwyn in that state would be it, but she’s the oldest daughter of a family that went through significant trauma while she was still young (not to mention the Sebastian situation but we’re getting to that) and she’s become very good at the old keep calm and carry on mentality, which only gets you so far.

Anyway, Bethan character analysis over, thank you all once again for reading, kudos giving and commenting. I’m still constantly surprised that anyone is enjoying this so it’s much appreciated!

Chapter 21: The Dementor’s Prize

“One extra rich hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows—“

Anwyn slammed the photo album shut as her Mum breezed in to the room, trapping Signe’s photo, which she’d been comparing to the shot in the garden, between the pages. Her Mum paused in the doorway, giving her a quizzical look.

“Looking at the photos?”

“Just trying to distract myself,” Anwyn replied, which wasn’t a complete lie.

“Well, try some of this. I think it’s a particularly good batch,” her Mum replied, handing over the hot chocolate.

Anwyn’s heart was pounding in her chest as she took a sip, the whipped cream leaving a foamy moustache on her top lip. She watched as her Mum produced her wand and pointed it at the radio on the dresser, the old thing bursting into crackling life.

She needed to confront her. Needed to find a way to ask the questions she wanted to ask. But as her Mum settled back into the other side of the bed, pulling the duvet off the top of them, a small, childish voice told her to leave it. To enjoy this short amount of time that her Mum wasn’t rushing off somewhere while she could, to not ruin it with anger and accusations. Her nerves still felt raw, and to be cocooned in this warmth felt somewhat like taking a step back in time to when the only thing she had to worry about was what book they’d be reading that night.

Anwyn bit her tongue, and rested her head against her Mum’s shoulder. The questions could wait for now.

“How’s the hot chocolate?” Her mum asked, resting her own head on top of Anwyn’s.

“Good. Chocolatey. Thanks,”

The theme tune for Auror Abroad started blasting out of the radio. Anwyn’s eyes went back to the photo album, abandoned on the bed. A wave of anxiety crept up the back of her neck.

“So how’s school?”

Anwyn swallowed, dragging her eyes from the book. “Fine. Busy. The teachers are ramping up the work for the OWLs,”

“How about your friends? I don’t hear you talking about Sarah and Russell much these days,”

She wiped at the cream on her lip before wrapping her fingers tighter around the mug. “They’re…okay. They’re dating now I guess. I kind of feel like a third wheel most of the time,”

Her Mum sighed. “Hmm, yes it does all get a bit messy at your age doesn’t it? Mind you, I keep forgetting you’re old enough for all that, where’s the time gone?”

She lifted her head, fixing Anwyn with a warm if a little bit melancholic look, and brushed some of the curls back from her daughter’s face.

Anwyn couldn’t help but look across once more at the photo album. It was almost like it was burning a hole on the duvet.

Fuck it. She couldn’t put it off any longer.

“Mum…” she said lightly, trying to keep her voice as neutral as possible. “How long was it you said we stayed with the Nilsonn’s for?”

Her Mum’s hand paused in her hair. She couldn’t see her face, but there was a note of suspicion in her voice when she finally replied. “Not long. Why?”

“It’s just…,” Merlin, how could she phrase this without it being an accusation. “It’s just Signe’s Dad sent a photo to her. That we’re in. And it looks just like the garden in the photo of me and Dad,”

“Oh we visited a lot of gardens,” she said, leaning away from Anwyn to grab her own mug from the bedside table.

“Yes but this one looked identical—“

Her Mum interrupted her. “It’s not the same place,”

Lying. Outright lying and she hadn’t even looked at the photograph. Anwyn reached out suddenly, grabbing the edge of the photo album and dragging it towards them. She flipped through the pages as quick as she could until the loose photo of the two families slipped out.

“Here,” she said, sitting it side by side with the one of her Dad. “It’s the same animal hedges. You can see them through the windows—“

“Oh that means nothing Anwyn,” her mother interrupted again, exasperation slipping through. “Lots of well-to-do families have ornamental hedges—“

“But these—“

“Are not the same! I don’t know why you’re so adamant—“

“Because you’re lying!” Anwyn found herself shouting, the sudden rush of anger coming as almost a shock to her. “You’re lying and I don’t know why—“

“Don’t be ridiculous—“

“I’m NOT being ridiculous—“

There was a slight fizz in the air, and the radio suddenly exploded with sound, the volume jammed as high as it would go. Anwyn flinched into the pillows, slapping her hands over her ears while her Mum quickly produced her wand, and with a small flick, turned it off completely.

Silence rang out for a second as Anwyn stared wide eyed at the radio. Had that been her? It had been so long since she’d lost control of her magic, years in fact. Certainly not since she’d started Hogwarts. When she finally looked over to her Mum, the woman was looking at her with a concerned crease between her brows.

“You’ve had a stressful few days,” she said gently, her voice quiet. “Let’s just take things easy today okay? No more questions for now,”

“But—“ Anwyn started, voice now weak, but her Mum held up a hand, cutting her off.

“No buts. You should be resting,” she folded back the duvet, clambering out of bed once more. “I’m going for a shower alright? You finish that hot chocolate and just relax,”

And with that she was gone, and the conversation was over. It was only after a few moments of careful, steady breathing however, that Anwyn noticed that her Mum had taken the photo album with her.

———

Remus adjusted his tie before attempting to brush the slightly too long hair back from his forehead. He’d never been particularly interested in cosmetic charms, but he was regretting not trimming a few inches from the greying mop before the trial started. Surrounded by what felt like half the wizarding community, it certainly didn’t help the overwhelming feeling that he stuck out like a sore thumb. Between his hair and the faded, fraying suit, he looked for more like a homeless man who’d stumbled in off the street.

Of course his testimony yesterday had not helped the feeling of other. The stands were absolutely packed today, no doubt full of ministry officials clamouring for the verdict, like vultures around a carcass. He could feel their eyes on him as he edged his way along to his seat, keeping his head down to avoid making eye contact with any of them.

“Lupin. Here for the show?”

The voice was, unfortunately, familiar. Perhaps one of the last people he wanted to speak to at a time like this. His back instantly stiffened, and he turned on the spot to find a slick black haired individual standing two rows behind him.

“Sylvestus,” Remus replied stiffly, stuffing his fist in his pocket so the other man couldn’t see how white his knuckles had gone. “I’m surprised to see you here. I didn’t realise you’d have an interest in the case,”

“Well, as you may be aware, the Blackthorns are a scion of the Black family. It pays to keep up to date with family matters,”

“How interesting,” Remus said, though his tone suggested it was anything but. “I didn’t realised you kept track of such distant relations,”

Sylvestus’ scowl deepened. “Some family ties are worth strengthening. Others…would be better left behind,” His gaze took in the sad suit and floppy hair. Remus didn’t reply, instead gritting his teeth until he felt his jaw pop. Sylvestus sniffed, looking around the room. “Where’s the girl today? Don’t tell me yesterday’s performance was too much for her?”

Any churning sense of shame went straight out the window, replaced instead with a flash of anger that had Remus taking a deep breath, and drawing himself up to his full height.

“If by “the girl” you mean your own niece, she’s at home,”

“Probably for the best,” Sylvestus replied, sounding almost bored, but there was a flash of something cruel in his eyes. “She has a habit of passing the blame to others. We wouldn’t want her doing any more harm to Black’s case would we?”

If he hadn’t been carefully practicing keeping his anger in check over the past thirty years, Remus might have drawn his wand and cursed Sylvestus Blackthorn there and then, in front of fifty court judges and countless other witnesses. What a headline that would have made. Werewolf attacks upstanding member of the community at trial of mass murderer. Instead, he somehow managed to keep his voice low, measured.

“I wouldn’t worry about that. Anwyn only implicates the guilty,”

Sylvestus’ mouth curled in the beginnings of a snarled response, but he was cut off.

“Let us start proceedings,” Dumbledore’s voice, aided by the sonorous charm boomed out across the court. “Judge Coronus, if you will,”

Coronus stood, face as grim as it had been yesterday. His hair gleamed in the odd light from the patronus, and his moustache wobbled as he began to speak.

“Certainly. Judges of the Wizengamut, we continue the trial of Peter Pettigrew, who stands accused of espionage and murder. We begin by calling Mr Sirius Black, who appeals against his previous convictions, to the witness chair,”

Merlin, he’d been so focused on Blackthorn that he hadn’t even had the chance to shoot a supportive look Sirius’ way. He turned back to the front, sitting quickly down on the bench.

Sirius climbed slowly to his feet, as if he wasn’t too sure if he could take his own weight. Dawlish, who was standing guard beside him, unlatched the his wooden stand, and stood back to let him past. He turned as he went, fixing Remus with a fraught look, and Remus swallowed hard, giving him what he hoped was a supportive, confident nod.

By the time Sirius reached the chair, he was visibly shaking. He eyed the shackles, a tension in his elbows that suggested that he expected them to start moving, and Remus realised with a surge of horror that this was the first time he’d seen them. His previous conviction hadn’t even taken him into the courthouse.

“Mr Black,” Coronus addressed him, his voice cold. “Are you prepared to give testimony to the events of November 1st 1980 and the subsequent events dating from July 1993 to June 1994?”

“I am,” Sirius replied, and though he was clearly nervous, his voice was clear.

“Let us begin with the matter of the Fidelius Charm. What recollection do you have of these events?”

Sirius took a breath, as if steadying himself, and when he spoke his voice was measured. “James came to me. The night they found out that You Know Who would come for them. He asked me to be their secret keeper. I was an…obvious choice. I accepted immediately, no questions asked,”

“Why would you say you were the obvious choice?” Coronus frowned.

“We were best friends. Had been since our first day of school. The Potters took me in when I ran away from home, and I was fiercely loyal to James. He knew I’d have his back. On top of that, I’d always argued that I was the strongest duellist in the group. It uh— got me into trouble on more than one occasion,”

Remus mouth turned in a tight smile. Sirius and James had spent half their time in detention after duelling with Slytherins, sometimes dragging him with them. It had been fine training for the Order, though the title of “strongest duellist” had always been hotly debated.

“Who else knew you’d been asked to be the Potter’s secret keeper?”

“Only Professor Dumbledore. And Remus,”

“And yet you claim that the Potters changed their mind?”

“No- no they didn’t. I persuaded them to change it. As I said, I was the obvious choice. He was my brother. I would have died for him,” his voice cracked, and with it Remus felt a little shard of his heart follow. “Peter he— he was small. Quiet. Always picked on. But loyal, or so we thought. I was convinced that no one would look his way. That You Know Who would come for me instead, and there would be no way he could get the information from me, because I didn’t know where they were,”

Coronus eyed him sceptically. “You didn’t inform anyone of this change?”

“No. It seemed against the point. We were banking on Peter being an unknown, spreading that information would have weakened the plan,”

“And yet you claim that Pettigrew himself was the traitor? That you effectively put the Potter’s lives in his hands?”

Remus could see Sirius’ throat working as he swallowed. His voice came out in a croak. “Yes,”

“How did you feel, when you found out the Potter’s were dead?”

Silence. His mouth was open, floundering, and the look on his face was as if he was in physical pain. When he finally got the words out, his voice was constricted, as if he were close to choking.

“I was…well, distraught doesn’t cover it. They were my family, perhaps not by blood but— but in every way that counts. It…broke me,”

“You went after Pettigrew?”

“I did. I knew I didn’t have a lot of time, he’d know I’d have figured out what he’d done, so as soon as I saw the house I left immediately,”

“And what did you plan to do when you found him?”

“Honestly?” Sirius said, pausing for a beat, his eyes flicking around the room. He tapped a nervous hand off his knee. “Kill him. I never planned any further than that. All I knew was that I was going to make him pay for what he’d done. For his betrayal,”

Coronus leaned forward on the lectern. “So you did set out with murder in mind that day?”

The other judges began to mutter amongst themselves, and Sirius shifted uncomfortably in the seat, flinching ever so slightly when arms grazed the chains.

“I— I just knew I had to track him down—“

“And what happened when you did?” Coronus cut him off.

Sirius cleared his throat, trying to collect himself. “We duelled, briefly. It became clear to me very quickly that this was not the same boy I grew up with. Peter was always an…average duellist at best. But he had a power behind him that could only come from dark magic. And then he made his declaration. Stated it loudly to the street so everyone could be sure that he’d chased me down, and then blew the place up,”

“Did you attack any muggles?”

“No,”

“Did you harm any bystanders at all?”

“Not that I was aware of,” Sirius shook his head. “As I said, the duel was brief. I barely managed to cast a spell,”

Coronus frowned, shuffling the notes in front of him. The long, drawn out silence was punctuated only by a cough from the stands. Remus glanced above their heads. The Dementors still swirled in the rafters.

”I have it on record that you’ve never raised concerns about Pettigrew’s guilt. Why?” Coronus asked, finally breaking the silence.

Sirius didn’t reply, his gaze lowering. The tremor was back in his arms.

“Because the court never offered me a trial in which to do so,” he said through gritted teeth. “And even if they had…I— I as good as killed them. If I hadn’t persuaded them to involve Peter they might still be alive. It should have been me—“ his voice broke completely, and his head dropped.

Remus could feel the shaking starting in his own arms as he pushed his palms into the wood in front of him, his eyes stinging.

“It felt like…the least I could do. At the time”, Sirius continued quietly. “Like accepting my fate would be penance. And with the state Peter left the street in, it’s not like anyone would believe me anyway,”

“Or perhaps you knew you were just as guilty as Pettigrew? That you’d worked together to betray the Potter’s?”

Sirius’ head shot up as he glared at Coronus. “That’s not true. I told you, I would have died—“

“Died for them, yes, so you’ve stated,” the Judge replied, doubt lying heavy in his tone. “You also stated that you deserved Azkaban. So why escape? Why not serve your time?”

Sirius hesitated. “For Harry. Everything I did was for Harry. The Minister of Magic was visiting Azkaban. He left his newspaper with me, and I spotted a photo of the Weasley’s on holiday after winning a raffle I believe. I recognised Peter instantly. And then it was all I could think about. That he would be going back to Hogwarts, that he would be with Harry. I had to do something. So I slipped out between the bars. Swam to the mainland. Travelled up to Scotland, only taking food when I couldn’t stand the hunger any longer. And then lived in the forest,”

“How did you survive?”

“At first on rabbits, squirrels. I wasn’t very good at catching them though. Sometimes the students would leave scraps behind, and I’d try and take them when I was sure I wouldn’t be seen,”

“That’s when you met Miss Blackthorn,”

A small, ghost of a smile appeared on Sirius’ face. “Yes. I was starving by that point, it hadn’t stopped snowing for weeks. And Merlin, the smell of bacon caries in the cold. It about drove me mad. She gave me half of her breakfast,”

Remus felt a strange surge, somewhere between pride and concern. He hadn’t even known she’d been meeting with Sirius. Had he been guilty, things might have gone terribly different.

“I’m not proud of how I handled things,” Sirius continued. “I tried only to get to Peter when I thought the students wouldn’t spot me. Halloween, when they were at dinner. In the early hours, when they should be sleeping. But I couldn’t let him harm Harry. And once he knew I was onto him, the more desperate I became. I couldn’t stop thinking about what he might do just to escape me. Who might be caught in that fall out, just like on the muggle street,”

“Did you make contact with Remus Lupin during this time?”

Remus stiffened at the mention of his name, eyes flickering between the two men.

“I never even attempted to contact him,” Sirius replied firmly. “He didn’t know about any of this until we met in the shack,”

“Why not? You were close once, weren’t you?”

“I had…no proof. I looked half deranged. And to be frank, I didn’t think he’d ever want to see me again,” he turned his head, melancholic eyes rising to meet Remus’. “I was sure he’d hate me,”

Hate him? Yes, perhaps he had at one point. If only he knew how achingly far from the truth that now was.

“Half deranged?” Coronus scoffed. “You broke into the school with a knife! Brandished it at Blackthorn—“

“I left the moment she saw me—“ Sirius tried to speak up, panic in his voice, but Coronus continued.

“Slashed Weasley’s bed curtains—“

“I was after the rat—“

“And then dragged the boy by the leg underground, breaking it on the process!” Coronus finished, spittle flecking from his mouth.

Sirius’ fists opened and closed as he floundered, shutting his eyes tight as he attempted to collect himself. When he opened them again, he was staring intently at Coronus.

“I didn’t intend for the boy to get hurt. But Pettigrew had nearly escaped the grounds once. I couldn’t leave him! And if he tried to harm Harry—“ his voice broke, and he shook his head. “James and Lily are dead because of me. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for that, and I don’t expect others to either. But I‘ll be damned if I was going to sit idly by and let Pettigrew get to him. The least I could do was try to protect my godson,”

“You had no intention of harming the boy?”

Sirius shook his head, emphatic. “None. I only ever wanted to protect him,”

Coronus sighed, pursing his lips until his moustache covered the top one completely, and looked around to Dumbledore.

“Any further questions Chief Warlock?”

“None,” Dumbledore replied cheerfully. “I’m quite happy with Sirius’ story,”

Coronus looked anything but.

“Fine. Defendant dismissed,”

———

The day dragged on. Each hour felt longer than the last, and with each minute Anwyn’s anxiety seemed to grow, like a pot of water left on the boil. She just hoped that they’d receive some form of news before she bubbled over.

Her mother seemed intent on not being left alone in a quiet room with her. She talked non stop, about every topic that came to mind, and when the one sided conversation faded she turned on the radio, blasting out voices at a volume that set Anwyn’s teeth on edge. When Anwyn herself returned from a long, stinging hot shower, she briefly considered locking herself in her room if only to avoid the weird awkward tension now left between them. But with news still not forthcoming, she couldn’t quite bring herself to. She needed to be near the fire.

She wasn’t sure what was worse. The horrible, suffocating knowledge that her Mum was not only lying but was intent to continue doing so even after being confronted about it, or the prospect that the trial was continuing without them, with no way of knowing how it was going. On one hand, the mystery of her Mum’s behaviour was a welcome distraction, and on the other, even worrying about it made her feel guilty. Because Sirius was potentially about to be sent to Azkaban. How could she spend so much time thinking about her stupid little issues?

By lunchtime, Anwyn had all but retreated into her shell, curling up on the window seat in the sitting room where she could keep an eye directly on the fireplace. And so it was from her perch, knees tucked up to her chin, that she locked eyes with the face in the flames.

“Harry!” She croaked, nearly falling off the seat. “Why are you in my fire?”

“Just checking in,” he said, sparks bursting from his mouth. “Have you heard anything yet?”

He sounded just as anxious as she felt, and when she shook her head, the disappointment was clear on his glowing face.

“Why don’t you pop through Harry?” Her mum suggested, looking up from her newspaper. “We may as well all wait together,”

Anwyn shot her Mum a look. Again, she had the overwhelming feeling that she was trying to avoid the topic of the Nilsonns resurfacing, hoping that perhaps the other students being there would stop Anwyn from asking again.

“Alright,” the boy replied. “Thanks Mrs Blackthorn. I’ll go ask Mrs Weasley,”

After about five minutes the fire started to spit and roar again, and a figure clambered out, followed by another, and another, until Harry, Ron and Hermione were all standing in the sitting room of Chaplecross Road.

“Make yourselves at home,” Anwyn’s Mum told them, clambering to her feet from the sofa. There’s chess and exploding snap in the ottoman. Who’s for butterbeer?”

“That would be great, thanks,” Harry replied politely.

With a final smile at the other students, Anwyn’s Mum disappeared from the room.

“Nice house,” Ron said, looking around with interest, his neck craning to look at the old cornacing on the ceiling. “Where are we?”

“London,” Anwyn replied, swinging her legs down from the window seat. “It’s my Mum’s place,”

“I thought you were Welsh?” Ron asked, confusion evident as he lifted the lid of the ottoman, revealing the boxes of games inside.

“They are allowed to live elsewhere Ronald, it’s not illegal,” Hermione said, exasperated, but Anwyn noted that the fact she’d spoken to him at all was progress from yesterday. She turned from the boy, looking around the room, and her face lit up. “Oh you have so many books!”

She moved over to the shelves in the corner crammed with volumes, a disorganised mess of paper and hardbacks, not quite ordered. There were a few cardboard boxes, Anwyn noted, wedged between the sofa and bookcase, no doubt full of Remus’ collection that he’s brought from Shepherds Lane, still awaiting a home of their own.

“You can borrow some if you want,” Anwyn told her, and the other girl looked positively ecstatic.

“Can I? It’s such an interesting selection of muggle and wizarding books, quite the eclectic mix,”

“Anwyn’s gran was a muggle,” her Mum had reappeared with a tray of drinks and biscuits. “She felt quite strongly that Remus and I should have a firm education in muggle literature,”

“That’s fascinating!” Hermione said, accepting a glass. “How did your parents meet?”

Anwyn’s Mum gave a little laugh. “Now that’s a story my Dad likes to tell. He rescued my Mum from a boggart in the woods. Of course, she didn’t know that at the time and thought he was a hero. Which I suppose he was, regardless of the actual threat,”

“That explains why Professor Lupin did the boggart lesson then,” Ron said through a mouthful of chocolate biscuit. “Runs in the family,”

“I bet hers wasn’t a Dementor though,” Harry muttered, and then he turned to Anwyn. “Hey, what was your boggart in the end anyway?”

Her throat felt like it had closed up, nausea instantly rising in her chest. Her brain conjured a flash of the boggart writhing and screaming on the floor, a pathetic shadow of what she now knew the real thing to sound like.

“Uh—“ Anwyn swallowed heavily. “I didn’t uh— I ran out of time in class,”

Her Mum eyed her, a small frown line between her brows, as she sat back down on the sofa, and Anwyn wondered how much of the boggart encounter had been reported back to her.

“How long do you think the trial is going to take Mum?” She asked quickly, eager to change the subject, but inadvertently jumping to one equally nerve inducing.

“Hard to say,” she replied, frown deepening. “Death eater trials could either drag on for days or be over in under an hour, depending on how willing to talk they were. And I’d expect they’ll be wanting to do this one properly. They’ve already locked the wrong man up once,”

“Feels like they might again,” Harry replied, despondent. “They seem convinced that Sirius was in league with Pettigrew. Or that Remus was helping him,”

Anwyn, who couldn’t help but silently agree, began to chew on her nail, the anxiety a flutter in her chest.

“Dad was saying last night that Coronus had been angling for a promotion in the Law department for years. He thinks that’s why he’s being so aggressive,” Ron said.

“Surely it’s better for his career if he actually locks up the right person?” Hermione said, incredulous.

Anwyn’s Mum made a disgruntled noise in her throat. “I wouldn’t be so sure. There are some people in the ministry who are far more interested in their own careers than the truth,”

“If he’s not careful, my brother Percy will end up that way,” Ron muttered. “He wouldn’t stop talking about how important his job is while Crouch is away, it was practically all I heard for the entire Yule Ball,”

“Such a pity,” Hermione said dryly from the other side of the room, and Ron shot her a scowl in response.

But her Mum didn’t notice the tense exchange, far too interested in what Ron had just said. “So he really has disappeared then?” She said, sitting forward on the sofa.

Ron shrugged. “Percy just said he wasn’t well. Something to do with all that trouble at World Cup with his house elf,”

“Very interesting,” she replied, almost to herself, and then she stood suddenly. “I’m just going to check my notes. Help yourself to more biscuits,”

Anwyn watched her hurry from the room, pulling her knees in closer to her chest. The bubble had well and truly popped. She supposed that she should be greatful. After all, half a day without any mention of her Mum’s work felt like a record.

———

“Please! I— I— would never betray my f-friends—“

Remus winced as the straps wrapping themselves around Pettigrew tightened, eliciting a whimper from the pathetic little man.

“You deny being the Potter’s secret keeper?”

“Yes!” Pettigrew whined. “Yes! Why would they choose me when they could have chosen Sirius! Strong, intelligent Sirius! He comes from a dark family you know, many a death eater have come from that house,”

“Indeed?” Coronus raised an eyebrow.

Pettigrew attempted to nod, but only managed to choke himself on the restraints. “Yes! His cousin, Bellatrix for instance! And his parents were blood purists, even his brother was an evil, evil man,”

Sirius was shaking his head in the row below, muttering under his breath at the mention of Regulus. They’d known his family would be used against him, expected it. But no one had hated the Black family more than Sirius himself.

”Why hide? Why spend the last thirteen years as a rat?”

“You—you saw what he did to that street! I knew if he— he found me I’d be as good as dead,”

Dumbedore cleared his throat, speaking for the first time. “It’s interesting Peter, your story has changed since the last time we spoke, has it not? Did you not tell me the truth?”

“I—“ Pettigrews panicked eyes roamed across the court. “I didn’t know who I could trust—“

“Dumbledore was one of the main opponents of He Who Must Not Be Named,” Coronus frowned. “It’s one of the reasons he sits here as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamut. Surely you’re not suggesting he couldn’t be trusted?”

“No— I— I—“ Pettigrew’s whole body was shaking now, barely suppressed by the restraints. “But Sirius he’d— he’d always been a charismatic boy, I didn’t know what he’d said—“

“What cause would Sirius have to betray the Potters?” Dumbledore asked gravely. “As he stated, they were the best of friends,”

“He was always j-jealous of James—“

“That’s bullshit—“ Sirius growled from below, but Coronus cut him off.

“Silence Black!”

Coronus’ shout was not the only voice as the court began to mutter, heads turning this way and that as they watched the exchange.

Pettigrew continued his whimpering. “— he wanted power, to— to prove himself to his family—“

“I wanted fuck all to do with my family!” Sirius all but shouted back.

“—enough Black! Or I will have you removed!—”

”The Dark Lord had promised him a new life—“ Pettigrews voice rose until there was spit frothing on his lips.

“A new life? You took my life from me, you took EVERYTHING I loved! Admit it! Admit you as good as killed them, you traitorous little worm—“

Sirius began to scramble at the wooden rail in front of him, and for a second Remus thought he was about to clamber over before Dawlish grasped his arm, pulling him back. As soon as his momentum was broken, he slumped back, putting his head in his hands, fingers grasping at his hair as he leaned his elbows on the rail. It was at that moment, heart in his mouth, that Remus realised his own cheeks were wet.

“I warned you Black,” Coronus spat. “Auror, remove him—“

“I think, given the circumstances, Sirius’ reaction is quite understandable,” Dumbledore interrupted, voice as calm as ever. “After all, it is clear to me that Peter is not being truthful. His reasoning does not add up,”

“No!” Pettigrew whimpered. “No, I tell the truth sir!”

“You deny admitting your crimes to Harry himself? On the night of June 9th?”

“I— no— well I had to say something, they were going to kill me—“

“And yet they didn’t? We’ve come to understand that the children’s presence stopped your life from ending there, in that shack,” Dumbledore pressed. “You owe them your life, wouldn’t you say?”

Pettigrew had no response for the that, just a whimpering low moan as he writhed under the restraints. He shut his dark, watery eyes, clearly fighting against something internal.

“Mr Pettigrew,” Coronus cleared his throat. “Let it be advised that if this court were to find you guilty, without confession, the punishment will be most severe, and I can assure you, final,”

The little man’s eyes shot open, and he began to visibly cry. “You— you— can’t—,”

“We most assuredly can,”

“He— he was so strong—“

“Who was? Black?”

“No…the D-dark Lord—“

The court erupted. Fifty voices, plus the public in the stands practically beside themselves. Remus stood, leaning forward, fingers all but cutting into the wood railing as if he could silently will Peter to confess. Dumbledore held up his hand for silence.

“He— he made me,” Pettigrew rasped in a dry whisper. “The Dark Lord promised to spare me if— if I told him where the Potters were. He used the Imperius curse—,”

“Now, now Peter, really?” Dumbledore said lightly. “The Imperius curse? Surely you are aware that a secret keeper cannot be broken by such methods? That they have to give the secret willingly?”

Panic flooded into Pettigrew’s eyes. “What I meant to say is that— that he threatened to use it to— to make me kill them myself—“

“Mr Pettigrew,” Coronus interrupted. “Are you admitting to the betrayal of Lily and James Potter, yes or no?”

Sirius raised his head once more, staring at his old friend in the chair.

Pettigrew’s face screwed up. “Y-yes,”

“And did you, or did you not cause the explosion that killed thirteen muggles, leading to the arrest of Sirius Black?”

“I did, but it was an accident, he would have killed me, you heard him—“

“Then with your leave Chief Warlock—“ Coronus cut him off. “I call this court to a vote,”

“Certainly,” Dumbledore nodded. “Continue,”

“Those in favour of finding Mr Peter Pettigrew guilty of espionage, leading to the deaths of Mr and Mrs Potter, raise your hands,”

A full Wizengamut. Every one of the fifty hands, across the board, climbed into the air. Remus’ breath felt shallow, restricted.

“And those in favour of finding Mr Peter Pettigrew guilty of the murder of thirteen muggles, raise your hands,”

Less this time, but still over half of the court, perhaps around forty. Coronus was not one of them. He pursed his lips, taking a deep breath.

“Peter Pettigrew. This court finds you guilty on all counts—“

Pettigrew began to moan, a high pitched screech of an animal in pain. The sound cut right through to Remus’ core, ripping into him.

The judge raised his voice over the wailing. “—and therefore you will be remanded in Azkaban until full sentencing can take place. Take the wretched man away—”

Four Aurors, wands drawn, approached the witness chair as the restraints unraveled but were swiftly replaced by bonds which shot out of the ends of their wands. The screams that came out of Peter echoed around the room. Remus could feel them in his teeth, his bones, and when they finally stopped, cut off by the slamming doors, his heart was hammering so hard in his chest that he wondered if it was about to give up for good.

“Onto our next vote,” Coronus’ voice was suddenly loud in the now silent room. “Those in favour of clearing Mr Sirius Black of all charges, raise your hands,”

Fuck, his chest was so tight it was actually painful. He gripped the wooden bar in front of him, tight enough that his fingers ached.

For a second time, more than half of the court raised their hands, perhaps the same number that had voted for Pettigrews murder of the muggles. Again, Coronus was not one of them. He didn’t look happy, pressing his mouth into a thin line, but the verdict was clear.

“Sirius Black. The court has found you innocent, and clear of all charges—“

Remus’ legs went out from under him as he sunk down into his chair, ears ringing. The rest of the judge’s speech was drowned out, he couldn’t even hear it anymore. Sirius was slumped forward in the stand, practically holding himself up, and as the court erupted into chatter once more, Remus finally managed to get his legs working, rising to stumble down the steps.

Dawlish was opening the stand when he reached them, and Sirius only had a moment to process his old friend’s appearance before Remus all but slammed into him, arms gripping tight at the back of his robes. Sirius returned the embrace with equal intensity.

“Fucking hell,” he said in Remus’ ear, voice shaking. “Is this— is this real?”

“Yes,” Remus replied, and he found that his voice was equally tremulous. “Your coming home,”

He felt Sirius exhale, something like a laugh but his voice broke into the process, and Remus had to screw his eyes tight shut, treacherous tears brimming over and soaking into the other man’s robes. He didn’t want to let go. In fact it almost felt like he couldn’t, like if he released his grip even for a second the judge would announce that they’d made a mistake and order the aurors to cart Sirius off too. But eventually there was a bright flash of light, the crack of a camera, and he had to peel himself off, hurriedly wiping at his eyes before the journalists that now swarmed them could get a good shot for the paper.

“I don’t— I don’t even know—“ Sirius wiped his hands down across his face, pale, shell shocked. “What do I do now?”

“Live, my boy,”

They turned to find Dumbledore standing in front of them, a small smile playing across his features as he watched them.

“Now it’s time to live,”

Notes:

And we finally have a verdict. This was supposed to be a one chapter plot point and it’s expanded to 3. Woooops.

You didn’t think I’d send my boy back to Azkaban did you??

Chapter 22: A Cause for Celebration

It was sometime after three o’clock when the fire began to roar and spit once more, a great bout of green flame leaping up and around the grating. Anwyn sat forward in her seat on the windowsill, making a grab for the book that nearly slipped off her lap in her haste, and held her breath until she recognised the figure stepping out from the hearth, a flood of relief appearing with him.

“Ah, I see we have a full house,” Remus said with a small smile, dusting ash from his suit jacket. “Room for one more?”

The fire burst into life for a second time, and out stepped Sirius Black, still in his robes from court, looking a little dazed but with the beginnings of his signature mischievous grin.

“Sirius—” Harry, who was crossed legged on the floor playing exploding snap, launched himself to his feet, crossing the room in a few long strides to embrace his godfather, the older man giving a hoot of joy as they collided.

“Didn’t think you’d get rid of me that easily did you?” He laughed, but there was a sheen across his eyes that suggested he was just as relieved as Harry.

“So that’s it then?” Ron asked, looking between the new comers. “The trial’s over?”

Remus nodded. “It’s done. He’s free,”

When he looked Anwyn’s way she couldn’t help but notice how exhausted he looked, almost like he’d just returned from a full moon, but there was an easy smile on his face, and the sound of relief in his voice told her that he was telling the truth. It truly was over. The thought brought an unexpected rush of emotion to her, and she looked down at the book in her hands, fiddling with the worn corners in an attempt to distract herself.

“What about Pettigrew?” Harry asked, suddenly serious as he let go of his godfather.

The two men shared a glance, an uneasy look that suggested that they’d already discussed this news, but perhaps not how to share it with the children.

“Guilty,” Sirius said eventually. “Sentence pending. But it’s likely they’ll make an example of him,”

“You— you mean—“ Hermione stuttered, a look of horror on her face “The dementor’s kiss?”

Sirius nodded, his mouth a thin line. “Most likely,”

“Poor bugger,” Ron muttered.

“He deserves it,” Harry replied through gritted teeth, and Sirius placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Let’s not worry about that now, eh?” He told his godson gently.

Before any one else could reply, Anwyn’s mum appeared in the doorway, grinning from ear to ear. “We’ll, would you look what the cat dragged in,” she said.

“Disappointed?” Sirius asked, a smile playing on his lips in return.

“Absolutely gutted,” her Mum replied, but she moved forward to give Sirius a hug regardless.

Anwyn and Remus shared an incredulous look, and her uncle laughed. “It really must be a cause of celebration. Seeing you two get on is quite unsettling,”

From that point on there was a steady trickle of bodies through their fireplace. First Molly and Arthur Weasley with Percy and their son Charlie, who was home for Christmas, in tow. Mr Weasley shook Sirius’ had vigorously, staring intently at him, a sharp contrast the nervous greeting he’d given him in the summer.

“Great news, great news,” he said. “When Molly and I heard, well we just had to come and congratulate you. Just what Harry needs at a time like this eh?”

“Yes,” Mrs Weasley added, looking a little more uncomfortable than her husband. “I knew the courts would sort everything out in the end,”

“Judge Coronus is a very efficient man mother,” Percy had sniffed. “I told you he’d get to the bottom of it,”

“A very efficient arsehole more like,” Ron had muttered, and Anwyn had to cover her snort of laughter with a cough as his Mum sent a glare their way.

Despite her apparent unease, Mrs Weasley had brought along a great stack of mince pies and other home baked pastries, which was just as well as the fire was quickly flaring again, this time producing, to the students horror, Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, and none other than Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic himself.

“I do hope we’re not intruding?” Dumbledore said as he removed his plum coloured hat, looking around the busy room. “I thought it would be remiss of me not to pass on our congratulations,”

“Not at all Professor,” Sirius replied, shaking Dumbledore’s hand. “I’m not sure I’d be standing here if it wasn’t for your ah…gentle steering of the judges shall we say?”

“Alas, if only I could have steered with a firmer hand, but these things are…delicate,”

Fudge had stepped up at that point, vigorously shaking Sirius’ hand. “I would just like to formally apologise on behalf of the ministry Mr Black, such a terrible terrible business. Quite the embarrassment I assure you,”

“Right,” Sirius had replied stiffly. “We’ll uh— thank you Minister—“

“Of course you’d be well with in your right to make a legal complaint against the Ministry, but you must understand, we had the boy’s interests at heart—“

Sirius didn’t reply to that, clearing his throat and looking quite uncomfortable. He was saved from the awkward conversation by McGonagall stepping up.

“Perhaps we should let the poor man have a breather Cornelius, it’s been quite an intense few days,” she fixed Fudge with the sort of disapproving look that Anwyn usually received during class, and started to guide him across the room. “Let me introduce you to Miss Granger, the brightest young lady I’ve met in many a year—“

It was possibly the most bodies that Anwyn had ever seen in her Mum’s sitting room, and it wasn’t long before it was clear that they were hosting an odd sort of party. The drinks began to flow and a record was soon spinning on the turntable. The seating arrangements soon became thin on the ground, and Anwyn was sent to retrieve her Mum’s office chair and the stool from her own desk just to try and provide other options. Still, dodging between the bodies crowded in to the tiny room, Anwyn began to feel out of sorts.

The room was filled with exuberant, loud voices. Ron’s brother Charlie had one of the loudest laughs she’d heard in her life, and Percy was regaling McGonagall with tales of his very important job loud enough to ensure Fudge could hear it. Her Mum had dug out the left over Christmas crackers that set off miniature indoor fireworks when ever they were pulled, while music blasted over the top of it all, blaring out out of the record player. It was such a change from the somber mood that morning that it almost gave her whiplash.

She should be happy, shouldn’t she? The year had been building to this day, so many of her worries had been entwined with it, and yet it wasn’t an instant fix. There wasn’t a switch she could flip on her head and just turn the anxious muttering in her brain off. It was like she was still waiting for a stinging hex to land, a horrible nagging feeling that would only disappear for a second when she was reminded that all was well, before creeping back up her spine. By her third run of delivering drinks and nibbles to the growing crowd, she was feeling well and truly frazzled, thinking longingly of the book she’d had to abandon on the sitting room window seat, and wishing that she could disappear to some quiet corner with it.

“Ah Miss Blackthorn, could I trouble you for one of those delightful chocolate digestives?”

Anwyn nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of the headmasters voice, just as she was about to sit down on the arm of the chair where her Mum and Mrs Weasley we’re deep in discussion. She forced a smile, giving him a nod and quickly jumping to her feet again.

“And another cup of tea if you will Blackthorn,” McGonagall added.

The hallway muffled the sound somewhat, the air cooler without the press of bodies Anwyn leaned against the wall, breathing in a deep, slow breath, briefly wondering how long it would take for someone to come and find her if she just hid out in her room for a bit. It would look terribly odd however if the host’s daughter just disappeared, so instead she tried to compose herself.

Just keep calm. Nothing is wrong. Breathe.

She could hear cups clattering in the kitchen, the high pitched whistle of the kettle boiling. Water running. Glasses clinking. With a long, drawn out sigh, she pushed herself off the wall. These biscuits weren’t going to fetch themselves.

Remus was standing with his arms crossed, quietly looking out the window when she entered. He’d charmed half the kitchen by the looks of it, hot and cold drinks preparing themselves on the counter beside him without his input. He turned when her feet creaked on the floorboards.

“Ah, Wyn, perfect timing, you can give me a hand—“ he started, but was swiftly cut off when he spotted her glum face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly, giving a distracted shake of the head. “It’s nothing, I just— I— Dumbledore needs some biscuits and I—“

The sound of raised voices came from the other room, a greeting perhaps, and they were swiftly followed by a crash and the tinkle of glass. Anwyn shut one eye in a half wince, and a little fold of worry appeared between Remus’ brow as he pressed his mouth into a thin line.

“It’s a little bit hectic through there isn’t it?” He said, giving her a knowing look. “A bit of a culture shock after the last few days,”

Her eyes widened in surprise at his acknowledgment. Perhaps she wasn’t the only one struggling with the sudden change in pace, though it probably shouldn’t have come as a shock. Her Mum had always said she’d picked up her worrying from him. She was filled with a sudden, fierce relief, that her testimony yesterday had not sent him off to jail, that he had come home after all, and to a certain degree, that she wasn’t completely alone in this odd mood she was in. The impact of her resulting hug took him by surprise, a soft expel of air ruffling her hair.

He’d always been good at hugs. Her Mum’s hugs were like an extension of how she loved, exuberant and intense, but brief, always cut short as she inevitably dashed off to her next task. Remus on the other hand was a like a calm port in a storm, reliably warm and solid. He didn’t speak at first, instead just wrapping his arms around her shoulders and resting his chin on her head, where she felt him exhale, a long slow breath.

“Alright?” He asked quietly.

She didn’t reply, instead nodding against his chest.

He gave a hum of acknowledgement, but still didn’t let go.

“I’m just— I’m just glad it’s all over,” she murmured eventually, not quite willing to voice the fears that had been plaguing her all morning. But he seemed to understand.

“Me too,”

She finally let go, clearing her throat and giving a quick rub at her treacherous eyes. “Do you need a hand? I think McGonagall is hoping for another tea, so I think we’ll need more mugs,”

Remus opened the kitchen cupboard, clicking his tongue off his teeth as he looked inside. “We’re running out, I might need to transfigure a pint glass into something more suitable,”

“I could do it,” she said hopefully, and Remus turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow.

“You want to serve your transfiguration teacher boiling tea out of a mug you transfigured?”

Anwyn grimaced. “Okay. Yeah. Fair point. You do it,”

“Mind you, sometimes we do learn better under pressure, perhaps you should give it a bash,” he replied with a small smile.

“You don’t like me doing magic at home though,” she said in a faux somber tone. “So you’ll have to do it,”

“Hmm. Quite right. Come here and watch then,”

He pulled a pint glass from the cupboard, setting it down on the countertop, and fetched his wand from inside his suit jacket. Anwyn leaned over the counter, crossing her arms and resting her chin on top so she was eye level with the glass.

“It’s all about intent, remember?” He told her. “Picture the outcome you want, and hold it firmly in your mind. What shape of cup, what pattern. The size, the handle,” he tapped his wand against the glass three times, and then spoke slowly and clearly. “Parvulus Verto,”

There was a gentle whooshing sound, and the pint glass began to shrink in front of her eyes, growing squatter at the base. The clear glass began to fog, and it was soon a short, round white teacup, with a string of cats marching around the rim. It wasn’t hard to guess who Remus had in mind for this cup.

“You make it look so easy,” she muttered, frowning.

“Well I’ve had lots of practice,” he replied, stowing his wand. “I have every faith that you’ll get there Wyn,”

“So this is where you two are hiding,”

Anwyn turned to find Sirius leaning through the doorway, and hand on either side of the frame. He’d clearly taken the first opportunity to shed as much of the stuffy court robes as possible, the tie, cloak and waistcoat having disappeared completely, and he’d rolled up the shirt sleeves to the elbows, looking far more comfortable.

”We’re going to need three more drinks, it’s getting pretty busy through there. Flitwick, Sprout, and Hagrid just arrived and uh—“ he made a pained face. “Well let’s just say I don’t think the Christmas tree is going to recover,”

Mention of her teachers reminded Anwyn of her headmasters request, and she started searching in the cupboards for the chocolate digestives he seemed to be craving. She found a pack hidden on the top shelf, no doubt stowed away to stop the two shorter members of the family from nabbing all of them.

“Snape’s not coming is he?” She asked over her shoulder, unable to keep the nerves out of her voice as she stood on her tip toes, trying in vein to reach the packet.

“I certainly hope not,” Sirius replied, entering the kitchen to reach above her head and retrieve the biscuits with ease. “Unless he wants me to kick his arse right back into the fire,”

“He was…unpleasant…at the court,” Anwyn said. “I doubt he’ll feel like celebrating,”

Sirius shot her a look that she couldn’t quite read, clearing his throat as he handed her the pack in his hand. “Listen Anwyn I eh— I’ve been wanting to thank you. For what you said during the trial. I realise that must not have been the most pleasant of experiences,”

Anwyn shrugged. “I just told the truth,”

Sirius cocked his head, considering her reply. “Maybe so, but I don’t think you should sell yourself short. Standing up to the likes of Coronus takes a good amount of courage,”

She thought of the way her legs had trembled on the way to the chair. Her inability to stop her voice from doing the same. The horrible, suffocating panic that had overwhelmed her by the end, and the fear that had then eaten away at her all night.

“I’m not sure I’d call it that,” she replied, eyes dropping to the counter. “Courage and me don’t really go together,”

Merlin, she sounded so self absorbed. The man had just escaped a prison sentence and here she was feeling sorry for herself again. She quickly plastered on a smile, holding out her hand for biscuits.

“That’s why the hat put me in Hufflepuff after all, not Gryffindor,” she said as lightly as she could.

Sirius handed over the packet, his brow furrowing slightly, and his gaze flickered over her shoulder. When she turned to grab a plate, she found that Remus had been watching the exchange with a familiar worry etched face, which he immediately attempted to cover with a smile when she looked his way. Perhaps she was just as bad at hiding her thoughts as he was.

“Better get these to Dumbledore,” she said quickly, grabbing the plate, and then disappeared from the room before any more uncomfortable discussions could be had.

———

It was quite odd watching your teachers getting tipsy. At some point in time, the firewhisky had appeared, along with some sherry and brandy, and she wasn’t too sure where they’d come from as they didn’t usually keep that much alcohol in the house. The resulting buzz was a disconcerting one, although Cornelius Fudge had disappeared, so at least she didn’t have to worry about embarrassing herself in front of the Minister for Magic.

“Why are they even here here?” Ron moaned, watching the adults with trepidation. “I can guarantee it’s only a matter of time before Flitwick let’s slip about my last assignment to Mum, and I won’t here the end of it,”

“Most of them are Sirius’ old teachers, it’s probably quite a relief I’d expect,” Hermione said. “I wonder if Professor McGonagall has marked my essay yet,”

Harry took a swill of his butterbeer, his elbow jostling Anwyn and nearly spilling her own drink in the process. The four students were crammed into the window seat, content to people watch as the adults milled around. There weren’t many other seating options after all, with Hagrid taking up most of the sofa.

“I’m half expecting Moody to show up next,” Harry said.

“Reckon he’d start firing cursed at us?” Ron asked.

“Congratulations Sirius, here, have a little bit of cruciatus curse to celebrate? Or maybe he’d start setting things on fire. Or turn one of us into a stoat like Malfoy,” Anwyn said.

“I think it was a ferret actually,” Harry corrected her.

“Oh sorry Harry, I didn’t realise you were an expert in rodents,”

“I’ll have you know it’s one of my fondest memories,” Harry sparred back. “Anyway, you could have volunteered as Moody’s victim. I wouldn’t mind seeing the grudge match that Remus would challenge him to,”

Anwyn made a pained face. “Oh please don’t say that,”

The guests had splintered off into smaller groups, and snippets of conversations broke through the hum of voices in short bursts. Over on the sofa, Hagrid was so animated that every movement of his had the entire sofa sagging in the middle, an odd groaning noise coming from it.

“And tha’ Horntail, wha’ a beauty!” He was booming at Charlie, and the elder Weasley nodded. Anwyn noted that his arms were covered in burns.

“She met her match with Harry though, that was some flying—“

Over by the fireplace, Anwyn’s Mum had a familiar rapt look of concentration on her face, once that usually had Anwyn groaning. But to her surprise, the person she was listening to was Ron’s most boring brother.

“Yes, Mr Crouch has been trusting me with much of his workload,” he said in a stuffy voice. “He’s just too ill to take part I’m afraid, this nasty business with that elf of his—“

The shadows started to lengthen across the room, candles and lamps lighting in a soft glow. At some point Remus and Sirius has reappeared with more drinks and food, and glasses had been topped up more than once. It was only a matter of time before the students luck ran out, and the attention turned on them.

“— the number of times they’ve had detention in the last month alone, I tell you, they’re in the running for beating you boys,” McGonagall regaled Sirius and Remus over by the bookcase, a fire whisky now in hand.

“Really?” Sirius asked, grinning. “That’s quite the an achievement. Though I’m sure you missed out company when we finally left,”

“It was certainly peaceful,” McGonagall reply ruefully. She spotted the students at the window and pursed her lips into a small smile. “Those three are just as bad, I think they go looking for trouble. At least Miss Blackthorn here hasn’t taken up the family habit of spending detention with me. Though her attendance of remedial transfiguration is still required,”

Anwyn’s Mum, who’s conversation had been abandoned in favour of the more impressive Dumbledore, sidled over at the mention of her daughter, though she didn’t seem concerned. “I wasn’t particularly good at transfiguration either if you’ll recall. And I ended up just fine,”

“Debatable,” Sirius smirked into his glass.

“Oh I do remember,” McGonagall said wryly. “I seem to remember my desk being stuck with a lemurs tail for a week,”

Sirius’ smirk turned into a snort of amusement that nearly had him choking.

“Oh, and you were much better?” Her Mum shot at him.

“Well, only one of us became an animagus at fifteen—“

“Yes, illegally however,” McGonagall pursed her lips, fixing Sirius with a look that had him squirming, but a small smile crept it. “Though I can’t say I’m not impressed,”

“I must say Bethan,” boomed Sprout, who’d had to sit down on the chair from the office after her third sherry. “It’s very encouraging to see Blackthorn getting along with the young Durmstrang student, wants her name?” She cocked her head as she tried to remember.

“Nilsson,” McGonagall offered.

“That’s it, Nilsson. Those two are joined at the hip in Herbology, always nice to see some inter school friendships forming,”

Anwyn could feel her face heating up, and she looked between her two guardians. Remus was wearing a small smile, and when he looked her way she was fairly certain that he’d put two and two together, but her mother was close to scowling, frown lines forming between her brows.

“On the subject of inter school camaraderie, it seems Miss Granger has been making friends too,” McGonagall said coyly, raising an eyebrow.

Anwyn felt Hermione shuffle uncomfortably beside her, and she shot a glance at Ron, whose face had gone from a pained wince to an open glare.

“Ahh yes, young Mr Krum, quite the catch!” Sprout boomed. “Really threw himself into the dancing at the ball,”

“If only the same could be said for our Gryffindor champion,” McGonagall pursed her lips. “Sirius, you’ll need to get the boy some dancing lessons, because dear me—“

“Do you guys want to hang out in my room?” Anwyn bit out through gritted teeth.

“Yes,” came the almost synchronised response.

She was fairly sure she heard Sprout asking for another sherry as they left the room, and could only conclude that they’d left before it was too late to escape further embarrassment.

———

It was clear the moment that they stepped into Anwyn’s room that the mood had soured. She’d thrown herself down on her bed, glad for the small amount of respite from most of the guests, and then realised that the only other person who had sat down was Harry, on the floor leaning against the foot of her bed. Ron was slouched in the corner, clearly refusing to look at Hermione, and the other girl was dithering about at the opposite side of the room, shooting anxious looks his way.

“So uh— looking forward to those dancing lessons Harry—“ Anwyn began, uneasy in the tense atmosphere and attempting to bring a little levity, but Ron swiftly spoke over her.

“I’m sure Hermione could give you some, seems like even the teachers noticed how much she likes dancing,”

“Oh— I thought we— we were passed this!” Hermione said, voice thick with emotion. “I thought after the last few awful days, we’d agreed there were more important things then— than who I went to some stupid ball with!”

“Or maybe it just hammers it home doesn’t it!?” He spat back. “That we should all be sticking together instead of— of— consorting with the enemy!”

“The enemy? Don’t be ridiculous! He’s— They’re just…students—“

“Yeah, students from the same school currently trying to beat Harry! The same school run by that dark wizard nut job!”

“Oh, so would you be saying the same if I’d gone with Cedric Diggory instead?” Hermione scoffed.

Ron glared back at her. “He’s a Hufflepuff, so yes—“

“Trying not to take offence here,” Anwyn mumbled.

“— though let’s be real, that probably means he’s not much of a threat anyway,”

“Really trying not to take offence here,” Anwyn repeated, starting to frown.

“Well you know what Ronald, at least Viktor asked me! No one else did—“

“So you— you just went with him cause no one else asked you?” Ron asked incredulously. “Were you really that desperate not to be some lonely loser?”

“Hey, that’s pretty rich coming from you Ron,” Anwyn told him. “I don’t remember seeing you dance with Padma once—“

The boy rounded on her, floundering for a response as he scowled back.“Oh just— shut up Anwyn, no one asked you!”

“Hey, I’m just pointing out that you’re being a little bit hypocritical—,”

“Yeah well you don’t have to get involved do you? Your not the authority on everything—“ he snapped.

Anwyn felt a flicker of anger that swiftly started to eat away at the awkwardness that had driven her jesting until that moment.

“Well you can fuck off out of my room then if you’re going to be a dick!”

“I’m just saying it like it is! Harry—“ the boy looked across at his friend, who’d been quietly watching the argument with a look mounting trepidation. “Back me up mate, come on!”

Harry made a pained grimace. “I— maybe you should just drop it—“

“Fine!” Rom brandishing his hands in the air. “I’m going to go play chess with Charlie, at least he understands how opposing sides are supposed to work!”

He stormed from the room, leaving a ringing silence among the three remaining students until Hermione turned on the spot, her arms wrapped tight against her chest while she looked out the window. She seemed to take a shuddering breath before turning back to them.

“I think I’m— I think I’m going to ask Mr Weasley to take me home. Mum and Dad will want to see me before I go back to school,”

“Are you alright Hermione—” Anwyn asked, but the other girl cut her off.

“I’m f-fine. Thanks for lending me the books, I’ll— I’ll be sure to get them back to you when I’m done. See you at school?”

Anwyn nodded, and Harry raised a hand in farewell, looking utterly lost and out of his depth. Hermione gave him a thin smile, and then hurried out of the room.

Anwyn gave a frustrated groan, and flopped onto her back, head sinking into the duvet. Why did everything have to be so complicated? Had she made things worse by getting involved?

“Well that truce lasted all of two days,” Harry said ruefully from the floor.

“Do they do this a lot?” She asked, staring up at the ceiling.

“They’ve always bickered but this is the worst argument they’ve had,” Harry replied glumly. “Unless you count the time Crookshanks tried to eat Scabbers, but knowing what we know now…maybe we should have let him,”

“Ron should just tell her how he feels. Save the rest of us from his moping,”

“What do you mean?”

Anwyn blinked incredulously, and then levered her head up to look at Harry, who was wearing an incredibly puzzled look.

“He fancies her. It’s obvious,”

“Eww, no he doesn’t!” Harry exclaimed, screwing up his face in disgust. “Ron and Hermione?” No way—“

Anwyn let out a burst of laughter. “Are you blind? Of course he does, he’s just shit at showing it. He’s got the emotional maturity of a blast ended skrewt,”

“Well he’s got a funny way of showing it,” Harry muttered, clambering to his feet. He stretched, arms point to the ceiling, and then looked around her room with interest, taking in the posters and shelves that dotted the place. It was still fairly tidy, she’d only been home a few days after all, and she wondered idly if her chocolate stash in the top drawer had survived her absence.

“Who’s this?” Harry asked, pointing to the sad looking raggedy lion on the shelf opposite her bed.

“Oh that’s Godrig,” she replied with a grin. “My favourite toy when I was little,”

“Godrig?”

“It was supposed to be Godric but I always got the name wrong. Godrig kind of stuck,”

“Surely you’d have preferred a badger?” He asked, peering at the threadbare lion. One of its eyes was half hanging off.

“Lions are way more exciting when you’re five,” she replied.

He let out a huff of amusement, moving on to look at the little figurines of magical creatures lined up beside the old lion; a unicorn, a dragon, a cute looking pixie that fluttered its wings at him as he passed. She couldn’t help but notice the childlike wonder on his face as he inspected it all.

“I’ll never get bored of wizard photos,” Harry said as he turned to look at the posters on her walls. The Weird Sisters pouted back at him.

“Yeah Russell has muggle posters of his favourite bands. They don’t move, it’s very weird,”

“Well imagine how weird it is when they suddenly start moving after years of being static,”

“What was it like growing up with muggles?” She asked, rolling into her stomach and propping her chin on her hands.

Harry didn’t reply immediately, his attention apparently fixed on the paper chain dragon that hung from the ceiling above her bed, wings flapping. “Pretty rubbish,” he finally replied. “Certainly very different from growing up here,”

“You said your uncle doesn’t like magic?”

“Yeah he hates it. He didn’t even tell me I was a wizard uncle Hagrid came to find me,”

Anwyn pushed herself up. “What you— you didn’t even know? What about— I mean what did he tell you about your parents?”

“He told be they died in a car crash,” he replied quietly, not looking at her.

“Thats…wow Harry. I’m sorry,”

He shrugged. “It is what it is. I always knew there was more to it. They used to hate it when I asked questions, but I just…I needed to know. And then when Hagrid arrived, suddenly everything slotted into place. The weird accidents. They strange people who’d stop me in the street. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, feeling an odd pressure in her chest. “Yeah it does,”

And it was the truth, wasn’t it? Because knowing how her dad had died wouldn’t change anything, but perhaps it might plug the odd little hole it felt like his absence had left. Or maybe even explain why it sometimes felt like she was losing her mind.

A knock came on the ajar bedroom door, which automatically told Anwyn that it wasn’t her mother, who would usually, infuriatingly barge in unannounced. She called out in welcome, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, and found herself hoping for the second time in two years that Albus Dumbledore wasn’t about to appear in her bedroom. What a truly strange turn of events.

Remus poked his head around the door, smiling when he spotted the two of them.

“Ahh, there you are Harry. That’s the Weasley’s heading off. You’re welcome to stay a bit longer if you’d like,”

Harry pushed himself to his feet. “I should probably get back. Thanks,”

“Oh go on Harry, stay for one of Remus’ hot chocolates at least, they’re legendary!”

“I don’t want to put anyone out,” Harry replied, looking between the two of them nervously.

“Not at all,” Remus said, smiling. “I’m sure Sirius would appreciate spending a bit more time with you without his old teachers breathing down his neck,”

“Alright,” Harry nodded. “If these hot chocolates are apparently legendary, then I better try one,”

“No pressure Remus!” Anwyn said brightly, and he rolled his eyes at her, smile still on his face as he disappeared from view once more.

———

The four steaming hot mugs, topped with whipped cream of course, were far too precarious to carry by hand, so Remus gave a lazy wave of his wand until they were all floating steadily through the air in front of him, leaving the quite frankly mountainous pile of dishes washing themselves in the sink. The sitting room was far quieter when he entered, with all of their guests save Harry finally having disappeared back into the floo network, though Sirius had been right. The Christmas tree was a snapped mess in the corner, pine needles littering the floor and branches drooping. Definitely a lost cause.

“More hot chocolate?” Bethan commented as a mug floated down into Anwyn’s hands. “She’s already had one today!”

“You failed to mention that,” Remus shot a look at his goddaughter, who didn’t seem sorry in the slightest.

“It’s a special occasion,” she yawned, eyes already heavy. He was fairly certain she would last another half hour. “And there’s no such thing as too much chocolate,”

“I’m fairly sure there is,” Bethan retorted.

Anwyn took a sip from her mug, whipped cream leaving a foamy moustache, and gave a contented sigh, closing her eyes. “Oh that’s lush,”

Bethan rolled her eyes, but there was a warm smile on her face as she heaved herself out of the sofa. “Well I’m beat,” she said. “Don’t stay up too late Wynnie,”

She kissed her daughter on the head on the way past, somehow eliciting another yawn from the girl, and disappeared off for bed.

Sirius plucked two more mugs from the air as they floated over to the window seat, handing one to his godson beside him. Harry had stretched even further during the last six months, his shoulders almost level with Sirius’ now, and the sight of the two of them sitting together sent an odd wave of melancholy through Remus, as if he was watching his two oldest friends once more.

“I’ve been having a think,” Sirius said, taking a sip of hot chocolate. “And I’d be far more comfortable with the idea of being close to Hogwarts for the next trial,”

“You’re not going to camp out in the grounds again,” Harry frowned.

“Definitely not, I’m far too used to a real bed now” Sirius smirked. “But now that I’m a free man, I’ve got the Black family fortune at my disposal. I was thinking I’d rent a room at the Three Broomsticks. That way you can come and visit on Hogsmeade weekends, and I’m nearby if you need me,”

“Yeah,” Harry seemed to brighten at the idea. “Yeah that would be great. Will you stay until the last trial?”

“I think that’ll be the plan,” Sirius replied, and then hesitated, glancing at his godson before his eyes sunk to a distant point on the floor. “And then once this term is over, my offer from last year still stands. If you still want to, that is?”

Harry looked up quickly. “Come and live with you?”

Sirius nodded. “I’m not sure where yet, but there’s time to figure that out. There’s no pressure of course, and I’d completely understand if you’d changed your mind—“

“Of course I want to live with you,” Harry interrupted, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

The grin that broke out on Sirius’ face was perhaps the most genuine, warm one Remus had seen yet. He threw an arm around Harry’s shoulders, giving the boy a rough squeeze, and let out a shaky breath of relief.

In sharp contrast, Remus felt his heart sink. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, it wasn’t like Sirius could move in with them and sleep on the couch. He was a free man now after all, he didn’t have to be tied to the same pathetic existence as Remus himself. But the idea that he’d only just got Sirius back before he would disappear again was a painful one.

He swallowed his disappointment. Harry needed his Godfather. And he couldn’t just assume that once Sirius was free, the last thirteen years would disappear. He wasn’t owed anything by Sirius, and he certainly didn’t have a monopoly on him. It was time he got to experience the sort of family that Remus had been blessed with for the past decade. Concerned that his emotions would be too obvious on his face, Remus took a sip of his own mug, sinking down into the end of the sofa.

“How’s the second trial going Harry?” He asked. “Anything we can help with while you’re here?”

The boy seemed mildly flustered. “Uh— yeah good. Totally on top of it,”

“You’ve worked out the clue?” Sirius asked sounding impressed.

“Well not quite…but I’m very nearly there!” Harry said taking a glug of hot chocolate to hide his obvious lie, and then wincing as he burnt his tongue in the process. “I’ll have it in no time,”

“An egg that screams”, Sirius said thoughtfully, rubbing at his chin. “Not usually a trait of dragons eggs. Any other creatures it could be Moony?”

Remus frowned. “Oh a good number I’d say. Hard to tell without hearing it. Did you bring it with you?”

Harry shot him a guilty look. “I didn’t think to pack it,”

“Well, you had more pressing matters to worry about,” he replied soothingly. “Now the hearing is over we can give the tournament our full attention,”

The boy nodded, distracted, a familiar tension returning to his shoulders once more. He drained the rest of his hot chocolate, and then climbed to his feet.

“I better get back to the Burrow. Thanks for the hot chocolate,”

“Any time Harry,” Remus replied with a smile.

Sirius stood with him, and opened his arms in invite, pulling Harry into a tight hug. The boy returned it, eyes scrunched shut, and together they painted a picture of what could have been, should have been, had things gone differently that Halloween night in 1980.

“Don’t worry Harry,” Sirius told his godson when he let go, holding him at arms length. “We’ll get through this tournament together, all right? And then we can be a proper family,”

Harry’s jaw tightened, and he gave a stiff nod before setting his mouth in a thin smile and stepping away from Sirius and into the fireplace. He gave them a final wave, and after calling for the Burrow, a roar of green fire erupted around him, and he was gone in a flash.

Remus turned from the fireplace, his gaze landing on the only other teenager who was left in the room. She’d been suspiciously quiet, and he could now see why. The was mug precariously balanced in her hands she as she snoozed with her head resting against the back cushion at an awkward angle. He crossed the room, gently pulling the cooling hot chocolate from her grasp, and gave her shoulder a soft shake.

Anwyn jolted awake, eyes widening as a she took in a gulp of air, and he saw a split second of panic in them before she finally got her bearings.

“Sorry I must have— must have dozed off,” she muttered, scrubbing at her face.

“Off to bed I think, eh?”

She nodded, and he offered her a hand, which she took lethargically, before he helped pull her out of the plush, sunken sofa. Another yawn cracked her face as she practically swayed on the spot, feet plodding towards the door to the hall.

“Night,” he called after her, and she gave a lazy wave over her shoulder in response.

It was a few moments after she had disappeared that Remus realised that Sirius was watching him. He plastered what he hoped was a genial smile on his face, trying to contain his tangled emotions. To his surprise, Sirius gave a sudden bark of laughter.

“What?” Remus asked, alarmed. “What is it?”

“You know,” Sirius replied through his chuckling. “I’ve just realised that I completely neglected to find a place to stay tonight? I don’t think I wanted to jinx it and end up on Azkaban instead,”

“Well,” Remus said, producing his wand from his back pocket. “It’s a good job I’ve gotten so proficient at transfiguring armchairs into sofa beds, isn’t it?”

Transfiguring the furniture and summoning blankets and pillows was a temporary distraction, but as soon as the lights were extinguished, a nervous energy sunk into his bones. They’d been lying in the dark for around ten minutes when Sirius spoke. Remus was wide awake, far too painfully aware of the soft breathing at the other side of the room, so achingly familiar and yet so foreign after thirteen years, and yet he still jumped at the sound of Sirius’ voice.

“You’re welcome to join me in Hogsmeade,” Sirius said quietly. “If you fancied it,”

Remus let the stunned silence ring out for a moment, trying to determine if he’d dreamt it after all. When he finally spoke, his voice felt far too loud in the dark.

“I think uh— the three broomsticks might be a little…out of my budget I’m afraid,”

“You wouldn’t have to worry about that,” Sirius said. “The Black family vault is…well let’s just say money isn’t an issue,”

“I couldn’t—“ Remus started, shaking his head against the pillow, not too sure what the exact reasoning he was trying to give was. The expenses? His reputation? His own cowardice?

There was another beat of silence, and Remus closed his eyes, inwardly cursing his determination to push people away at all costs.

“What if I wanted you there?”

He sat up, propping himself on one arm and straining in the dark to see Sirius, to find some element of jest or teasing. “Do you? Want me there?”

There was a shuffling across the room, and a wand tip lit up their faces in a gentle glow. The sight set off an ache on his chest, a longing for hushed conversations across the Gryffindor dorm room.

Sirius fixed him with an earnest expression. “I wouldn’t ask otherwise, would I?”

Remus hesitated, squinting against the glare from the wand. “I’m not sure— I’m not sure you know what you’re asking. Everyone in Hogsmeade know what I am now—“

“A particularly good ex Hogswarts Professor?”

He fixed Sirius with an exasperated look.

“Remus, to be frank, I don’t really give a shit what they think. But I know I’d appreciate both the company and the help against whoever is after Harry. Besides,” he said lightly. “We both know I need someone more level headed to keep me out of trouble,”

Remus tried to ignore the toothy grin that had broken out on Sirius’ face, and the overwhelming urge to go with his heart and accept on the spot, but his head was far noisier, and far more used to being listened to.

“What about my job?”

“Quit it,” Sirius shrugged. “It’s wearing you down anyway, you must know that,”

“I can’t quit it, I’d need to contribute something—“

“You really don’t. Trust me. I’ve got the bill covered and then some. I bought Harry the most expensive racing broom in the world remember? And not to brag, but that barely made a dent in the Black vault. It’s not a problem,”

“Yes, about that,” Remus said, tone dripping with disapproval. “That was incredibly reckless. You could have been caught. You know they confiscated it from Harry in case it was hexed?”

“Like I said,” Sirius replied, lips curling once more into a smirk. “I need someone to keep me in line,”

Remus sighed, bringing a hand up to rub at his eyes. It made sense. They could help Harry, be nearby should whoever be behind all this make their next move. He could keep an eye on Anwyn. But he knew if he went along with it, gave up everything to go with Sirius, that he’d only end up for falling even deeper into this doomed infatuation.

“Come on Moony,” Sirius implored, as if he was merely trying to talk him into another one of him and James’ stupid plans. “One last trip to Hogsmeade? I’ll even take you to Honeydukes,”

Damn this stupid, perfect man.

“Alright,” Remus replied with a tired smile. “How could I refuse?”

Notes:

Apologies for the delay on this one, I’ve been out of town, and if I’m honest I really struggled with it! I knew what I wanted to happen this chapter but the tone was just not quite right. We got there in the end though.

The thought of Sirius having a warm bed at the inn instead of sleeping in a cave eating rats gives me life.

Chapter 23: A Frosty Start

It was snowing when they arrived on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, and though it was only a little after three thirty the sun was already setting, the old lamps that dotted the streets beginning to light up. The entire town was crusted in white, like a giant gingerbread village, and as Remus adjusted his grip on his trunk, he tried to work up some excitement about the prospect of spending the next six months in the charming little town. The trouble was he wasn’t sure his neighbours would be feeling the same.

“It certainly looks more inviting now that I’m not having to sneak about as a dog,” Sirius sighed, looking through the old archway that marked the town boundary. He turned back to Remus, easy smile lighting up his face. “Come on. I feel a warm fire and nice pint calling my name,”

The cobblestones were slick and icy underfoot, and he considered idly that an anti-slipping charm might be needed on his worn shoes if this weather was to continue for much longer. There were a few village folk out and about, still looking lethargic from their New Years celebrations, and he kept his head down, scarf up around his ears in an attempt not to be recognised.

“Does Madame Rosmerta know we’re coming?” He asked Sirius as they crossed the square in front of Honeydukes, the smell of chocolate wafting in the cold air.

“Yes, I owled ahead. It’s all sorted,”

The Three Broomsticks loomed ahead, windows lit an inviting, glowing gold. They stamped their feet at the door, dislodging as much of the snow as possible before traipsing inside. A wall of heat hit them as they entered, the sudden change in temperature stinging the tips of Remus ears and nose. There were a few locals scattered around, but it was far quieter than the last time he’d visited. A fire burned at the back of the room, and the entire place was thick with the inviting smell of some sort of stew or soup. The smell was enough to make his stomach grumble.

A figure behind the bar looked up as they entered, face breaking into a warm smile.“Well I never, if it isn’t Sirius Black,”

“Madame Rosmerta!” Sirius greeted as the witch moved out from behind the bar.

She grasped him by the shoulders, taking a good look at him, and then pecked a kiss on either cheek.

“Just look at you, what a difference! I couldn’t believe it when I heard the news you know, I thought that boy was a little troublemaker but never a dark wizard, and now here you are, free at last. I’ve got my best suite prepared, you’ll be wanting tea in your rooms I take it?”

“That would be most appreciated. What time do you start serving dinner? Remus and I will get settled in and then we’ll pop down—“

At the mention of his name, Rosmerta turned to look at him for the first time, and for a split second her smile slipped, before she quickly recovered. She looked him up and down, taking in the patched trousers and battered suitcase, and when she spoke again there was a strained edge to her voice.

“Ahh Mr Lupin, nice to have you back,” she turned back to Sirius. “Dinner starts at 4:30, you can join us down here or eat upstairs, whatever you fancy. Now if you’d follow me, I’ll show you to your rooms,”

Sirius shot him a tight lipped smile, clearly having picked up on the change in atmosphere, but adjusted his grip on his suitcase, and began to follow the innkeep up the tight stairs.

They climbed for what felt like an age, past the first floor where a number of closed doors sat, one of them being the little private room that the Hogwarts professors frequented, and continued on to the next floor where only two doors faced the hallway. Rosmerta took the one on the left. It opened up into a cosy sitting room, leather sofas covered in tartan blankets crowded around an already roaring fire. There was a little writing desk in the corner, and a table they could take private meals at. Candles dotted the place, already lit, and there was a bookshelf against the wall crammed with cracked spines, many of which Remus recognised. All in all, it was a wonderfully welcoming space to spend the next six months.

“You’ve got a bedroom through each of those doors,” Rosmerta said, pointing towards the back of the room. “And the bathroom is just to your left. Breakfasts at 8am every morning but we can bring it to your rooms if you’d prefer,”

“Perfect,” Sirius smiled. “This will do nicely,”

Rosmerta beamed back, but when she turned to the door, her smile slipped once more.

“Mr Lupin,” she addressed him, the formality already setting his teeth on edge. “I don’t mean to be rude but…you do have a safety measure…in place? Only I have to think of my other patrons you see,”

“Oh come on,” Sirius immediately exclaimed. “You’ve known him since he was eleven, he taught at the school for Merlin’s sake—“

“It’s— it’s fine Sirius,” Remus held up a hand to stop him. “I— yes, I have measures in place. I won’t be here for the moon, you don’t have to worry about that,”

The inn keep visibly relaxed. “Right. Of course. I knew you’d have something sensible planned, we just— well we can’t be too careful can we?”

He managed a thin smile. “Of course,”

“Don’t get me wrong, any friend of Dumbledore is welcome here, it’s just—“ she seemed to catch herself, aware of the fact she was digging a bigger hole. “Well I’ll eh— I’ll fetch that tea and leave you to get settled then,”

She bustled back out the door onto the landing with an awkward smile, but with her went the welcoming atmosphere he’d felt when he’d stepped into the room. Instead he was left with a familiar sharp tint of shame, and he shot Sirius a guilty look.

“I warned you—“ he started, but the other man cut him off.

“Pay her no mind. You’ve got every right to be here Remus, you’re a paying customer just like everyone else,”

He managed a half smirk. “Well strictly speaking I’m not the one who’s paying,”

Sirius didn’t return the smile, crossing to shut the door behind Rosmerta with a scowl instead. “What was she expecting? That you’d be transforming in the taproom every night? Honestly—“

“It’s not a problem Sirius,” he tried to sooth. “It’s just…the way things are—“

“It’s ignorant, that’s what it is,” Sirius grumbled, crossing his arms.

Eager to drop the subject, Remus moved across the sitting room to the door on the other side. It swung open to reveal another equally cosy room, a small four poster bed shoved against the back wall, with a little bedside table and a fire crackling merrily in the grate. He sat his suitcase down on the edge of the bed, studying the large, sturdy looking wardrobe that sat in the corner, and half considered unpacking but couldn’t quite work up the energy to attempt it. The wall opposite had a small window, glass frosted with snow and he crossed the room to peer out. The streets of Hogsmeade sat below, and there in the distance was Hogwarts, it’s silhouette as familiar as his own scarred face.

“Is this alright for you?”

Remus nearly jumped at sudden voice behind him, and he turned to find Sirius standing in the doorway, looking around the room with interest.

“The other ones a bit bigger,” Sirius told him. “I don’t mind taking the smaller room—“

“I’ve been sleeping on a sofa in my sisters flat,” Remus interrupted him. “This will do nicely,”

Sirius crossed the room, leaning against the whitewashed wall as he joined Remus at the window. His eyes focused on the castle in the distance, where the tiny sparks of glowing window light had begun to shine through the gloom.

“Never thought I’d see it again,” he said quietly, voice full of longing. “Not as a free man anyway,”

Remus gave a hum of acknowledgement. “I certainly didn’t think we’d be back here,” he replied, hesitating slightly. “…together,”

Sirius glance at him from the corner of his eye. “Thanks for coming Remus. Really. I appreciate it. I wasn’t sure you’d agree to it,”

There was a beat of silence in which Remus gazed back out of the window at the castle in the distance. He tried to formulate a response, anything other than this awkward lull.

He cleared his throat. “Yes. Well. As you said, someone has to keep you out of trouble,”

“Perhaps trouble is the exact thing I intend to drag you into,” Sirius replied, raising an eyebrow, a familiar mischievous glint in his eye.

But that was where he was wrong, Remus thought as his heart did a funny little flip in his chest. Because he’d been in trouble the moment he’d laid eyes on Sirius that night in the shack.

———

When Anwyn climbed the twisting staircase from the Hufflepuff common room on the first day of term, limbs still heavy and eyelids refusing to fully open, she was surprised, elated and terrified in equal measure to find Signe Nilsson waiting for her. She froze on the top step, nervously licking her suddenly parched lips, and cleared her throat.

“Hi,”

“Hey,” Signe replied in her usual bored tone.

Anwyn glanced back over her shoulder, down the steps behind her. There were a few Hufflepuff stragglers still about, half asleep as they dragged themselves to breakfast.

“Are you…waiting for me?”

Signe looked around. “Who else would I be waiting for?”

Anwyn swallowed, attempting a non-commital shrug, and then stepped out onto the landing. “Uh— yeah fair point. How— how was your holiday?”

“Boring as fuck,” Signe replied, sounding disgruntled. “I can’t believe you ran off home and left me here,”

“S-sorry,” Anwyn stammered back. “I had to go to Sirius’ trial—“

“Yes, yes, Blacks trial. It’s all the schools been talking about for days,” she pushed off the wall, turning towards the great hall, and Anwyn hurried to fall into step beside her. “Was it interesting at least?”

Her mind drifted back to the gut wrenching nerves, the constant, jabbing questions. Just the mere thought of what had been at stake was enough to make her stomach clench painfully.

“Not particularly,” she managed to reply, somehow keeping her voice light despite the internal struggle. “But it’s all over now,”

It was a short walk to the Great Hall, but Anwyn spent the entire journey nervously glancing over at Signe, trying to judge just how annoyed she might be. Her face was inscrutable, posture casual, and there didn’t seem to be any awkward or uncomfortable air coming from her. In fact it was as if the Yule Ball had never happened, as if they were just continuing on as normal. Perhaps that was preferable. They could forget the whole embarrassing business and just be friends. But when Signe looked her way, catching her eye, the now familiar rush of emotions made her think that wouldn’t be possible.

The Hufflepuff table was already fairly crowded, but she found a space at the end nearest the door, Signe sliding onto the bench opposite her. It wasn’t unusual, they’d started eating together last term, but once again she found herself taken aback, half expecting the girl to have slunk off once she reached the great hall. Distracted, she barely even noticed when the food appeared on the plates in front of her, and it wasn’t until the other girl started eating that she hurried to do the same.

Anwyn picked at her breakfast. Her stomach grumbled unhappily at the lack of sustenance she was providing it, but with Signe watching her across the table she suddenly didn’t feel like eating, like a great spotlight had been pointed directly at her, putting her on show. She nibbled the edge of a pancake and sipped the smallest of pumpkin juice, all while her leg bounced nervously under the wood.

“Where’s your friends,” Signe asked, looking down the length of the table.

“Snogging in the common room last time I checked,”

Signe gave an amused huff. “That explains why I haven’t seen Sarah around much. Far too busy with her new boyfriend I’m guessing,”

“It’s rather sickening isn’t it?” Anwyn replied, screwing up her face in disgust.

“What’s wrong, jealous?”

Anwyn felt the tell tale burning in her cheeks as she spluttered on a mouthful of pumpkin juice. “No— no I mean not of Sarah— Russell’s just— I’m not interested…“ she tailed off as she recognised the smirk on Signe’s face.

“Sorry,” the other girl replied, breaking out into a full grin. “You’re just far too easy to tease,”

She let out a huff, picking at her pancakes. “That’s not fair,”

“I know, I’m sorry. Skip History if Magic with me? I’ll make it up to you,” Signe asked, taking a bite out of the crust of her toast.

“We can’t keep skipping classes—“ Anwyn hissed back, quickly looking around to check that no teachers had heard them.

“It’s just Binns,” Signe rolled her eyes. “I told you before, he doesn’t even notice. Come on, I want to catch up with you properly. We should talk,”

Her stomach did an odd little flip, and she sat her pumpkin juice down a little more forcefully than she’d meant to, orange liquid slopping onto the table.

“Aren’t— aren’t we talking right now?”

“You know what I mean,” Signe replied lowly. “We should talk just you and me. Besides, Father replied to my letter while you were away,”

She sat up a little straighter. “He did? What did he say?

Signe nodded. “I haven’t read it. I’ve been waiting until you got back. Did you talk to your Mother?”

“Yeah,” Anwyn replied sullenly. “Fat lot of good it did, she didn’t tell me anything,”

“Well maybe Father will have been more forthcoming. So what do you say? Meet me at 3pm again?”

Anwyn snuck another glance down the table. They were a few feet away from the nearest Hufflepuff, but she was deep in conversation with her friends. The teachers were all still seated at the table, and no one around them appeared to be interested. It was only the first day back at school. How busy could they be?

“Alright,” she replied quietly. “I’ll meet you at the same place as last time,”

“Good,” Signe replied with a lop sided grin, and then continued to munch on her toast.

She returned to fiddling with her pancakes, chest tight with something approaching anticipation. This was her chance to apologise. She couldn’t fuck it up. Surely that was far more important than some stupid lesson on the Goblin Wars?

———

Despite his trepidations about staying in Hogsmeade, his first night in the Three Broomsticks was probably the best nights sleep Remus had experienced since leaving Shepherds Lane. The bed was soft, the pillows plump, and most importantly, it wasn’t a cramped sofa in his sister’s living room. By the time he awoke the next day, a little after eight, he was feeling something nearing well rested.

Sirius was already in the sitting room when he entered, Harry’s message book spread across the table in front of him. It was unclear how long he’d been working on it, but there was an empty cup and saucer beside him that suggested he’d gotten through at least one cup of tea, and there were visible dark circles under his eyes. Still, his usual morning energy did not seem to be in short supply, and he was already springing to his feet the moment he spotted Remus in the doorway.

“Good, you’re up, I’m starving!” he exclaimed, throwing an arm into leather jacket.

“You’ll be wanting breakfast then?” Remus asked ruefully, before finding himself being pushed towards the doorway.

“Damn right I do. The smell of bacon has been wafting upstairs for the past half hour, I nearly abandoned you,”

“I wouldn’t have minded, you don’t have to wait for me—“

“Nonsense,” Sirius said, throwing open the door. “Our first morning in Hogsmeade? Your not getting out of that one,”

Remus pulled his own jacket off the coat hook, throwing it over his arm as he inspected Sirius’ face. There was certainly a drawn quality to it, something buried under the sunny disposition.

“Have you slept at all?” He asked him, frown growing.

“A little,” Sirius replied lightly, stepping out onto the landing. “Sleep is for the weak Remus. Now come on. Before I start gnawing on my arm.

The inn was quiet, the only other patrons being a few of the local shop keeps who had popped in for an easy breakfast. This suited Remus. He much preferred eating without an audience after all, and as they sat down he eyed the others around the room, relieved to find that the presence seemed to be going unnoticed. Madame Rosmertta waved at from behind the bar, warm smile plastered on her face as if the frosty welcome yesterday hadn’t happen.

The plates that arrived in front of them were stacked to the edges, a full Scottish breakfast of eggs, sausage, lorne, bacon, beans, potato scones, black pudding and haggis. A wrack to toast was sat between then as well as two mugs of black coffee, milk and sugar accompanying them in little silver cups. The food smelled fantastic, but Remus couldn’t help but eye it nervously.

“Pads this is going to cost a fortune,”

“It’s fine,” Sirius said, cramming a fork full of bacon and egg into his mouth. “Stuh wurrin n eee,”

“What?”

He swallowed and took a swill of coffee. “I said stop worrying and eat. It’s good food,”

Remus hesitated, and then cut a slice of sausage, dipping it in the yolk of his egg before popping it in his mouth.

He gave a contented sigh. “That is pretty good,” he admitted reluctantly.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, Sirius’ plate clearing in half the time it took Remus to finish his. It was reminiscent, he realised with a pang of sympathy, of some sort of wild animal, eating as much food as quickly as possible, never sure when the next meal would come. It seemed that Azkaban had left a mark in more ways than one, and he wondered how many other invisible scars he was still to discover.

“Any messages in the book?” Sirius asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“They’ve only been back one night,” Remus replied. “Give them a chance. I’d be more worried if we had gotten something,”

“I know, I know—“ Sirius inclined his head. “But the closer we get to this second trial the more I worry. I’d like to finish Harry’s book as soon as possible,”

“Well we have plenty time for that now,” Remus replied soothingly, cradling his mug of coffee.

Sirius made a noise of discontent, jamming another forkful into his mouth. His eyes scanned the room as he crunched away, but his gaze was far off, distracted.

“So what’s the plan while we’re here?” Remus asked, bringing his attention back to the table. “Just keep an ear open?”

“In part,” Sirius replied, buttering a slice of toast. “I’d like to meet with Dumbledore at some point. Discuss what we can do to help Harry and what I have to do to ensure he comes home with me in the summer,”

“You think he’ll agree to it?”

“I can’t see why not,” Sirius frowned. “From what little Harry’s told me, he’s miserable with his Aunt and Uncle. He doesn’t speak about them much though,”

“Sounds like someone I knew at school,” Remus replied, his own brow crinkling.

“Yes,” Sirius said. “That’s what worries me. His avoidance of the subject is…a little too familiar for my liking,”

It had taken Sirius years to divulge the full extent of his family’s cruelty to his friends, longer in fact than it had for Remus’ lycanthropy to be discovered.

“Alright, an audience with Dumbledore is on the list. What else?”

“I want to talk to Moody,”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think he’ll confess on the spot if he’s behind it,”

“No, but perhaps we can suss out how mentally stable he really is. In a best case scenario we rule him out and get him on board. Having one of the country’s best Aurors on side couldn’t hurt,”

“You’re not wrong there,”

“Karkaroff is a harder one to watch. But perhaps we can ask around the village, see if anyone’s noted any off behaviour from him. And it sounds like Bethan has Bagman and Crouch covered for now?”

Remus nodded. “She’s was off to Crouch’s house yesterday afternoon to try and establish what’s wrong with him. His assistant was doubling down on the illness story. And her interview with Bagman confirmed two things that we already know; he’s terribly in debt and a terrible flirt.

Sirius grimaced. “He tried to seduce your sister? How much had he had to drink?”

“I believe she got him completely plastered,” Remus replied with a chuckle. “Although from how she tells it he was already dropping cheesy compliments before the drinks were flowing,”

“Well there’s no accounting for taste,”

“I’ll tell her you said that,”

“Please do,” Sirius sat back in his chair, letting out a contented sigh as he pushed away his empty plate. “No offence, but I really do despise journalists. Surely getting someone drunk should be against the rules?”

“I can’t pretend to agree with her methods,” Remus replied. “But if it gets us the answers we need, then I suppose we can look the other way. Besides, I’ve never known Bethan to take my opinions on board anyway,”

Sirius inclined his head. “I guess that’s fair. I’d be scared to stand up to her too if she was my sister,”

Remus gave a splutter of indignation. “I’m not scared—“

“Of course you’re not,” Sirius laughed, and the pushed his chair back from the table. “Right. Let’s have a walk around the village. Maybe we’ll hear some of the local gossip,”

Another layer of snow had fallen since they’d arrived last night, and the drifts had built up against the sides of the old stone buildings. The lanterns were still burning despite it being mid morning. A low haze of fog lay across the village, and it was one of those mid winter days that would never quite see full sunlight. The sort of day that Remus would much prefer to be spending indoors, by the fire, where his joints wouldn’t ache. Of course his preference for staying indoors didn’t just come from the physical discomfort. There was plenty of mental challenges too, this time in the form of the other visitors to the village.

He could never quite tell if he was imagining them. The stares. It was a level of social anxiety that had been brought about by his own self hatred and a good dash of previous bad experiences. For much of his life he’d managed to get by undetected, perhaps a little shunned due to his shabby image, but not outright hated. Since his resignation from Hogwarts however, word had obviously spread in the Wizarding World, and with it so too had the distrust, the distaste and the outright disgust.

He kept his head down as they moved between the shops. His scarf gave him two advantages, it kept his chin warm, the heat of his breath fogging out of it, and also disguised him some what, but the scars that ran down his face always stood out stark white in the cold, pale and rigid. The claw marks that cut across his nose were the worst, his first and most traumatic injury, inflicted by Greyback himself. He’d most likely wanted people who know what his victims were, and had marked them for all to see. And they did the job. Remus could feel eyes on them in every shop they stopped at. By the time they reached Gladrags, he was really beginning to question whether or not they’d be run out of town by nightfall, or if he was just being paranoid.

A bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they pushed the door open, heat smacking them in the face. His cheeks burned as he blew hot air onto his finger tips, trying to warm them. Remus hadn’t bothered to visit Gladrags last year. His budget hadn’t really covered frivolous spending on new clothes, and he hadn’t thought there was much point filling his suitcase further, but the place was exactly as he remembered it from his youth, the pale pastel pink and green hues from the shopfront making their way inside. The walls were a washed out padded pink velvet, and drapes of mint hung against the windows. Mannequins of varying sizes stood across the length of the room, some in dress robes, some in simple suits and tweed, looking very much as if they’d stepped out of the last century.

The curtains behind the desk twitched, and a primmly dressed gentleman stepped out, hands clasped rigidly behind his back. He wore dress robes of a dusty rose, his moustache tweaked into an elegant twirl, and when he spoke his voice had a clipped tone to it.

“Ahh, our new guests. Mr Black I presume? Mr Hill at your service,” He gave a shallow bow, and then his eyes moved over to Remus, his expression souring somewhat. “And this must be Mr Lupin?”

“Our reputation proceeds us,” Sirius smiled, shooting a glance at Remus. “All good rumours I hope?”

“Why of course,” Hill replied smoothly, though his back remained rigid. “It’s a pleasure to serve you Mr Black, the village has watched your case most carefully. Such a dreadful business. Perhaps I can be of some assistance today however?”

“I’m in need of a few wardrobe updates,” Sirius told him. “Nothing too fancy, just a few staples I think. Some…smart robes for meetings, and some casual shirts perhaps?”

“I’m sure we have everything to suit your needs,”

The man clapped his hands together twice, and the curtains drew back completely, clothing rails shooting out. Robes danced from coat hooks, and a bare mannequin waddled over to the centre of the shop as a tape measure spun around it.

“If you would like to follow me Mr Black, I shall take your measurements and we can start there. Will Mr Lupin be requiring any of our wares?”

He turned to fix Remus with a cold, emotionless stare, eyes roaming up and down from his scuffed shoes to his fingerless gloves. Despite the warmth of the shop, Remus found himself self consciously adjusting his coat around him, suddenly terribly aware of the bobbling of the wool.

“I’m quite alright, thank you,” he replied with what he hoped was a friendly smile. He didn’t receive one in return.

Sirius shot him a nervous look, and then disappeared through the curtains, leaving him alone in the spotless shop front.

He fiddled with a lose thread on his gloves. Turned on the spot and took in the room. There was a little mint armchair against the wall by the door, and he sunk into it, noting the puddles of melted ice they’d left on the threshold. Hill probably wouldn’t appreciate that.

The door opened, the bell ringing. He looked up to find an older woman step in, bundled in layers of tweed and wool. With her came a gust of cold air, and the smell of musty perfume as she scraped her feet on the rug at the door, giving a laugh.

“Quite a miserable winter we’re having, eh?” She asked him, voice crackled with age.

He replied with a friendly smile. “Not the best weather, no. Hopefully it warms up soon,”

“In Hogsmeade?” She gave a snort of laughter. “Unlikely. You must not be local,”

“Ah— no we just arrived yesterday,” he replied. “We’re staying at the Three Broomsticks,”

Recognition lit her face, and she cocked her head, narrowing her eyes at him. “Oh so I’ve heard, are you that Black fellow?”

“No, no, he’s currently with Mr Hill. I’m—“

“Oh,” she cut him off, the acidity leaking into her tone. “The werewolf,”

Remus’ words were stuck at the back of his throat, the sick feeling of shame returning to him once more. He clasped his hands together on his lap, looking at his feet, and gave a nervous chuckle. “I ah— yes. That’s the one,”

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” the old woman spat.

He blanched. “I— sorry?”

“You heard me! Ashamed! It’s a disgrace, someone of your ilk teaching at the school. Shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near the children if you ask me,”

These moments were always odd. It was as if his brain switched something off, a resigned calm talking over him. He licked his cold-chapped lips, eyes darting around the room as he attempted to process his next steps, and then slowly stood.

“Please excuse me,” he said, marvelling internally at how polite he could sound when faced with such hostility.

“What? Not got anything to say for yourself?” The old woman called after him as he stepped through the curtains at the back of the room.

Sirius was surrounded by tape measures, each one stretching and hovering over different parts of his body; one measuring the length of his arm, another the inseam of his leg. He looked mildly irritated by the attention, and his fingers curled as he resisted the urge to fidget on the spot. He looked up as he caught movement in the corner of his eye.

“I’m already regretting this,” he said sullenly. “I don’t see why all this is— oi, get off you— why all this is necessary,” He batted at one of the tape measures that had begun to wrap itself around his forehead.

“Well I’m going to leave you to it,” Remus told him, trying to keep his voice level. “Pop along to Honeydukes perhaps,”

Sirius’ head shot up, eyes narrowing. The jovial note had disappeared from his voice. “What’s wrong?”

Damn him, and his uncanny ability to read the mood straight of Remus’ face. He plastered on a small smile.

“Nothing, nothing. I’m quite alright. I’ll meet you along there shall I?”

The frown did not leave Sirius’ face. “If you’re sure?”

He gave a quick nod, and ducked out of the curtains once more, pointedly not looking at the old woman who was standing as far from the seat he’d been in as if she’d catch the lycanthropy from it if she got too close. He could feel her eyes on him as he wakes stiffly to the door, swinging it open in an almost panicked rush.

The cold was a welcome distraction as he stepped out of Gladrags, a deep, damp chill that he could feel in his bones. It took a few minutes of walking across the icy cobbles before he realised that his fists were clenched painfully tight in his pockets, and he had no idea which direction he was going in, certainly not towards Honeydukes. He turned on the spot, and immediately slammed into someone passing in the other direction.

“My apologies—“ he uttered, distracted, and attempted to side step the man, eyes to the floor.

“It’s me you dope,” Sirius half scolded, grabbing onto his arm as he went to dodge. “Where are you running off to?”

“I— Honeydukes, like I— like I said. Why aren’t you in Gladrags?”

“Something felt off with you,” Sirius replied, studying him carefully from under a furrowed brow. “And it must be, because this is no where near Honeydukes. Did something happen?”

Remus gave a dismissive wave, suddenly very aware that Sirius had not removed his hand from his arm. “Nothing, it’s nothing,”

“Funny, that’s the exact same thing you said when we figured out you were sneaking away every month. Or when you got word that your Mum was ill. Or when you found out that Bethan had vanished. Or when you came back from a particularly bad mission. Or when—“

“Alright, alright,” he groaned, though he found a smile was working its way back onto his face. “I’m just finding the locals a little…cold…shall we say?”

Sirius gave a few confused blinks, and then his eyes widened in recognition. “Did that old bat in Gladrags say something?”

He winced. “Perhaps—“

“Well if she wants an argument, she can have one with me—“ Sirius finally let him go and began to turn, quite ready march over and pick a fight with the old woman, but Remus stepped to the side once more, blocking his exit.

“Let’s…just leave it, alright? It’s nothing I’m not used to,”

“Used to— used to?!” Sirius practically growled. “Remus you shouldn’t have to listen to this shit at all, never mind me used to it—“

“You’re starting to sound like Wyn,” he chuckled.

“I am? Good! I’m glad you’ve got someone else fighting your corner other than me, seeing as you’re so reluctant to stand up for yourself!”

The smile slipped from his face a little. “It’s not about standing up for myself. It’s about just trying to get by. It’s not a fight worth having,”

“I beg to differ,” Sirius grumbled, but he eyed Remus’ face once more, expression softening at the no doubt exhausted look on his face. He sighed. “Why don’t we head back to the inn? See if we can get dinner up to the rooms this time? Play a few games of chess?”

Remus frowned. “What about Gladrags?”

The other man made a face. “I didn’t see anything I liked anyway. Just a bunch of old tweed and fussy suits. Alright for country bumpkins, old folks and anyone who wants to dress like it’s the 1800s but nothing that was particularly my speed,”

“Says the man still dressing like it’s the 70s,” Remus muttered.

Sirius stretched his arms out, walking backwards away from him as a smirk spread across his face. “And don’t I make it look good?”

Yes, Remus thought. Yes he did.

———

Anwyn’s swiftly approaching meeting with Signe proved to be a terrible distraction for her first day back. She had left the great hall in a daze somewhere between excitement and terror, stumbled up the marble stairs to Defence Against the Dark Arts, and then spent a frantic few hours attempting to get her brain to focus on the barked instructions from their odd teacher. The lesson of the day, a carefully monitored practical on the use of Confringo in duels, left her with singed robes once again and a four foot essay on what she was doing wrong. At least this time her near burns had come from her class mates, and not her teacher. Harry’s jests about Remus duelling Moody still sat at the back of her head.

Lunch time did not provide much of a breather to think through her approach with Signe either. In fact she spent the hour hastily scribbling the Ancient Runes homework she’d forgotten to do despite her Uncle’s nagging to make sure her work was all complete, and by the time she arrived at class her fingers were ink stained, her nose had smudged finger marks across it, and her hair had frizzed into an unruly mass. She caught sight of herself in the window beside her desk, and frantically tried to flatten it, swearing internally before giving up. She’d need to stop off at the toilets before meeting Signe.

Two hours later, with yet another homework assignment crammed into her bag, she slipped into the girls toilets and inspected her reflection in the cracked mirror. She scrubbed at the ink on her nose until the skin was red but still smudged, before wetting her hands and trying to smooth down the fly away frizz with no luck either. Perhaps there was a tonic or spell she could apply to it, although she’d prefer the former. Transfiguring her own appearance would surely only end in disaster.

Anwyn poked at her cheeks. They were far too chubby as far as she was concerned, all puppy fat and no definition, and her round nose looked even more stupid with the red glow. Were her teeth too squint? Her eyes too dull? Merlin, what would someone like Signe even see in her?

“Hey,” she practiced, trying to keep her voice level, cool. “Hi. How’s it going? Listen, I think you’re pretty cool—“ She broke off as her voice wobbled, giving a frustrated groan as she swept her hair back from her forehead. This was hopeless.

“Very charming love,”

She jumped, spinning around to find a ghostly woman in full length ball gown floating across the bathroom floor.

“This time flutter your eyelashes. That always worked for me,”

Anwyn let out another pained groan, and then fled from the toilets.

It took her five minutes to actually enter the abandoned classroom. It was a wonder she wasn’t caught loitering outside, pacing on the spot as she attempted to work up the courage, fiddling with the frizz and rubbing at her nose. She could do this. She had to do this. The alternative was running away and not showing her face until the Durmstrang students left at the end of the year. Somehow that didn’t seem like a viable solution. Anwyn took a long, steadying breath, and then pushed the classroom door open.

Signe was waiting for her just as she’d promised, sitting on the edge of one of the old tables swinging her legs. If she noticed Anwyn’s flustered state or flyaway hair, she didn’t comment, instead flaking off a bit of peeling nail varnish.

“Hey,” Anwyn greeted, her voice coming out as far more of a squeak than she meant it to. “Did you bring the letter?”

“Of course,”

Signe opened her satchel, tipping the contents out onto the table. Bits of spare parchment, quills, rolled up notes, a little metal flask and her history of magic textbook fell out with a thud, covering the desk with the detritus. She rummaged through it until she found a crumpled looking envelope, and made a triumphant sound. She slid a thumb under the seal, drawing out a thick folded piece of parchment, and unravelled it.

“Here we go. Right…” she skimmed the first page quickly, eyes narrowing slightly as she took the contents in. “So the first part of the letter is a lot of boring small talk again. How do you celebrate the holiday at Hogwarts, what customs did we witness, how do my studies go blah blah blah—“

She chucked the first page of writing down on the table. Anwyn peered at it, noting how small and orderly the script was.

“Does he say anything else?”

Signe nodded slowly as she read the second page. “Here is where it gets interesting. I asked him what your father was studying while you stayed with us. He says ‘it has been some time since I have given much thought to Blackthorn’s studies. He was a singularly focused man, and together we searched through much of the library that still stands today. What I do recall however, is that he was in search of a cure—”

“A cure?!” Anwyn interrupted before she could help herself. “A cure for what?”

“Let me finish,” Signe shushed her with a raised hand. “We searched all manner of books on the subject, tomes on the dark arts, curses and hexes. I believe he attempted some of the counter curses from these, but with no luck, and the process drained him. What ailed him, I cannot say, only that he was a haunted man driven with one goal in mind. To be free of whatever burden he carried. Perhaps, in death, he finally found that peace…”

Anwyn sat down heavily on the edge of the table, mind running at what felt like a thousand miles an hour. A curse. What kind of curse? And had he managed to break it? Or had it killed him?

“The mystery deepens,” Signe said gravely. “Any idea what this curse could be?”

Her thoughts turned to the obvious first. Lycanthropy. But as far as she was aware, Remus hadn’t seen her father in years, and even entertaining the smallest flicker of the idea that he might have bitten him made her feel sick with guilt. He’d fought to keep everyone around him safe for decades. She wouldn’t now lose that trust just because of a throw away comment in a letter.

Of course there were other werewolves out there. There obviously had to be, someone had bitten Remus after all although he’d never been forthcoming about the details, and she’s always thought the subject too painful to pry about. Had her father been bitten too? And lycanthropy wasn’t the only incurable disease. What other curses could have driven him to drag his wife and child around Europe?

“It could be anything,” she replied weakly.

“I mean it’s obviously not anything genetic or you’d have it too,” Signe said knowingly before giving a huff of laughter. “Unless there’s some family secret you’re not telling me,”

Anwyn shot her a wary look, trying to read her expression. Did she know? Surely she knew, the Slytherins would have said something…

“What did your Mother say when you asked about the photo?” Signe asked, interrupting her thoughts.

She chewed at her bottom lip. “I found a picture of me and my Dad in our family photo album that looks just like your garden. But when I asked her about it, she said it could be anywhere, started acting like I was just imagining things!”

“What the fuck is her problem?” Signe exclaimed. “That’s so suspicious,”

Anwyn shrugged. “I don’t know. She’s so desperate for me to not know about him. She then spent the rest of the holiday dodging any attempts to question her, it was like she didn’t want to be in the same room alone with me!”

“Why didn’t you press her then? Just keep asking until she gives up?”

Anwyn hesitated. “I tried but…I kind of blew up at her,”

Signe’s legs stopped swinging. “What do you mean blew up at her, like shouting?”

“More like…accidental magic,” Anwyn cringed. “The radio started going crazy and then I just…dropped the subject,”

Signe gave a burst of laughter. “Sounds like you did exactly what you needed to do, you let her know how you feel. That you can’t be told just to drop it anymore,”

Anwyn began absently picking at one of her nails. “I don’t know. I’m not sure it helped at all. I was just so exhausted by it all. The trial, the questions. It’s just left me feeling…ragged,”

Ragged was an understatement. The familiar creeping of anxiety lay as a constant companion at the back of her mind. She was jumping at shadows again, waking from horrific nightmares. On more than one occasion she’d found herself thinking longingly of the Draught of Peace, and the blanket of stillness that would wrap around her mind when she drank it. She’d shaken the thought of with a thrill of panic.

And she couldn’t tell Signe any of that. She’d think she were mad.

“Listen, you’ve got to be firm with this,” Signe told her briskly. “Fight for what you want. You think I just do as Father says all summer? Fuck him. Fuck your Mum. You deserve the truth,”

“I want the truth,” she said hurriedly. “But I’m not like you, I’m not…”

“What? Not what?”

She floundered for the right words. “Just not…good at this sort of thing. I dunno,”

Signe sighed, pursing her lips as she fixed Anwyn with an inscrutable look. Her eyes, Anwyn noted, were rimmed once again in black, the icy grey startling against it. She couldn’t quite meet them, feeling her cheeks heat even if she attempted it.

“So we make you good at it,” Signe said finally.

Her brow crinkled. “Good at what?”

“Not giving a fuck,” There was a glint of something mischievous in her eye as she fixed Anwyn with a lopsided grin. “That is, after all, my secret to success. I’ve perfected the subtle art of not giving a fuck,”

She shuffled along the desk until her arm was bumping Anwyn’s, legs swinging underneath. Anwyn stiffened at the proximity.

“So…what would you recommend?” She managed to choke out.

“Step one. Start acting like you don’t give a fuck,” she stated, holding up one finger, then another. “Step two. Look like you don’t give a fuck. Step three. Actually don’t give a fuck,”

“That’s it?” Anwyn asked incredulously. “A three step plan to success?”

“That’s all it takes. And you’re already working on step one just by being here,” she tutted, leaning in until her face was hovering beside Anwyn’s. “Skipping class? Naughty naughty,”

She swallowed, heavily, eyes flicking towards Signe’s mouth, far too close for her poor beating heart, before quickly looking away. If Signe noticed her awkwardness, she didn’t say, instead turning to the abandoned pile that was the contents of her bag. She grabbed the little metal flask, and popped it open with her thumb.

“If we’re skipping class, we may as well have a little fun,” she said giving the flask a jiggle. Its contents sloshed.

“What’s— what’s that?” Anwyn asked nervously.

“Just a little firewhisky,” she raised an eyebrow. “Care for a sip?”

“Oh I don’t know, I don’t really drink—“

“Eh eh—“ Signe held up a finger. “What’s step one again?”

Anwyn hesitated. “Act like I don’t give a fuck,”

Signe nodded, wordlessly holding out the flask to her. She looked down at it, head full of clamouring thoughts, fighting for dominance. What if she got caught? What if she made a fool of herself? Would this make Signe like her?

Anwyn grabbed the flask and took, in hindsight, far too large a gulp. It burnt all the way down her throat, and she spluttered, eyes streaming as she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand.

“Oh that’s rank,” she wheezed, and Signe gave another burst of laughter.

“Didn’t think you’d actually do it,” she said approvingly. “But the I guess your full of surprises,”

Anwyn tried to ignore how the compliment made something bubble in her chest. “Where did you even get firewhisky from?”

“I smuggled it out of my Father’s supply. He doesn’t notice if I just take little drops. I was saving it for a special, brought it along at the Yule Ball but…well we never really got the chance to drink it,”

Anwyn’s cheeks began to heat at the mention of her embarrassing flight. “Look…about the that,” she said. “I’m really sorry—“

“You’re sorry you kissed me you mean?”

Yes— I mean no! I— fuck I’m not good at this,” She moaned, running a hand through her tangled hair. When she spoke again the words came out in a jumbled panic. “I wanted to kiss you, I just— I’m not very good at this and I didn’t know if you wanted to, and I shouldn’t of just assumed so I’m really sorry of I made it awkward and—“

“Anwyn?”

She stopped mid rant. “Yes?”

“Do you want to try again?” Signe raised an eyebrow, a small smirk playing at the corner of her mouth.

Anwyn felt her heart skip in her chest, and opened her mouth to reply but couldn’t quite find her voice. She shut it once more, and then gave a slow, hesitant nod.

This time it was Signe that made the first move, bridging the gap until their noses were brushing. The smirk was still on her face when their lips met, and Anwyn could feel her smiling against her mouth, as her heart exploded into a rapid stecatto. She tasted something sweet, a fruity lip balm perhaps, and then it was over, the other girl pulling back and leaving her.

“That was—“ Anwyn started, clearing her throat. “That was…nice,”

“Yeah?” Signe asked, grinning.

She couldn’t help but shoot a shy grin back in response. “Yeah,”

“Have you ever kissed a girl before? Scratch that, have you ever kissed anyone before?”

“Oh yeah loads of people,” Anwyn began, and then caught herself, grimacing as she pressed her hand to her burning face. “Sorry. I don’t know why I said that. You’re the first,”

Signe’s face lit up. “Your first? Oh I’m honoured,”

She flushed brighter red still, a flicker of unease running through her. “Stop it,”

“No I mean it,” Signe leaned forward once more, placing a quick kiss on her lips. “And stop apologising. That’s part of step one,”

If Anwyn had thought her blush couldn’t get any worse, she was wrong, her entire face now aflame, heat reaching down her neck.

“Do you…like me?” She found herself blurting out.

Signe gave a small snort of disbelief. “I don’t really make a habit of kissing people I don’t like,”

“Why though?”

“I would think that’s obvious if I don’t like them—“

“No,” Anwyn gave a frustrated shake of her head. “Why me?”

Signe pursed her lips together, considering her for a few seconds. She felt like squirming away under her gaze, but she held it instead, determined now that she’d started this line of questioning to see it through.

“It’s like I said,” Signe shrugged. “You don’t look at me the same way everyone else does. And I think we’re actually a little alike, you and I,”

Anwyn’s gave her a disbelieving look. “How?”

“Your Dad’s dead. My Mum’s dead. Our remaining parents are lying aresholes who’d probably rather we weren’t around. Our classmates think we’re weird. And us weirdos have to stick together,”

Signe’s words left landed with an odd sting, far too close to home to some of the repetitive thought patterns than liked to creep in on her bleaker days. But it was true, wasn’t it? Her Mum really did prefer her work, and perhaps she’d already have made it as a big reporter if Anwyn hadn’t been around. She tried to push the darker thoughts away and focus on the good, a slow smile spreading across her face.

Signe liked her.

She actually liked her.

Notes:

I thought after all the pain of the trial a little bit of Wolfstar development was overdue. Expect a lot more in the coming chapters…

Apologies for the delay again folks, life has kind of gotten in the way. I have a plan for the rest of this fic though (and beyond) so rest assured it will be finished. Thanks again for all your comments and kudos and just for reading in general!

Chapter 24: The Rumour Mill

Sirius hadn’t slept again. He was fairly certain of that fact. His cheeks were covered in a second day stubble, dark circles pooling under his eyes, and he was nursing his third coffee since Remus had appeared that morning. Still, his demeanour was unchanged, shooting Remus an easy smile when he caught him staring across the table at him. He cleared his throat, and suddenly became interested in the wooden grain below his fingertips.

Being back in the same space as the other man seemed to simultaneously feel like no time had passed at all, and that centuries had flown by. He found himself noting the tiniest of things, small mannerisms that he’d forgotten how much he loved. The way Sirius always seemed to lounge rather than sit, comfortable in his own skin in a way Remus had never experienced. His inability to not be constantly playing with his hair, running his hand through the black mop every time it flopped down into his eyes. The way he listened, truly listened, when Remus spoke, as if whatever he was saying was the most important information in the world at that moment.

Smaller aspects of him caught Remus’ attention too, far too often. The little scar on his top lip that peaked through the stubble. The way he narrowed his eyes while concentration, thick lashes framing the ocean grey. The slight shifting of his lips in an almost smile when he caught Remus looking at him him, just as he had moments before.

It was maddening, being in this space with him for a prolonged period of time, and on more than one occasion Remus had been close to dropping everything, grabbing him my the face and shouting ‘I’m still in love with you alright?’ but before he could the voices at the back of his mind reminded him of what he was, what that meant for both of them. News had travelled fast in the village, like wildfire, and it only took a stroll into the streets to remind him of how distasteful his existence was. It wasn’t a life he’d subject to Sirius in the long run.

“Barty Crouch is missing in action,”

Bethan slammed three pints of a pale looking beer down on the table, interrupting his thoughts as foam slopped up and over the edge. Sirius swore under his breath, only just managing to snatch Harry’s message book out of the splatter zone before it could get soaked.

“Good afternoon Bethan,” Remus greeted her mildly. “I’m quite well thanks, how are you?”

She rolled her eyes at him before sliding into the bench beside him, jabbing at him with elbows that were far sharper than they had any right being until he started to shuffle along and make space for her.

“I’ve been camped out outside his house for a week, and I’ve seen no movement. No post, even though his assistant says he’s sending instructions by owl. Curtains shut. No answer at the door. He’s vanished,”

“Maybe he doesn’t know how to answer his own door without a house elf,” Sirius suggested, and Remus attempted to keep the amused smirk from his face.“Or perhaps he just doesn’t want to talk to journalists,”

But Bethan was already shaking her head.“There’s something going on here. Something the ministry are hiding. Maybe he’s gone missing like Bertha Jorkins,”

“Have they still not found her?” Sirius asked with a frown.

“There’s been no sign of her in months. She arrived in Albania, that’s confirmed by her second cousin. She stayed with her for a few weeks, and then left to go south to visit and Aunt but she never arrived. Just…disappeared off the face of the earth,”

“Do they have any theories yet?” Remus asked. “Did she have any enemies?”

“None that we know of, she was a pretty friendly woman. Some people are suggesting elopement, but that’s just ridiculous—“

“Ahh yes, because elopement isn’t a reason for people disappear these days,” Sirius muttered.

Bethan shot him a poisonous look but continued talking as if he hadn’t said anything. “— others are thinking she ran into some magical creature perhaps. But I don’t have to tell you twice who was last rumoured to be in the area. It’s not a coincidence,”

They lapsed into a worried silence, beers cradled in their hands but untouched. Remus couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering across the table to where Sirius sat opposite him, hand once again playing with his hair, tucking it loosely behind one ear.

Bethan finally cleared her throat, dragging him from his pondering, and spoke once more.

“There’s eh— something else I’ve been meaning to talk to you about…while I’m here,”

“Oh?”

“It’s about Anwyn,”

Remus immediately felt the tickle of anxiety at the back his head, his fingers shuffling around his glass.“Is she alright?”

“She’s fine, it’s just…well have you heard from her at all since she went back to school?”

“I’ve had a few messages here and there, nothing of particular concern. Confirming the next Hogsmeade date, that sort of thing. She seems busy with school work. Why do you ask?”

Bethan hesitated for a moment, taking a deep swill of her glass as if she needed some Dutch courage, and then clunked it down on the table, huffing out a deep breath.

“She did accidental magic. During the holidays,”

Remus’ back immediately straightened in alarm.“When was this?” he asked. The anxious tickle was swiftly growing into something more frantic.

“The last day of the trial. She started going on about her Father again, thought she’d found a photograph of him at the Nilsson house that meant we’d stayed there longer than I said we did,”

“Was she right?” Sirius asked, raising an eyebrow as he shot a look Remus’ way.

“I— no— well I suppose she was but that’s beside the point. She doesn’t need to be upsetting herself with things best left in the past,” Bethan replied firmly. “This Nilsson girl isn’t a good friend for her to be making. It’s just getting her wound up,”

Remus grit his teeth together. He was fairly certain that friendship wasn’t the only thing on the cards with the Nilsson girl. He’d seen the way Anwyn had blushed scarlet at the mere mention of her, and with their conversation on the beach, he was pretty sure he knew why. Of course he wouldn’t mention it; she’d told him in confidence and he had every intention of letting her tell her Mum in her own time, whenever that might me. He just hoped the Nilsson girl’s involvement didn’t turn that discussion into a meltdown on Bethan’s part.

“I wouldn’t be so hasty,” he said instead, trying to keep his tone relaxed. “Surely we should encourage her to me making new friends. Especially after last year,”

“New friends I don’t mind,” Bethan grumbled. “But that family is bad news,”

“What sort of bad news?”

He watched as his sister visibly hesitated, her pint hovering half way to her mouth. Again, any mention of the past seemed to clam her up. When she spoke again, it was with a heavy reluctance.

“They’re an old family. Her father has interests in the…darker magical arts,”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean the girl is a bad egg,” Sirius said. “I know first hand what it’s like to be shunned for having a family of idiots. Maybe she’s just as happy to make a friend as Anwyn,”

“That’s a very good point,” Remus nodded. “We shouldn’t judge her on her fathers mistakes—”

“Listen, I’m not here to debate the innocence of some teen,” Bethan interjected, holding up a hand to stop him, clearly frustrated. “I just wanted to see if you knew how Anwyn was doing. I thought she might have mentioned it, she seems to talk to you about everything,”

Remus wasn’t sure if he detected a slight bitter note in her tone, but he ignored it, shaking his head instead.

“She hasn’t said a thing,” he replied instead, absently drumming his fingers on the table as he rubbed at his stubble. “Accidental magic…I can’t pretend it’s not a little concerning,”

“It happens,” Sirius shrugged across the table. “Harry blew up his Aunt last year,”

“She’s dead?!” Bethan asked, alarm evident.

But Sirius gave a bark of laughter. “No, not that kind of blown up. Inflated might be the better way of putting it. Like a balloon. I saw her floating overhead in fact—“

Remus didn’t miss the way he cut himself off, a guiltily look flickering across his face before he took a sip of beer to hide it.

“Did you try and visit Harry last summer?” Remus asked, a hint of unease threading itself through his voice.

“I— well yes, just to get a glimpse, to check up on him. And then I started the journey north. Think I gave him a bit of a fright if I’m honest—“ he spotted Remus’ worried expression. “Don’t give me that look, no one else saw me. And it’s all over with regardless. What I’m trying to say is that accidental magic at her age isn’t exactly unheard of. Unusual, yes, but not unexpected given the level of stress we were all under over the holidays,”

“Perhaps you’re right”, Bethan muttered, though she didn’t sound convinced. “Just— keep an eye on her for me will you?”

“Of course,” Remus replied. “Always,”

“And try and steer her away from the Nilsson girl if you can,”

He didn’t reply to that one. It was, he thought, a much harder task. And perhaps one he wasn’t fully prepared to undertake.

———

The inn had begun to grow busier as the afternoon wore on, shop keeps and villagers appearing for dinner or a quick pint on the way home as the evening approached. The light was waning outside the thick glasses windows, the sky that odd shade that spoke of more snow to come, and Bethan seemed almost reluctant to leave when she climbed up her feet.

“I’m mildly jealous of you,” she told him as she wrapped her scarf back around her neck. “First you got to live in Hogwarts for a year, now Hogsmeade. It’s like a little cosy dream,”

“Hmm, I doubt the locals would agree,” he replied as he stood to show her to the door. “But staying in the inn certainly has its positives,”

They were half way across the room when Bethan ducked behind him, clearly making use of his superior height as some sort of shield.

“Oh hell, it’s Skeeter. Tell me when she’s gone,”

The blonde in question surveyed the room with an interested air, eyes landing on him for a second as she cocked her head. Her gaze then moved on across the room, towards the table where Sirius still sat.

“Not a fan I take it?” He asked as Bethan peaked out from behind him, taking the opportunity to make a beeline for the door now that Skeeter’s attention was elsewhere.

“Understatement of the century. And I’ve had too much to drink to have a verbal sparring match with her tonight. She just twists everything. You saw what she wrote about poor Hagrid?”

“Yes, I saw,” he replied grimly. “Poor fellow doesn’t deserve an ounce of that vitriol,”

“If there’s one thing I hate about journalism, it’s the need to kick people when they’re down. Why not go after those that need brought down a peg or two?”

“Like Crouch?” Remus raised an eyebrow as he swung the door open, frigid air battering him in the face.

Bethan had the sense to look slightly guilty. “That’s…different. He’s up to something, I can tell,”

She stepped out into the street, compacted snow and slush crunching under her boots, and let out a shivering breath that clouded in the air in front of her. Wrapped up as she was, hat pulled down over her forehead and scarf up to her chin, the similarities between her and her daughter were startling, and even more so, Remus realised with a pang, were those she shared with their own mother.

“Just be careful Bethan,” he told her, the comparison bringing back the familiar shiver of unease. “Whoever is behind this doesn’t care if a child gets killed. I doubt they’ll show mercy to anyone poking their nose in,”

She huffed out an amused breath. “I’ll be fine, stop your worrying. You’ve got enough to be thinking about with all those love sick glances you keep sending Sirius’ way,”

His tongue suddenly felt too big for his mouth. “I— what? I don’t— I’m not—“

“Sure, sure,” she laughed. “Just tell him sooner rather than later alright? He won’t wait forever,”

She stood on her tiptoes, giving him a farewell peck on his ruddy, glowing cheek. He was vaguely aware of the sparkle of of mischief in her eyes, the same she’d worn when dragging him into one of her schemes when they were younger, before the crack of her disapparation echoed through the street.

After taking a moment to collect himself, cold air cooling his burning cheeks, he ducked back in the door, a wall of heat enveloping him. The bar was abuzz with chatter now, laughter breaking out in the far corner and the smell of some sort of roast meat wafting out from the kitchens. Across the room, at the table where he’d left him, Sirius glanced up, catching his eye. He gave a lazy, wolffish grin across the bar.

Remus chest tightened.

Merlin, he really was in trouble.

———

If she hadn’t spent the past hour attempting to pour all of her attention into following the instructions on the board to the letter, Anwyn could have been convinced that she’d accidentally consumed some of the Befuddlement solution bubbling away in her cauldron. Having Signe share a potions station with her was turning out to be a dangerous way to spend the lesson.

To say she was distracted was an understatement. Every movement from the other girl seemed to catch her attention, every glance her way sent her heart racing and mouth curving into a shy smile. They’d spent every evening since the first day of school together, exploring the little nooks and crannies of the castle, fingers interlocked as they dipped through tapestries and down hidden stairwells. Every time Signe kissed her it was like she’d been electrocuted; a short, sharp burst running through her, each time as new and exciting as the last.

“Anwyn, your cauldron!” Sarah hissed at her.

She pulled her eyes from Signe’s face to find her buffudlement solution nearly boiling over, a hot angry roll of bubbles near the rim of her cauldron.

“Shit,” she uttered, stabbing her wand at the flame to reduce it, and glanced back at the board, spotting her mistake. She’d completely missed a step.

“10 points from Hufflepuff for your poor language and even poorer potion, Blackthorn”

Snape seemed to have materialised from thin air behind her, drawn, it seemed, by the hint of disaster in the air. He had a self satisfied smirk on his face, as if he’d been waiting on her slipping up, and she had to bite her tongue before she said something she’d regret.

The solution she handed in was a thick red sludge, nothing like the results they were expecting, but thoughts of failure and poor grades were swiftly chased from her mind as she felt fingers weave with hers as they stepped out into the dungeon corridor, her heart giving a sick little stutter.

“Lunch in the courtyard?” Signe asked her, apparently oblivious to the effect she was having.

Anwyn managed a nod, unable to keep the smile from her lips. It was swiftly wiped from her face however, as a shoulder slammed into hers and she stumbled out of Signe’s grasp.

“Oops, sorry cousin,” Silas stuck out a sad, droopy lip. “Didn’t see you there,”

His sister peered over his shoulder at them, eyes narrowing as she looked between them.

“Are you two a thing?” Sorrel asked outright, disgust evident in her voice.

Anwyn opened her mouth to reply, but floundered. They hadn’t discussed labels. Were they dating? Girlfriends? Maybe Signe was just looking for some fun. She stuttered a few syllables, casting a nervous glance at the Durmstrang girl, who was watching her cousins with a bored expression.

“Sorry, I didn’t realise I had to ask for your permission to hold her hand,” she replied cooly.

“I didn’t think you’d want to. I’d be careful if I were you,” Silas said, looking her up and down. “The whole family is riddled with fleas after all,”

“Yes, who knows what you’ll catch,” his sister added, tone heavy with implication.

Anwyn’s cheeks burnt red hot, from shame or anger she couldn’t quite say. They always had to be there to ruin everything, always had to torment her in anyway possible. What if it put Signe off, what if she didn’t want to be associated with her—

Signe’s fingers linked in with Anwyn’s once more, and began to drag her away from her cousins, clearly done with the conversation. Anwyn found herself glancing over, trying to read the look on her face, but it was once again impassive, as if they’d merely been listening to one of Binns’ boring lessons.

“Sorry—“ she started, but Signe cut her off.

“What are you apologising for? You can’t pick your family, even when they’re idiots,”

“Yeah, but they—“

“Are not worth worrying about,” she interrupted one again, giving Anwyn’s had a quick squeeze. “Remember rule one,”

Anwyn swallowed her unease. Rule one, not giving a fuck, was infinitely easier to do when it didn’t involve her insane cousins. When it didn’t revolve around the people who had driven her over the edge last year, and who seemed intent on doing so again, if given the chance. Rule one was easier said than done.

After a quick stop off at the hall to fill their satchels with steaming hot baked goods, they found what was swiftly becoming their favourite spot out in the clocktower courtyard, under the awning where they could chat away from the crowds but be sheltered from the wind. Huddled together under thick robes, the cold made their proximity seem less of an eyebrow raising topic. It was, after all, absolutely freezing, and most of the other students outside were similarly squashed together. Still, the press of Signe’s shoulder to hers was like a little electric spark in Anwyn’s chest.

“Do you want to meet for dinner tonight?” She asked, unwrapping the steaming pasty. Her fingers burnt in the cold.

“Can’t. I’ve been summoned,” Signe muttered. “Karkaroff wants all students on the boat tonight to work on the stupid egg clue. I can’t wait to get deafened again,”

“Krum’s still not worked it out yet?”

“No. He’s not got a clue. Karkaroff has been writing to all his connections trying to figure it out, but he’s had no luck. What about later?” Signe asked. “I can probably sneak out once Karkaroff goes to bed,”

“Past curfew?” She could hear the flicker of unease in her own voice. “What if we get caught?”

“Doesn’t that make it more exciting?” Signe asked with a smirk. “Don’t forget rule number one—“

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Anwyn muttered “Alright then. I’ll meet you in the old classroom again,”

“Good,”

The pleased but short reply was enough to make Anwyn have to fight to control her grin, and she stuffed hot pastry into her mouth to hide it.

“How’s your boy wonder getting on then,” Signe asked, munching on her own lunch. “Has he worked it out?”

“Nearly there I think,” Anwyn kept her voice light, though in truth she didn’t have a clue how close Harry actually was. “He’ll get there,”

But when Anwyn met the Gryffindor trio that night, Harry looked as far from ready as possible. They were lounging in the plush seats that sat at the bottom of the astronomy tower, thick rugs and comfy cushions helping to insulate them against the freezing wind that was battering the window. When she asked him how he was getting on, he immediately dodged the subject, making excuses and pacifying remarks that told her everything.

“Oh yeah fine, totally fine,” he said, suddenly interested in the back of the Ravenclaw’s head that was sitting across the room from them. “I’m on it, no problem,”

“Sure you are,” she said lightly, and he flicked her a nervous glance. He knew he’d been caught. “It’s just Signe was saying that Krum hasn’t figured it out either,”

“Why didn’t you say?” Ron asked, shooting Hermione a disgruntled look.

“I told you,” Hermione said from behind her massive book. “We don’t discuss the trial,”

Anwyn didn’t miss the face Ron pulled behind her back, as if she’d just vomited her dinner in front of him. They were talking again, but it was evident that his opinion of Krum hadn’t improved.

“Have you heard from Remus today?” Harry asked, changing the subject before it could get ugly.

“I haven’t checked,” Anwyn replied. She’d been far too busy rushing out the door to meet Signe for breakfast. “Why, have you got a question for them?”

He pulled a pained face. “You haven’t seen the paper have you?”

A tingle of dread ran up her spine, as if one of the castles ghosts had walked through her. “No…why?”

Harry rummaged through the pile of books beside him, pulling out a newspaper from the bottom. Its crumpled pages rustled as he flicked quickly through them to the fifth or sixth page, before folding it in half and tapping on the article at the top.

“Read it,” Harry said glumly, holding out the paper towards her. “But I’ll warn you. It’s a load of rubbish,”

Anwyn gave him a hesitant look, and then took the paper.

Notorious ex-convict Sirius Black has been seen in Hogsmeade with none other than ex Hogwarts Professor Remus Lupin, who was fired in disgrace when revealed as a werewolf—“

“He wasn’t fired!” Anwyn near shouted, slamming the paper down on her knee loud enough to make Ron jump.

“Keep reading,” Harry replied glumly. “It gets worse,”

One has to wonder why an innocent man has need of such company. Unless, perhaps, Black isn’t as innocent as he seems. The hearing of Black’s guilt only last month brought to light a number of worrying details; that his family were known to be dark wizards, that he admitted to entering Hogwarts with a knife on multiple occasions, and that Mr Lupin, who was teaching at the school during this time, may have been helping him to gain access. And now both of these men have taken up residence in Hogsmeade, a mere walk from the school.

What possible reason could they have for holidaying so close to the school? A source close to the Prophet can reveal that Black claims to be here to support his Godson, none other that the famous Harry Potter, while he competes in the Triwizard Tournament. As a tragic orphan, a parental figure may be just the thing the young boy wants. But one has to ask if associating with men like Black is the sort of influence the boy needs.

The inclusion of the werewolf Lupin raises further concerns, with the court hearing the Black and Lupin were previously romantically involved. Have the two men reignited this early relationship? And does this mean young Harry is now exposed to the dangers of this werewolf once more?

“This is— this is insane,” Anwyn spluttered. “The trial cleared Sirius, why is she still going over it? She’s just trying to drum up gossip and she’s dragging them through the mud in the process!”

“She’ll say anything to get a headline at other people’s expense. You know Hagrid hasn’t spoken to me all term since the article about him being a half giant came out?”

“He’s probably ashamed—“ Anwyn started, but Harry cut her off as his face flashed in anger.

“He’s got nothing to be ashamed about!”

“Oi!” She scolded him. “I know that! I wasn’t suggesting he does! But the Wizarding World puts such an emphasis on blood purity and…and being a “true wizard” that it’s got to wear on him. He’s living with that constant knowledge that people won’t accept him for who he is,”

Harry deflated slightly, sitting back in his seat with a sigh. “Like Remus?”

“Exactly,” she replied. “I know for a fact that shit like this article bothers him. He doesn’t like to show it, but it does. He’s heard so often that he’s…lesser than everyone else that he’s begun to believe it. I mean look at it! She’s talking like he’s some kind of uncontrolled beast!”

“That’s nonsense,” Hermione said. “He’s one of the nicest wizards I’ve met so far, not to mention one of the most competent,”

“Yeah but since when does that matter to the pure blood crowd?” Ron interjected. “Look how they treat you Hermione, and you’re probably the best witch in the school,”

“Maybe not the best,” she replied, and Anwyn didn’t miss the way her face had started to heat.

“Speaking of Hagrid, maybe he’ll be in Hogsmeade?” Ron suggested. “We can try and talk to him them. Let him know we don’t care who his Mum was,”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “Yeah, maybe. Sirius want’s to meet anyway,”

They lapsed into a downtrodden silence, the relaxed mood having evaporated the moment the newspaper article had been brought out. Anwyn let out a long sigh, blowing the curls from in front of her face, and read over the minuscule first paragraph she’d written on Befuddlement Solutions. Suddenly she wasn’t in the mood.

“Do you think that last paragraph is a lie too?” Harry asked quietly. “About Sirius and Remus,”

She hesitated, mind drifting back to their conversation on the beach. Remus hadn’t told her anything outright, but she was fairly certain that there was at least some truth to their past history. It made sense. Having it blasted across the paper seemed infinitely unfair though.

“I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “If it was mentioned at the trail, then maybe. Would it bother you if it was true?”

Harry shrugged. “I just want Sirius to be happy. He deserves that much after Azkaban,”

The flood of relief that Anwyn felt was entirely unexpected. “Me too,” she replied, looking back at the paper. “And if Skeeter could stop sticking her nose in where it’s not wanted that would be great too,”

———

Considering she’d faced off against the full Wizengamut, witnessed a mass murderer turn from rat to man, and heard a full werewolf transformation in the room above, Anwyn would have thought that sneaking out after curfew would have been a breeze. But instead she was, to put it mildly, terrified.

She made use of every secret corridor, every hidden stairwell at her disposal. By the time she’d reached the dungeons, gloomy and dull with only weak candles illuminating the cobwebs, she’d already jumped out of her skin twice at the sign of movement. But luck had been on her side, the whisp like ghosts floating past in the distance, unaware of her presence.

The dungeons were more worrisome though. Because the potions master might be down here.

Perhaps an invisibility draught might have been an idea, though brewing one would have raised questions in class, and she was reluctant to set up the illicit potions station once more. Instead she’d need to rely on her own prowess at sneaking. Which was basically non-existent.

The dungeon corridors were mercifully empty, though she tiptoed down the steps to the lowest level just in case there were prefects around. By the time she was just around the corner from their meeting spot, Anwyn was beginning to think she was safe.

Until a hand grabbed her shoulder.

She gave an involuntary squeal, the noise escaping her before she could think much of it, and a hand quickly clamped to her mouth.

“Shhhh—“ Signe hissed out, trying to contain her laughter. “Are you trying to get us caught?”

Anwyn let pout a shaky breath. “You scared the shit out of me!”

“Come on,” the Durmstrang girl said, smirk on her face. “I found another cool spot. Hopefully you’ve not been before,”

The new hideout was a tiny little storage room somewhere above the choir practice space that Flitwick and the toad choir practiced in. It was dusty, cobwebbed, and full of old broken furniture, but the back wall had a large stain glass window that refracted rainbows across the room as the moonlight filtered through it, the smears of dirt only slightly dulling the effects.

It looked like Signe had cleared them a space already on the floorboards, track marks of the furniture she’d pushed lacing through the dust. She swung her fur cloak from around her throat as Anwyn gawked at the glass window, laying it across the floor.

“There. Should stop us getting too dusty,”

“I didn’t even know this was here,” Anwyn muttered, flopping down onto the cloak.

“Ahh good!” Signe replied, pulling the hip flask from her pocket. “I was hoping it would be a surprise,”

The hip flask was still half full, and after only a few mouthfuls Anwyn was already starting to feel a dull buzz at the back of her head. The whisky burnt all the way down into her chest, but she’d managed to control the spluttering this time at least.

“How did your evening go? Did Krum figure it out,”

Signe shrugged. “Dunno. I think so. I charmed my ears to stop the ringing after the third attempt so I didn’t hear the end of it, but Karkaroff seemed happy. I’ll be keeping that charm for the future too, it did a great job of blocking Ander’s ramblings out,”

“I wonder how they did it,” Anwyn replied, chewing absently on her thumb. “A spell perhaps? Or something else?”

“Who cares!” Signe moaned, flopping down to join Anwyn on the cloak, a cloud of dust flaring up around them. “I didn’t set all this up just to talk about the stupid tournament,”

“You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for the stupid tournament,” Anwyn replied with a laugh.

“Touché. Anyway let’s play a game,”

“What do you have in mind?”

Signe held up the flask. “A drinking game. We take it in turns to ask the other person questions, and they have to tell the truth or take a drink,”

“Alright. I’ll go first,” Anwyn proclaimed, trying to sound more confident than she felt. “What’s your…favourite colour?”

“Ugh boring….purple,”

“Not black? I’d have thought you’d go for something all edgy—“

“I’m not that predictable am I?” Signe laughed. “What about you? I bet it’s like Hodgepodge yellow,”

“Hodgepodge?”

“Yeah or whatever that badger house of yours is,”

Anwyn gave a burst of laughter. “Hufflepuff! It’s Hufflepuff!”

“Whatever. My turn,” The other girl made a show of thinking, placing a finger on her chin. “What’s your embarrassing moment?”

Anwyn considered the question for a moment, a slideshow of horrendous moments flickering through her head. The twins shoving her in the pond at Thornhill. Her denouncement of Russell last year. But her most recent memory, kissing Signe and running away at the Yule ball flared hot and shameful in her mind. She felt her cheeks began to redden, and took a swig of whisky.

“Booo!” Signe laughed, taking the flask. “Spoilsport! Alright, your turn,”

“Umm…” Anwyn wheezed through the burn of the whisky. “First person you fancied?”

“Easy. Aurora Astra from Astral Ponderings. It was love at first sight,”

Anwyn looked blankly at her. “I have no idea who that is,”

Signe looked almost insulted, rearing back as if Anwyn had just told her that the sky was green.

“Are you joking? Aurora Astra? Mystic star of the hit divination radio show?” She shook her head at Anwyn’s still blank face. “She’s not a thing here? She’s a complete fraud, but her hair is fantastic and some of the listener write-ins are very entertaining. Not the sort of show Father approves of though. Alright then, if you don’t listen to Aurora, what do you listen to?”

She pressed the flask back into Anwyn’s hands, though this time she didn’t need to drink.

“Auror Abroad. The adventures of Mikka Hartstring,”

“Like a detective show?”

“Yeah,”

“Never heard of it,”

“It’s really good! He goes on all sorts of international crime solving adventures, and—“ Signe was watching her with a raised eyebrow, looking thoroughly bored already. Self conscious, Anwyn cleared her throat and passed the flask back. “Ummm…favourite childhood memory,” she asked, already thinking of her own answer to the question. It would probably be something at Shepherds Lane, or maybe that summer her Mum had—

Signe drank from the flask, a short, quick swill.

“Really?” Anwyn asked agast. “You’re skipping this one?”

“I can’t think of anything worth talking about,” Signe shrugged, the dull expression still on her face. “And it’s boring anyway. My turn. Best book you’ve ever read?”

They continued this way for some time, Anwyn drinking anytime the questions brought on a flare of embarrassment, or threatened to expose just how much of a loser she was, Signe drinking any time it felt like they were scratching the surface of her cool facade. By the time the flask was nearly done, they had collapsed back onto the cloak, watching the dust mites dance in the moonlight through the haze of alcohol.

“What’s your biggest fear?” Signe asked, pressing the sloshing flask into Anwyn’s hand.

She cleared her throat, a slight nervous laugh working its way out. “What are you, a boggart or something?”

Signe elbowed her with a hard jab. “Yes, now answer the question or drink,”

She chewed on the inside of her lip, internally debating how she should answer. Another sharp jab to her side spurred her on.

“I guess…someone I love being in pain. And I can’t do anything about it,”

Signe was silent for a second, before letting out a long huff of breath. “Woah. You went deep. I was expecting spiders or some shit like that,”

“Sorry—“

“No, no it’s cool. Must be nice to have people you care about enough that it’s even a possible fear,”

Signe’s tone was light, but the statement Anwyn found herself fiddling uncomfortably with the cuff of her jumper, stuck somewhere between guilt and irritation. She didn’t like feeling this way, it wasn’t a pleasant. But perhaps it was a privilege.

The other girl noted her silence, turning her head to glance at her. “Have you…experienced it? Already?”

Should she say anything? The last thing she wanted was Signe realising how insane she was. And even the mention of having faced this fear brought a lump of panic to her throat and constrained her chest.

Anwyn swallowed slowly, licking her dry lips as she considered what to say. Her vision swam a little, the effects of the alcohol. She wasn’t looking forward to standing up again.

“Yeah,” her voice came out close to a whisper, and she cleared her throat. “With my uncle,”

The pause made her think that they could drop the subject, but Signe spoke up again. “What happened?”

She shot the other girl a quick glance, finding her face open, neutral, with no sign of malice. Did she really not know? Was that why she’d not reacted to the twins early? Surely she’d heard the mutters, seen the newspapers? But then Signe never did seem too bothered about gossip.

Nerves buzzing, she decided to test the waters. “He has this…condition,”

No reaction. No flicker of recognition, grimace of guilt.

She pressed on. “It’s…incurable. He deals with a lot of pain and it really takes it out of him,”

Signe frowned. “Healers can’t help?”

She shook her head. “There’s a few potions that help manage it or deal with the pain, but no cure. And even then, it’s expensive to treat, far too expensive for our family,”

“Damn,” Signe said, turning back to look towards the rafters. “That…that really sucks Anwyn,”

She seemed sincere, the frown now having left her brow, but still she didn’t seem to show any sign that she had an idea of just what kind of condition Anwyn was talking about. She didn’t know.

Anwyn let out a shaking breath. “Yeah. It’s not…great,”

They lapsed back into silence, but Anwyn’s brain was loud enough to fill it. She could tell Signe the truth. All of it. It would be so easy, but somehow she knew that if she started, she wouldn’t stop until every last awful detail of the last year was expunged.

And then she what? It wasn’t as if she could predict Signe’s reaction. ‘Oh, by the way, my Uncle is a werewolf’ wasn’t something you could just casually drop into conversation and then continue your evening like nothing had happened. It was a revelation that could send everything down a horrible path of no return. She wasn’t quite ready for that.

It wasn’t that she was ashamed. No, what she’d told Remus on Hogsmeade as true, she definitely wasn’t. But it did…complicate things. And for once, just for this evening, she wanted things to be simple. Surely that wasn’t such a bad thing?

So why did she feel so guilty? Why did it feel like some form of betrayal?

She pushed the unease back. Tonight was about her and Signe, if only for a little while, and surely she deserved the smallest amount of happiness for once? She turned her head, finding the other girl still staring up at the ceiling, eyes half lidded as the late hour and alcohol caught up with her.

“What about you? What’s your biggest fear?”

Signe was silent for a moment, expression unchanging, before she uttered one word. “Mummies,”

“Mummies?”

“Yeah,”

Another beat of silence passed.

“Do you get a lot of them in Sweden?”

A snort of laughter escaped Signe’s mouth. “No, not really,”

The tension was broken. A burst of laughter made its way from Anwyn’s chest, and then Signe joined her, a chuckle turning into a full blown roar. They clutched at their sides, rolled in the dust and for a moment Anwyn forgot about the lycanthropy, forgot about Skeeter and the trial and her cousins. For a moment there was only her, and Signe and their laughter. If only a moment could last a lifetime.

———

The dormitory room was pitch black. Living underground was great for having an uninterrupted sleep, but it made sneaking back to bed in the wee hours problematic.

She shuffled forward, big toe slamming into something solid, and a grunt of pain escaped her as she reached a hand out, trying to find the foot of her bed. Her fingers met wood, and she followed it down to the soft touch of duvet, already anticipating the warmth of her bed.

Light flared, blinding her. She reeled back.

“What the fu—“

“Where have you been?” Sarah hissed. “It’s way past curfew!”

“Out,” she muttered holding a hand up in an attempt to block the light. “Now can you stop shining that thing in my face—“

“Out where?”

“Just…out!” She flailed her arms a little in the vague direction of the rest of the castle. “Merlin, who are you, my mother? Go back to sleep!”

The light dimmed a little. Anwyn took this as a small victory, and began kicking her shoes off, making the decision just to sleep in her clothes. She was far too tired to bother changing, and there was a dull thudding behind one eye that she was fairly certain was the whisky coming back to bite her. When she finally sunk into her bed, it was with a satisfied groan.

But Sarah wasn’t done with her.

“What were you doing up past curfew?” She whispered in the dark, disapproval still in her voice.

Anwyn lay for a second, wondering if she could pretend to be asleep. A hiss of her name from the bed beside her told her that wouldn’t work.

She finally gave an exasperated reply. “I was just…hanging out,”

“With Signe?”

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

A pause. She half wished she could see Sarah’s face.

“Are you in trouble again? Like last year?”

“What? No of course not—“

“Because I’m a prefect Anwyn, I can’t cover up for you if you’re breaking the rules—“

“Oh so it’s not actually about me being in trouble then is it, you just care about your prefect job,” she bit back.

“That’s not fair,” Sarah replied, the hurt evident in her voice even if Anwyn couldn’t see her face. “I just don’t want you getting hurt—“

“I won’t. I’m fine. In fact I’m going the opposite of last year, I’m actually having some fun for once. Just…go to sleep,”

She rolled on her side away from Sarah, the violent movement making the bed creak, and pulled the duvet over her head. The pain behind her eye pulsed, and when she shut her eyelids it felt slightly like the bed was shifting underneath her. She was definitely going to regret the whisky in the morning.

The sound of sheets shuffling came from behind her, the wand light snuffing out completely. It seemed like Sarah had dropped the matter. Good. It wasn’t any of her business.

But if that was the case, why did she once again feel the subtle touch of guilt at the back of her mind?

Screwing her eyes tight shut, half against the squirming anxiety, and half against the throbbing in her head, Anwyn willed herself to sleep.

———

Roughly ten minutes after Anwyn had drifted off, another member of the Lupin family stirred.

Deep sleep, the sort that leaves you dead to the world, was something that Remus had kissed goodbye to shortly after Anwyn had turned up on his doorstep. Having a young child in the house had slowly tuned his brain to any small noise or sound of upset. The alternative was waking up to a puddle of vomit on the floor or a very upset niece, fresh out of a nightmare and past the point of consolation. So when Remus was roused from his sleep, it was with the same sudden awakening that he’d grown used to.

He lay for a moment, head cloudy with whatever odd dream he’d been having about supermarket shelves, and strained his ears. It took him a few seconds to remember that he wasn’t at home, that he didn’t need to listen out for a child in need, but still he lay, on edge.

What had woken him up? Perhaps it had been a drunk on the street outside, or the call of an owl on its way back to the post office. Whatever it was, he heard no further sound, and sleep started to dig its claws into him once more, dragging him back into unconsciousness.

Across the hall, forehead slick with the cold sweat of panic, it would be many hours before the same could be said of Sirius.

Notes:

Sorry for the delay folks, I was so close to finishing this chapter and the I accidentally deleted half of it with no back up. Soul crushing.

Anyway, thanks for waiting, hopefully you enjoy it!

Chapter 25: A Trip to Hogsmeade

The eyeliner tickled her waterline, her brain screaming at her to blink. Signe’s touch was light, pulling down on her cheek, and she swallowed hard against her nerves which still jangled at the proximity despite their budding romance.

“Hold still,” the other girl muttered, tongue between her teeth as she concentrated.

Too late. Her eyelid spasmed and the eyeliner in Signe’s hand slid, a quick stab of pain blossoming as she jerked out of the way.

“Ow—“

“I told you,” the Durmstrang girl tutted, wiping the smudge that was left from the corner of Anwyn’s eye. It did little to stop the involuntary tear streaming from it. “We’re done anyway. Take a look,”

Anwyn resisted the urge to scrub at her stinging eye, picking up the mirror that lay between them where they sat crossed legged on the floor. The girl that was reflected back at her was like a strange long distant relation, the similarities there but with something odd about them. Dark shadows lined her eyes, smoky and intense, and a dark purple stained her lips.

“What do you think?” Signe asked, leaning back on her hands. She reached over to her bag, fumbling around until she found the box of cigarettes.

“It’s…different,” Anwyn said, angling the mirror to try and inspect herself further. “I’m not sure about the lipstick,”

Signe drew a cigarette from the packet, holding it between two fingers. “It’s cute. You’re cute,”

Anwyn felt her cheeks heat a little at the compliment. “You think?”

She wasn’t sure she agreed. In fact it felt more like she’d raided her Mum’s makeup drawer. Signe however seemed unaware of her misgivings, lighting the cigarette with her wand before placing it between her lips and taking a drag. She stretched her head back to blow a thin trail of smoke into the air. It floated up towards the rafters of the storage space, and Anwyn wondered idly if Flitwick would smell it the next time he held choir practice.

Their little hideaway had become their new routine, a spot both of them could lounge in without fear of interruption. For Anwyn, that meant a fraught few hours trying to peel back the layers that made up Signe’s facade while simultaneously trying to maintain her own. It felt like every small glimpse of something deeper was swiftly followed by a stony silence, or a swift change of subject, and left Anwyn second guessing everything she said. She’d creep back to her room in the dark, trying not to wake Sarah, and then lie in bed for hours going over every little word, every joke, trying to figure out where she’d gone wrong. It was maddening. So naturally, it had taken her all night to work up the courage to ask her next question.

“So…” Anwyn began, voice shaking a little with nerves. “It’s Hogsmeade this weekend…”

She trailed off, waiting for Signe to speak up, but she stayed as she was, head tipped back towards the ceiling.

“I’m meeting Remus in the village, but I was thinking…I mean I was wondering if you’d want to walk down with me? We could do some shopping, get some lunch….”

Her question hung in the air again, the silence dragging on for long enough that she thought she’d said something wrong, until Signe raised her head once more pursing her lips. She shifted, moving the cigarette to her other hand.

“So we’re going to do what? Just…hang out with your uncle all day? That’s a bit lame isn’t it?”

“I— well—,” she stuttered. “He knows a lot about curses and stuff. I thought we could ask him about my Dad’s research,”

“Do you think that’s a good idea? Your Mother is quite happy to lie about it, what makes you think he’ll help?”

Anwyn floundered, mouth open as she gave a few rapid blinks. “I— I trust him—“

“You can ask if you want,” Signe shrugged. “I just think you should be careful. Come up with an excuse for asking. Otherwise he might just blab to your Mother and before you know it you have a howler for breakfast,”

Receiving mail from her Mum was rare enough, so she sincerely doubted something that took as much effort as a Howler would be on the cards. Still, Signe had a point, her Mum would be pretty pissed off if she found out what they were up to. Surely she could trust Remus to be discrete?

But he’d told her Mum about the boggart. And the potions, and the lake. He wouldn’t keep anything from her that he deemed too important.

“I guess you’re right,” She said reluctantly.

Signe inhaled another breath of smoke, and in the silence Anwyn could feel her heart thumping in her chest.

“Of course I am. But sure. I’ll come,”

“Really?” She couldn’t help the excitement that leaked through her voice.

“Why not? I need to pick up some potions ingredients anyway,”

She stuck the cigarette back between her lips and leaned forward, gathering the makeup that had scattered across the floor. An old, stained makeup bag lay open between them, and she stuffed the brushes and pens in haphazardly before dragging her satchel over. She began to make a space for the makeup and then made a small noise of recognition as she spotted something in the depths of the bag.

“Oh yeah, I forgot— I found some old posters at the bottom of my trunk,” Signe told her, holding up a stack of crumpled paper. “Including….ta da! Aurora Astra,”

The creased picture she held up showed a severe looking woman, poker straight black hair hanging down to her elbows, rose bud lips lined with a vibrant blue lipstick. Her eyes were as spectacularly coloured, and large gems hung from her hair and around her neck, glittering in the light as she moved, giving Anwyn a wink from the page.

“Wow,” Anwyn swallowed heavily. “She’s uh—“

“Amazing right?” Signe replied, though those were not the words Anwyn was thinking. “I’d love to see her live one day. She does a show with Cordova Clare— have you heard of her?”

Anwyn shook her head, and Signe tutted.

“This is her,” she held up another poster, this time with the corner torn, of an equally studding red haired woman whose freckles looked like they’d been placed with care. “And I found some old photos from last year, there’s me and Marta, remember who pierced my ears?”

Signe held up a photograph, a slightly younger version of herself grinning back, arms around the shoulders of an equally happy looking dark haired girl. They both stuck their tongues out at the camera, another piercing glinting through Marta’s, and Anwyn felt a sharp, sickening roll of…what was it, jealousy? Not quite. No, it was a deep, conscious inadequacy.

All of these women were gorgeous, austere beauties with high cheekbones and glossy hair, a far stretch from the puppy fat and frizz she called her own. Again, she found herself wondering just what Signe saw in her. Surely Pansy Parkinson, or even Sorrell with her dark locks and pinched face, were far more to her liking?

“She looks nice,” Anwyn managed to utter, glueing on a smile as Signe folded the papers back up. “Do you miss her?”

Signe shrugged, the excitement seemingly vanishing, replaced once more by her signature cool indifference as she closed her bag and clambered to her feet.

“Better get back to the ship. See you in the entrance hall tomorrow morning?”

Anwyn nodded, cursing herself internally for ruining the conversation again. She’d only asked what seemed like an innocent question, what would Signe have said if she’d asked the one she really wanted an answer to? Were her and Marta dating? Was Anwyn just a distraction while she was away from home.

It was a good ten minutes after Signe had left, the smell of cigarette smoke still in the air, before Anwyn clambered to her feet to make the walk back to the common room alone.

———

She slept in past breakfast, making the most of the lack of classes so she could catch up on some much needed sleep. Her belly grumbled as she searched through her trunk, but she ignored it. There would be plenty of food in Hogsmeade and she had far more important things to worry about like what on earth she was going to wear.

After thirty minutes of frantic searching which had left most of her clothes in a heap on her bed, she finally settled for a pair of dungarees and a cosy knit jumper, the sort of outfit she’d been slouching around in for most of her life. Suddenly it felt awkward on her, the denim faded and the jumper bobbled. Her hair resembled something of a birds nest, and she attempted to flatten it to her head before giving a frustrated groan and slamming her hat down over her head.

All of the women in those pictures had been imposing. Striking. Anwyn was anything but, she thought glumly as she waited in the Great Hall. The appearance of a familiar Gryffindor however sparked an idea.

“Hi Anwyn!” Hermione said brightly, bundled up in an assortment of woollens. “Are you waiting on someone too? Harry and Ron have barely climbed out of bed. I’ve been up since 8 o’clock making S.P.E.W membership cards. Do you want one?”

“Uh…alright,” Anwyn replied as Hermione had already started rummaging in her pockets.

“I’m hoping Sirius and Remus will sign up, it’s important that members of the wider community get involved don’t you think? It’s a shame I didn’t have these made for the Yule Ball, can you imagine if I’d been able to get The Weird Sisters involved? They could have really spread the word!”

She produced a small white card from one of her pockets with a triumphant shout, shoving into Anwyn’s gloves hands. The S.P.E.W logo was embossed on the front, along with a space for Anwyn to inevitably forget to write her name.

“Thanks…” she said, before an idea struck her. Hermione, how did you straighten your hair for the ball?”

“Oh it was simple,” she replied brightly. “I bought a hair straightening serum in Hogsmeade. It only lasts a few days though and it’s quite expensive, so I haven’t bothered to keep applying it. And I have so much hair it took the whole bottle to tame it. Are you thinking about trying it out? You’ll probably need the same amount,”

“Maybe,”

“Well I’d highly recommend it, it worked very well. Oh look, here comes your Durmstrang friend,”

Sure enough, Signe had just appeared in the entrance hall, cheeks a little red from the cold. She scanned the crowd, lips quirking into the briefest of smiles when she spotted Anwyn, and crossed the hall to join them.

“Hey,” she said simply on arrival, and Anwyn felt her stomach do a little flip.

“Hey,” she tried, failing to achieving the same cool tone, and cleared her throat. “This is Hermione. I’m not sure if you’ve met before—“

“Ahh Krum’s date,” Signe smirked. “We haven’t met, but I can assure you, the girl’s cabin on the ship have discussed little else,”

“Really?” Hermione asked, a blush spreading across her cheeks. “Oh I didn’t mean to cause a stir,”

“It’s been quite amusing really,” Signe continued. “I think you’ve made most of the school exceedingly jealous,”

Hermione’s blush grew ever stronger, and Anwyn found herself diving in to save her from further embarrassment.

“Are you looking forward to lunch?” She blurted. “I hope you didn’t eat a big breakfast, the Leaky Cauldron always serves enough food to feed an army,”

“I don’t really feel like lunch,” Signe replied, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “I’ll probably just grab the supplies I need and head back to the ship,”

“Oh—“ Anwyn couldn’t keep the disappointment from her voice, her heart not just sinking but plummeting. “I thought—“

“Oh she’s not fobbed off one of those membership cards on you two has she?” Ron appeared at her side, grimacing down at the card still clutched in her hands. “You’re obsessed Hermione, honestly!”

“Well someone has to do something!”

“What’s this?” Signe asked as they began to move off towards the double doors into the courtyard.

“It’s my new organisation, the Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare,” Hermione replied immediately, ignoring Ron’s groan. “House Elves are just treated abysmally in the wizarding world and it’s about time we did something about it,”

“What, like freeing them?” Signe asked sceptically, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s just the start! We need to be campaigning for fair pay, proper living conditions, the works!”

“Right…” Signe said slowly, flicking an amused glance at Anwyn that had her silently praying that Hermione would drop the subject, but her next words caught her completely off guard. “Well I tried to free our house elf once, so do I get a special badge or something? It didn’t work of course. He technically works for Father,”

“You have a house elf?!” Anwyn interjected.

The Durmstrang girl shrugged. “Yes. It’s not a big deal,”

“But you tried to free him? That’s fantastic!” Hermione gushed, rounding on the boys. “See, I told you there would be other students sympathetic to the cause!”

Signe leaned in closer to Anwyn, breath tickling her ear. “I mainly did it to piss Father off. Don’t tell her that though, I want my special merit badge,”

Hermione and Ron’s house elf based squabbling lasted them until they’d cleared the gates of the grounds, where the freezing cold air had them wheezing for breath and it no longer seemed like an argument worth wasting precious energy and warmth for. They followed the path as it wound down by the Loch, and at first Anwyn thought that the giant squid was emerging from the frozen depths, but she soon realised that the thing breaking the surface was far too small, and far too human shaped.

“Is that Krum?” She asked, blinking her eyes against the glare of the sun on the water.

“He’s been doing that since the night he figured out the egg,” Signe said, sounding unimpressed. “Not my idea of a fun way to spend my day, but whatever,”

“You think it’s related to the task?” Anwyn asked, exchanging a worried look with the others.

“Must be. Why else would he chuck himself in a frozen lake?”

“Why are you telling us this?” Ron asked. “Isn’t that…treason or something?”

“It’s just a stupid competition,” Signe shrugged. “I don’t care,”

“Yeah, well that competition might kill me, so forgive me for taking it seriously,” came Harry’s bitter reply.

“We’ll then I hope you can swim,” Signe replied with a small smirk.

Hogsmeade was already buzzing with life when when reached the little covered bridge into the village. They found a familiar duo waiting for them, Remus decked out in his old faded overcoat, and Sirius sporting his leather jacket despite the cold. The latter was leaning casually on the wall behind him, apparently unaware of the stares that their presence seemed to be attracting.

“Here comes trouble,” he grinned as he spotted them forging their way through the crowd. “Alright Harry?”

He embraced his godson before giving a nod of greeting to the others, which Anwyn returned with a nervous little wave before turning to her own godfather.

“Hello you,” Remus greeted with an easy smile, and before she could formulate the least awkward way of making an introduction, he’d already wrapped an arm around her shoulders. It was a perfectly average greeting for them, but for the first time she found herself cringing in embarrassment, glancing back at Signe.

“Hey,” she said weakly, half heartedly returning his hug. “Uh…this is…this is Signe,”

Remus glanced over her head, a flood of relief washing over her as he dropped his arm. “Lovely to meet you Signe,” he said, still channeling that friendly professor vibe that seemed to come naturally. “How are you finding Hogwarts?”

“It’s alright,” Signe shrugged, looking between the two of them, an odd look on her face that Anwyn could have sworn was discomfort. “I’m going to go get those potion supplies,”

“Sure,” she replied, voice a little too bright. “See you at dinner?”

“Yeah. Maybe,”

Anwyn watched her disappear into the crowd, trying to ignore the dark cloud that was descending over her head. What had she done wrong? Was she being too keen?

“She seems nice,” Remus said behind her. She turned to find him giving a somewhat guilty smile.

Anwyn gave a tired groan. “You are so bloody embarrassing,”

———

With Hermione’s help, she found the hair straightening serum in the little hairdressers just off the high street. She’s nearly wept at the price, parting with most of her spending money for one tub, but after Signe’s hasty departure she was desperate to try anything to get back into her apparent good books.

They stopped at a few other shops for supplies before reaching Zonkos, where she followed Ron and Harry inside to help look for a birthday present for Seamus, the Irish boy she’d been introduced to last year. The little shop was packed, and Hermione elected to wait outside with Remus, no doubt to try and persuade him to sign up to S.P.E.W, but Sirius ducked in after them, giving a bark of laughter.

“Just like I remember it,” he said. “Me and your Dad wasted a lot of good pocket money here,”

“Yeah?” Harry asked, hungry for information. “What did you used to buy?”

Their conversation was swallowed up by the buzz of the other shoppers as Anwyn squeezed down the next aisle, browsing the wares for something that seemed appropriate for the boy she barely knew. There were indoor fireworks, fake wands and a quills that wrote in magenta ink. A laughing tin monkey puppet danced on strings above her head, and the shelves to her right were lined with an adornment of odd looking hats, a mirror fixed to the wall beside them.

She picked up a particularly theatrical looking one, a wide rimmed number with sapphire blue ribbon running around it. A peacock feather stuck up at an odd angle. She spun it around between her fingers for a second, and then jammed it on her head.

“Avast ye—” Anwyn blurted uncontrollably before giving a yelp, practically throwing the hat off her head. It took a her a few seconds of trying to find the label before she started to laugh.

Captain’s hat — talk like a pirate!

“Hey, Harry?” she called, flipping the label over to find a price. “If the trial involves water, maybe this could come in handy. Or at least you’d look stylish during it, very Captain Hook. Did you read that muggle book, Peter Pan—“

She ducked around the side of the shelves to find that the Gryffindor boy was no where to be seen. Standing in his place however, was blonde woman with bright red lips, smiling smugly like a cat that had just cornered a mouse.

Rita Skeeter.

“Raised on muggle books were we?” She said smoothly, her green quill darting out in front of her and jotting something down. “Very interesting. Allison was it?”

“Anwyn,” she replied carefully, eyeing the quill.

“An-Winn? Such a strange name! Pretty, though, Irish is it?”

She couldn’t stop the scowl. “Welsh,”

Skeeter gave a high, simpering laugh. “Oh of course, silly me. That lovely accent of yours gives it away. So thick, so…rugged,”

The tone in which she said it didn’t sound quite so much like a compliment, and Anwyn found herself putting the hat back onto the shelf and attempting to step around her. Skeeter moved to the side, blocking her escape.

“Tell me Anwyn”, she over enunciated the name as if testing it. “How are you holding up after your uncle’s werewolf attack last year? Any lasting impressions?”

Anwyn bristled. “He didn’t attack us! He—“

But Skeeter was already interrupting, quill darting across the page. “You seemed quite shaken when asked about it at Pettigrew’s trial. Some lasting trauma perhaps?”

The quill was practically flying across the page. She didn’t like the way Skeeter was looking at her, like she was some sort of prey animal. Some fleeting conversation with her Mum came to mind, a tale of particularly annoying interview she’d done with an uncooperative wizard. He’d refused to speak and her Mum had come home with nothing but the date written in her notebook. Anwyn tried to ignore the way her chest was tightening and looked past Skeeter for a way out, channelling that wizard.

“No comment,” she said, as firmly as she could manage.

“Oh don’t be like that Anwyn, we can be friends! Just a little chat between us girls!” She flashed a sickening smile. “So between us girls, do you think your uncle was helping Black?,”

“I— no comment,”

“What happened at the lake, this incident you had that Black saved you from? Was it truly an accident? Or something more sinister?”

Fuck, why had she mentioned it at the trial? Why was Skeeter interested? She could feel her face heating, her heart starting that strange, rapid beating.

“No— no comment. Can you— let me past please,”

“Oh come now Anwyn, you can’t just keep saying no comment! You must have something to say!” Skeeter tutted, rolling her eyes. The quill continued to dart across the paper.

“I just— I need to go,” she tried again, turning to escape in the other direction, but she was at the end of the aisle, shelves towering above her. No escape.

Was the air getting stuffier? Perhaps she should have taken her scarf off.

“Just give me something, one little quote for the article—“

“No— I said no—“

“I’ll give you a comment,” came a voice from around the other side of the shelves. Sirius stepped into view behind Skeeter, eyes dark, a hint of the man in the shack appearing once more. “You can shove your article up your arse. Come on Wyn,”

He nodded back towards the doorway, and Anwyn took advantage of Skeeter’s shock to shove past the woman, jostling her into the shelves. She was already pouting, and her eyes had narrowed to glare daggers at Sirius, who seemed oblivious to the woman’s anger. He turned to follow Anwyn out of the shop, acting as her shadow with a hand on her shoulder until they were clear of the place.

“Thanks,” Anwyn told him after she’d gulped in a few greedy breaths of air. “I didn’t think she was going to let me leave,”

“I’m telling you, reporters are parasites,” he replied, before giving a defeated sigh. “Apart from maybe your Mum, she’s one of the good ones. But don’t tell her I said that, I wouldn’t hear the end of it,”

“Why do you two squabble so much anyway?” Anwyn asked as they started to make their way through the crowds, Sirius straining his neck to see over the sea of heads for anyone they recognised.

“Your Mum always thought I was a bad influence on her baby brother,” he replied, flashing her a grin. “And I always thought she could try harder to be a good influence on him. She had a habit of being a little…wrapped up in her own world,”

“Nothing new there then,” Anwyn muttered.

“Still, she’s been a great help trying to solve what’s going on with Harry and this tournament, so as much as I’d love to, I can’t complain. Speak of the devil, there they are up ahead,”

He pointed ahead of them, and Anwyn stood on her tiptoes, spotting Remus off to one side of the street, the little worry lines between his brow telling her he’d spotted their absence. Harry, Ron and Hermione were also scanning the crowd, and she saw the latter point towards them.

“There you are, I was about to come and find you,” Remus told them when they reached him. “What kept you?”

“Sirius had to rescue me from Rita Skeeter,”

“What does that leech want now?” Hermione spat with far more venom than Anwyn thought possible.

“Trying to ruin someone else’s life probably,” Ron said. “Now that she’s finished with Hagrid,”

Remus fixed her with a worried frown. “I do hope she wasn’t causing too much trouble?”

“I don’t know what she was up to, but you should have seen her face when Sirius told her—“

“—that her line of questioning was very unprofessional,” Sirius interrupted her. She shot him a confused look, and he gave a quick wink, struggling to keep the smirk from his face.

Remus however, didn’t seem convinced. “Hmm. Why do I get the feeling that’s not exactly how you put it,”

“You know me Moony, I’m ever the gentleman,”

After one final stop, their pockets were stuffed with Honeydukes chocolates. They returned to the Three Broomsticks to find it absolutely packed. Sirius squeezed himself in at the bar, ordering a light lunch that would be sent up to their rooms, and Remus had struck up a conversation with Flitwick and Sinestra who had been sitting at a table near the door. Anwyn stood awkwardly to the side, waiting on him finishing, and scanned the room.

Harry seemed to have caught the attention of an adult wizard across the room. It took a second for her to recognise the blonde hair and ruddy complexion, but when she did, she gave Remus a tug on his sleeve to get his attention.

“Hey, isn’t that Ludo Bagman? What’s he doing here?”

“Yes, it is,” he said, frowning. “How strange…”

He made his excuses to her Professors before starting to make his way through the crowd towards them, but before he could make much headway, Harry was already turning from the old quidditch player and had spotted them watching. Sirius too was heading their way.

“What did Bagman want?” Remus asked as soon as the boy joined them.

“Bagman?” Sirius asked, alarm evident in his voice. “I turn my back for two minutes and the bastard corners you?”

“Is there somewhere we can talk?” Harry asked, looking over his shoulder. “Somewhere quiet?”

“Upstairs,” Sirius replied. “This way,”

The rooms at the top of the inn were just as cosy as Anwyn expected, the fire lit and crackling in the grate. Already sweating under her woollens, she pulled off her gloves and hat, slinging her coat over the back of one of the armchairs before sinking down into the soft cushion. Ron chucked himself down into the armchair opposite with a sigh, and Harry and Hermione took the sofa, surveying the room with interest.

“Always wondered what it would be like staying in the Three Broomsticks,” Ron commented brightly. “Must be nice having butterbeer on tap,”

“The food isn’t bad either,” Sirius said, leaning against the fireplace.

There was a knock on the door, as if on queue, and it swung open to reveal a barmaid with platters of sandwiches, cakes, and foaming mugs of hot butter beer. Anwyn’s stomach grumbled at the sight.

“Right,” Sirius said as they started to tuck in. “First things first, what did Bagman want?”

“Well he was talking to a load of goblins when we first came in, they seemed to be having an argument. He says they were looking for Crouch but he has no idea where he is,”

“That lines up with what Bethan was saying,” Sirius replied, shooting a look over Anwyn’s shoulder to where her Uncle stood, leaning on the back of the armchair. She turned to find him listening intently, a small crease between his brows.

“He won’t be happy that she’s looking into it,” Harry replied. “He specifically asked me not to let Skeeter or any other journalists get wind of it,”

“Not suspicious at all,” Ron muttered, selecting a sandwich from the plate. “Maybe Percy is poisoning him. Probably thinks if Crouch snuffs it he’ll be made Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation,”

“Ron, that’s not funny!” Hermione scolded him, and he rolled his eyes. She ignored him, frowning thoughtfully. “Why would goblins be looking for Mr Crouch though? Wouldn’t they normally deal with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?”

“Astute as always Hermione, I would think so,” Remus replied, and she beamed at the compliment. “Perhaps it’s an issue with international law? Though the Magical Creatures department usually liases with the other departments when needed. Did he say anything else?”

Harry shook his head. “Not about Crouch no. But he offered to help me with the next task. He said that he’d ‘taken a liking to me’, whatever that means,”

“Ugh,” Anwyn wrinkled her nose. “Creepy,”

Sirius, ran a distracted hand through his hair. “I don’t like this,” he muttered. “I don’t like this one bit,”

“Do you think Bagman’s behind this?” Harry asked, nerves evident in his voice.

“I don’t know,” Sirius replied truthfully. “But Harry, I don’t want you going near him, understand? It’s bad enough that he’s offering you shady advice, never mind that he’s clearly got some deal going on with the goblins. Say what you will about their kind, they don’t take kindly to being tricked or double crossed, and if Bagman is doing either of those things, I’d sleep easier knowing you’re not involved,”

“We saw him in the forest just before the Dark Mark appeared,” Hermione told Sirius before turning to Harry and Ron. “Remember?”

“Yeah, but he didn’t stay in the forest, did he?” said Ron. “As soon as we told him about the Death Eaters, he ran off,”

“How do you know?” Hermione shot back. “Maybe he hid, waiting for the right moment,”

“Come off it,” said Ron incredulously, “Are you saying you reckon Ludo Bagman conjured the Dark Mark?”

“It’s more likely he did it than Winky,” said Hermione stubbornly.

“Winky?” Remus asked before Ron could argue any further.

Crouch’s house elf, she’s obsessed!” Ron, exclaimed.

“The one found with Harry’s wand,” Sirius said, sharing a meaningful look with Remus. “When the Dark Mark had been conjured, and the elf had been discovered, what did Crouch do?”

“Went to look in the bushes,” said Harry, “But there wasn’t anyone else there.”

“Of course,” Sirius muttered, and he started pacing up and down in front of the fire. “Of course, he’d want to pin it on anyone but his own elf…and then he sacked her?”

“Yes,” said Hermione in a heated voice, “He sacked her, just because she hadn’t stayed in her tent and let herself get trampled –“

“Hermione, will you give it a rest with the elf!” shouted Ron.

But Sirius shook his head. “She’s got the measure of Crouch better than you have, Ron. If you want to know what a man’s like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals.” He stopped, leaning a hand against the fireplace, drumming his fingers as he thought.

Anwyn felt the back of the armchair shift as Remus leaned into it. “Something isn’t quite right here,” he said. “Crouch has been missing now for months. He brings a house elf to the World Cup and then dismisses her on the spot. Reinstates the Triwizard Tournament and then apparently loses interest. If we knew where his house elf had disappeared to, perhaps she would have answers,”

“Oh, that we can help with actually,” Harry replied. “She’s at Hogwarts. She’s working in the kitchens,”

”Is she really?” Sirius asked, eyebrow raised. He shot another look at Remus. “Bethan will be most interested to hear that,”

Anwyn sat up a little straighter. “Mum’s been investigating Crouch?”

“And Bagman. And anyone else that might be involved,”

“But— you said it could be related to You Know Who?” Anwyn replied, alarmed. She twisted in her chair to look at Remus. “Isn’t it dangerous for her to go digging into this?”

“Your mother’s been in this line of work for a while. She knows how to go about an investigation without drawing attention to herself,” he soothed, though there was a hint of uncertainty to him, and he didn’t quite look her in the eye.

“Besides, I don’t think we could stop her if we tried,” Sirius muttered, and Anwyn didn’t miss the warning glance that Remus fired at him.

“What about the trial?” Remus asked, forcing a change of topic. “You said you were close?”

“Oh…yeah,” Harry replied, though Anwyn noted that he couldn’t seem to look either of the men in the eye. “It’s something to do with water,”

The faux confidence with which he stated that fact was, in hindsight, quite impressive considering he’d only just found it out that morning. Even so, it didn’t seem to eleviate the worried frown on his Godfathers face.

“That’s still pretty broad a topic. Do you know the context? Conjuring it? Displacing it? Fighting in it?”

“Uhh…just…just that it’s to do with water—“ he started, but noticed how Sirius’ mouth had drawn into a thin, worried line. “But it’s fine, I’ll have the rest figure out this weekend, I promise,”

“Show them the egg Harry,” Ron suggested. “Maybe they’ll know what it is,”

Harry rummaged in the satchel that he’d dropped at his feet when they’d come in, and from it he pulled out a large, golden egg with delicate engraving around the circumference. Anwyn sat forward in her chair, interest piqued.

“Alright, here it goes. But I warn you, it’s not pleasant—“ He flicked off the catch and flipped the lid of the egg open.

A high pitched, wailing, screech filled the room, like someone was dragging nails down fifty chalkboards at once. Anwyn slammed her hands over her ears, but it didn’t make much difference, the sound still pierced right through her. With a grimace, Harry slammed the lid shut once more, silence ringing out almost as loudly as the screaming had.

“What the hell,” she uttered, wiggling her jaw to try and shake the ringing in her ears.

“Well,” Sirius croaked. “That was horrific. And for what it’s worth, I have no idea what it was. Moony, any thoughts?”

Remus didn’t reply at first, and Anwyn turned to find him rubbing at one of his ears with the palm of his hand, his eyes wrinkled slightly in a pained wince. It was, she realised with a jolt, only a day until the full moon. Loud noises were usually migraine inducing around this time. Something that piercing had probably felt like his head was about to explode.

“It’s uh—“ he uttered, as though testing his voice. “Definitely a creature of some sort. Not one I’ve had the pleasure of hearing before, mind you,”

Harry’s shoulders slumped as he looked despondently down at the egg. He tucked it back inside the bag. “Well whatever it is has Krum swimming daily. Either that or he has some new extreme fitness regime, in which case I’ll still not be able to beat him,”

“You don’t need to beat him,” Sirius said. “You just need to figure out how to make it through the task in one piece,”

———

By mid afternoon they were full of food, the sandwiches and cakes having disappeared long ago. It seemed that they had exhausted every possible guess as to what the screeching from the egg had been, with Remus shooting down suggestions of banshees, harpees and fwoopers before they’d all but given up.

The sky outside was beginning to turn a pale periwinkle when Harry had stood from the sofa, announcing that they better head back. Sirius strode across the room to the sideboard under the window, and scooped up a familiar looking book. This one was much like Anwyn’s, but bound in red leather, emblazoned with a golden snitch. He handed it to Harry, who turned it over in his hands.

“It’s the same idea as Anwyn’s, but I’ve got the matching pair. Hopefully it means you can contact me without having to try and find her in the castle first,”

“Thanks,” Harry looked down at the book in his hands, voice a little strangled. “I don’t think anyone’s ever given me something like this before,”

Sirius didn’t reply. His eyes narrowed slightly, as if in pain, and he clapped a hand to the side of Harry’s face pulling him on for a hug.

“Write to me,” he told the boy. “Day or night, I’ll reply alright? Any sign of trouble and I’ll be through the gates before they can stop me,”

“He’s not exaggerating,” Remus said with a small smile. “I’ll be hard pressed to slow him down,”

Sirius let his godson go, and then grabbed his leather jacket off the back of the sofa. “I’ll walk you back. Maybe the fresh air will freeze the answer out of us,”

“You coming Wyn?” Harry asked, slinging his satchel over his shoulder.

“I might stay a little bit longer. If that’s okay?” She directed the question to Remus. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,”

“Of course,” he said, shooting her a curious look.

The others said they’re goodbyes and filtered out of the room while Anwyn tried to quickly formulate a plan around how she would broach the subject. Part of her thought asking outright would be her best chance of a helpful answer, but Signe’s warning sat eating away at the back of her mind. She watched as Remus stoked the fire before sinking into the armchair opposite her that Ron had vacated.

“I eh— I do hope I didn’t scare Signe off earlier,” he said as he settled into the plush cushions.

Anwyn felt her cheeks heat, and it was nothing to do with the fire. “You didn’t. It’s fine,” she said quickly, tone clipped as she attempted to mentally scream at him to drop that particular topic of conversation. He seemed to get the message.

“So,” he prompted, resting his hands on the armrests and crossing one ankle over the other. “You said there was something you wanted to talk about?”

“Yeah, I’ve got an essay to write for Moody,” she said slowly, trying to gage his reaction. “It’s about dark magic and…stuff,”

“Dark magic and stuff,” he raised an eyebrow.

“Uhh yeah. Like curses and…things. Are there curses that healers can’t fix?”

“Well…” he blew out a breath as he considered her question. “There are the obvious ones spread by magical creatures, though I doubt I need to remind you of them. Lycanthropy, vampirism and the like. But there are a number of dark magic curses that fall into similar categories too that we haven’t found a way to counteract. I remember reading about a case, for example, in which the victim fell into a sleep they couldn’t be roused from. And one poor fellow had his feet turned into beets,”

“It’s can’t be that,” she muttered, realising only too late that it somewhat gave away her lie. Remus must have noticed too, because he had began to frown. She tried to change the subject as quickly as possible. “Any others?”

Remus tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. “Hmm…there are blood maledictions. It’s been documented that some dark wizards have cursed their enemies only for their descendants to suffer from the malediction instead,”

“It’s inherited?” She couldn’t help the slight strangled quality to her voice.

“More like deferred. The original target might not even know the curse has taken hold. But it can impact whole generations. And then pass on to their children too,”

Shit. Shit shit shit. What if it’s was a blood malediction, what if she had it too, what if—

“This is for Moody you say?” Remus interrupted her spiralling thoughts, the doubt evident in his tone. “I don’t remember this on the fifth year syllabus,”

To be caught in such an outright lie so quickly was almost embarrassing. And that wasn’t even including that little spike of fear that blossomed once more, telling her that he’d be angry. But in the face of a potential generational curse, suddenly all thoughts of keeping it from him had fled right out of her mind.

“Alright it’s not for Moody,” she replied sheepishly. “But you can’t tell Mum. Because she won’t be happy,”

Remus stopped tapping his fingers, frown deepening. “You’re not in some sort of trouble—“

“No nothing like that,” she shook her head quickly. “She just— for some reason she’s really against me asking about Dad,”

“Ahh,” Remus shut his eyes for a second, giving a resigned nod. “I think I see where this is going,”. He leaned forward in his chair, balancing his elbows on his knees. “Start from the beginning,”

“Well…Signe’s father wrote her another letter about the time we stayed there. Dad was using their library to research counter curses for something, but he didn’t say what. What we do know though is that he left without answers,”

“How strange,” he muttered, rubbing at his stubble as he thought. “I don’t recall your Mother ever mentioning a curse. Before they disappeared to Europe or after she came back,”

“Whatever it was was serious enough that he dragged us around the continent for it. I was hoping you’d know what it might be,”

He shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Without any more information about his symptoms it’s hard to narrow it down. You’re certain that it’s something that he himself was afflicted with?”

“Definitely. Signe’s father said it weighed heavily on him,”

They sat in silence for a second as he mulled over the new information, clearly wracking his brain for any possible answer, while Anwyn picked at her nails, trying to control the urge to blurt out another question. She was unsuccessful.

“These…these blood maledications. You don’t think…you don’t think that he had one? And that’s what’s wrong with me?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Like…in my head. The way I can’t seem to stop worrying or— or going over things. Like when I freak out? Could it be some dark magic curse he’s passed on?”

Remus sighed, gaze softening. “There is nothing wrong with you Anwyn. You suffer from anxiety, something that makes your life a challenge at times but it’s by no means a dark curse,”

“Feels like a curse,” she muttered.

“I know it must seem like that,” he said gently. “But unlike the poor fellow with the beets for feet, there are things we can do to help you if you feel like you’re struggling,”

Anwyn chewed on her lip, worrying at the dry skin there. Could she be cured? Could she fix whatever was wrong in her head?

“Like what?” She asked, trying not to get her hopes up, though she could already hear it in her voice.

“Well…” Remus considered it. “There are some healers that specialise in this sort of thing. Anxiety, depression, trauma. And there are of course potions available to help ease the stress, calming solutions and the like—“

Anwyn felt a thrill of panic. Despite having put her in the hospital wing, the Draught of Peace had been one of the few things that had kept her going last year. It had been so easy to down one of the vials and just succumb to the numbness. But it had been much harder to give it up again.

“No,” she managed to force out. “No I don’t want to take any more calming draughts!”

He held up placating hands. “Alright, no potions for now. What I mean to say is that you don’t gave to just struggle through. Help is there if you need it,”

She didn’t reply, instead giving a quick nod as she continued to chew distractedly on her lip.

“Are you…needing help?” He asked quietly and when she looked looked up she found he had balanced his chin on steepled fingers and was fixing her with that worried, watchful gaze that had followed her all summer. It almost made her regret bringing the whole thing up. After all, she did enough worrying for the both of them, he didn’t need to start too.

“No—“ she said quickly. “No I’m fine,”

He didn’t look completely convinced.

She cleared her throat, moving to change the subject. “What about Dad? Will you help me figure out what was wrong with him?“

Remus looked torn. “I’m not sure how I feel about going behind your mother’s back—“

“Oh come on Remus!” She exclaimed. “Surely you’re curious too!”

“Terribly,” he gave a small smile. “I hate an unsolved mystery. But I’m more concerned about keeping you out of harms way,”

Anwyn scowled and gave a frustrated groan, sinking back into the armchair. She’d thought he might help. He’d always offered his guidance on every other topic, but it seemed there was a line he was unwilling to cross.

It took all of thirty seconds for his resolve to crumble.

“How about this,” he suggested. “If you stumble across any more information on his research, let me know. I’ll look into it, and if I think it won’t endanger you, then— and only then— we can talk about it. Does that sound fair?”

“Deal,” she said quickly before he could change his mind.

“Alright then. But I’ll warn you Anwyn, you might not like where this goes. Dark curses don’t often have happy endings,”

“He’s dead,” she replied bitterly. “Doesn’t get much worse than that,”

The look he gave her was almost melancholy. “Unfortunately, when it comes to dark magic, I’m afraid to say it does,”

Notes:

It’s nice to get a bit more Sirius and Anwyn interaction in this one, he’s very much going to take on the role of cool uncle.

A lot of this chat comes from later in the book, after the 2nd trial, but Sirius doesn’t make it to Hogsmeade until then. It didn’t make sense to save it until then, especially with him being more up to date on the going’s on.

Again I’ve tried to keep the actual lines from the book to a minimum, but some of Ron’s are just golden so I had to use them.

Chapter 26: The Second Task

Anwyn ran her fingers along the line of dusty spines, skipping over the thin purple volume that had tried to bite her the last time she’d searched the shelf. Perhaps this time something would stand out. Maybe if she asked them nicely, the right book would flop open to the right page. At this rate, that felt like the only way they were going to figure out a solution to this problem.

“Are you sure the bubblehead charm Sirius mentioned won’t work?” Hermione asked at the table behind her. “It seems like the safest way of breathing under water,”

“It’s only the safest way if I can actually cast it,” Harry replied. “I nearly swallowed half the bath water last time I tried it, if that goes wrong in the lake I’ll drown!”

A shiver ran down her spine. Dirty water in her throat, a burning in her lungs. She knew exactly what drowning in the Black Lake would feel like.

“I’m sure there’s a potion or something that lets you breathe under water,” Anwyn said over her shoulder, forcing her voice to be light, conversational. “It’s right at the tip of my tongue. Maybe I could ask Snape— oh who am I kidding, he’d never tell us,”

“I still think you should have told Sirius you haven’t managed the charm,” Hermione’s clipped tone continued. “Maybe he or Remus could have helped—“

“Or maybe they would have just started freaking out,” Harry retorted. “They’re already worried enough as it is,”

Anwyn made a noise of agreement and slid out a thin black leather bound book, blowing off the cobwebs. Ye Olde Tinctures and Brews for Dark Deeds. Another vaguely threatening title, but it seemed that was the case for most of the books in the restricted section. If it wasn’t for Harry’s impending doom, the access to these forbidden potions books would have thrilled her. Instead it just brought a mild unease that sat in the base of her skull.

“There’s a spell here for drying up water,” Ron said, though when she looked back to the table he was hidden behind a stack of books. “But there’s no way that would work in anything bigger than a puddle. Are you sure this is what the task is?”

“Positive,” Harry said glumly. “Come seek us where our voices sound, we cannot speak above the ground. I have to go in the lake,”

“What if we’ve got it all wrong? What if it’s something underground like…gnomes or something,” Anwyn asked, stooping to check the bottommost shelves.

“That doesn’t make sense when the egg had to be submerged under water,” Hermione said somewhere behind her. “Besides, gnomes live above ground—“

“Oh you know what I mean,” Anwyn yawned, scrubbing at her eyes and returning her attention to the shelves. “But you’re probably right,”

Foul Beasts of Forgotten Lands. 501 Love Charms. Gartunds Grimoire of Grisly Concoctions. Malidicta Malifica.

She paused at the last book on the shelf, the name immediately jumping out to her. It was a short but thick volume bound in black leather, silver writing catching sickly in the light. Her fingers prodded tentatively at the spine, checking to see if it was one of the more lively books, and when it didn’t seem to react she slid it out onto her lap.

Sure enough, the contents covered a range of maledictions, each one more horrific than the last. A quick flick through the pages gave glimpses of contorted bodies, writhing victims and screaming faces. Her stomach rolled at the sight. Had her father been inflicted with something like this? She snapped it shut and slid it under the potions book.

She returned to the table, adding the books she’d retrieved to the pile, and sunk down into her chair, the other three students instantly vanishing behind the stacks in front of them. The spine of the potions book gave a worrying crack as she peeled the pages open, the old paper stuck together with some sort of black goo. She wrinkled her nose and resolved to only use the very tips of her fingers to touch it.

Page 45 mentioned water, but only as an ingredient in a metal dissolving solution.

Could that other book have the answers she was seeking?

Page 92 made her almost give a cry of victory when she spotted the world Merpeople, but it turned out to just be a tincture for repelling unworthy suitors that required a mermaid hair.

Perhaps Madame Pince would let her borrow it if she made some sort of excuse.

She was half heartedly reading about a particularly vicious sounding poison (one which curdled the drinkers innards) when she became vaguely aware of someone standing beside her at the table.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding,” Signe commented, surveying the mess of books in front of them. “You stood me up for book club?”

“Ahh shit—“ Anwyn snapped the book shut, grimacing. “Sorry, I didn’t notice the time. We’re getting pretty desperate here,”

“I can tell,” Signe said, leaning over her shoulder to poke at the black goo that had transferred onto the table. Her hair fell in front of her face eyes, and Anwyn had to resist the urge to reach out and tuck it behind her ear.

“You better not be here to spy on Harry,” Ron grumbled from behind his stack of books. “Krum can work the task out by himself,”

Signe straightened up, giving an amused snort. “I’m not sure what part of…this—“ she gestured to the mess, “— would help him. Unless you’re planning on making a raft out of useless old books,”

“Any helpful suggestions would be appreciated,” Harry replied, the irritation seeping into his tone.

Signe opened her mouth to reply, but Anwyn stood hurriedly, taking her hand and dragging her further into the stacks. “Look, I’m sorry I forgot about tonight. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow yeah? We really need to work this out,”

“Don’t tell me you care about this stupid tournament all of a sudden?” Signe smirked, and Anwyn once again felt that far off flicker of annoyance. She pushed it down.

“I care about helping my friend,” she said firmly. “And making sure he doesn’t drown tomorrow,”

“They’re hardly going to make him compete if he can’t swim,”

“You’d be surprised,” she retorted. “Half of the previous Triwizard champions have died during their tasks!”

Signe’s eyebrows had raised in surprise. “Have they really? I’m almost impressed. Here I was thinking it was just a stupid spell slinging tournament,”

The flicker of annoyance returned, this time hotter, more insistant.

“It’s not funny—“

“Alright,” Signe cut her off, leaning against the closest stack. “Help your boy wonder. You can bring me more of those pumpkin pasties tomorrow as payment,”

“You don’t want to help?”

“Don’t want the ginger one thinking I’m spying again, do we?” she replied, sticking her tongue between her teeth as her smirk grew.

Anwyn didn’t reply.

“Your hair’s curling again,” Signe noted apparently oblivious to the silence as she lifted a wave of sandy hair. “You didn’t like it straight?”

“I did,” Anwyn replied hurriedly. “I just ran out of the serum. Did you…like it?”

Signe shrugged. “Sure. I like it wavy too. Maybe we could try putting a streak of blue through it or something,”

“Yeah,” Anwyn replied, clearing her throat. “Maybe,”

“Or…” Signe leaned forward until their noses were nearly touching. “We pierce your ears. I think you’d look very cute,”

“I-uh—“ Anwyn found her face burning as she tried to avoid Signe’s eyes. “Yeah if you think so. Won’t— won’t the teachers make me take them out?”

Signe smirked. “Only if you’re caught,” she leaned in, placing the barest touch of a kiss on the edge of Anwyn’s mouth. “Go back to your books. I’ll see you tomorrow,”

By the time Anwyn had gathered her wits, pressing her clammy hands to her cheeks in attempt to cool them down, she found their table in the library near empty, with Harry now on his own and looking far more stressed than when she’d left him, if that was at all possible.

“Where’s Ron and Hermione?” Anwyn asked, looking around the shelves. There was no sign of the other two.

“McGonagall wanted to see then,” Harry said, sounding utterly defeated. “So it’s just us left,”

“Oh. Great. Super,” she replied, voice strangled. “We’re basically doomed without Hermione!”

Anwyn pulled her chair out, sitting down heavily. The table jostled as she sat, the tower of books in front of her collapsing into a heap, a few heavy tomes slipping off the edge and onto the ground. She gave a frustrated groan, and leaned over to grab the discarded books. The Malidicta Malifica lay splayed on the floor under a particularly large potions textbook, and she hesitated as she freed it from the pile dusting it down.

The drawings inside were horrific. There was no way Pince would let her remove it from the restricted section, and no teacher would give her permission to come back after Harry’s trial was over. But what if it really was the key to unravelling her father’s mystery?

She checked behind her. No one there. The aisles to either side were empty. Harry couldn’t see her from his place at the table.

As quickly and as quietly as she could, Anwyn slipped the book inside her satchel and returned to the tumbled volumes scattered across the floor.

Her message book was flashing. Ignoring the instant wave of guilt (it wasn’t as if he could psychically sense that she’d just stolen a book after all), she sat up and flipped it open to find another full page of writing had appeared. Remus’ usually neat script was smudged in places and a little squint, his own anxiety leaking through the page. She scanned the list of bullet points he’d left; a summary of the creatures and dangers Harry would be likely to face in the water and how to combat them. It started with the most fantastical, mermaids, the squid and grindylows, finishing in the most mundane but equally as deadly.

Hypothermia - the lake will be freezing at this time of year - work on warming charms, potions to bring body temperature up or insulate against the cold

Air - bubblehead charm would be most effective but this is advanced magic

She thumbed the page, feeling an odd flutter in her chest as she read it. The line underneath was directed at her.

Any updates?

What was she supposed to reply to that with? Nothing, looks like Harry’s doomed? Anwyn bit her lip, and then reached for her quill, dragging a scrap of blank parchment towards her and leaving the question unanswered.

“Remus has sent some tips for the lake creatures,” She muttered as she scribbled them down.

“And the breathing underwater problem?”

She winced, shooting him a sympathetic glance. “Just that bubblehead charm again,”

Harry groaned, dropping his head until his forehead banged off the table. “I’m dead. I’m actually dead,”

“Can you swim at least?” She asked, attention returning to the notes.

“Yeah,” he replied glumly, propping his chin on his arms. “We had lessons in primary school. Dudley tried to hold my head under the water and I miraculously started being able to swim. I guess it was accidental magic,”

“Your cousin tried to drown you?”

He nodded glumly. “He thought it was funny. Made a change from him beating me up in the playground at least,” 

“What an arsehole. Who knew we had something else in common,” she murmured , harshly scratching out a misspelt word.

“What do you mean?” She looked up to find Harry peering quizzically at her through the stacks of books. “Your cousins tried to drown you?” 

“Uhh…yeah. Well technically they’ve tried twice. The first time was in the pond at my Grandmother’s. And then the second was…last year,” she looked down at the quill dripping ink on the table. “In the lake,”

“Blimey…how are they still at school?”

“They nearly weren’t allowed back. But hey, I can attest to one thing,” she forced the joviality into her voice. “It’s fucking cold in there. And the grindelows are nasty little bastards,”

“Thanks Anwyn,” Harry replied dryly. “I feel much better now,”

“There’s an idea though, what if we transfigured you into a one?” 

“Oh, you have that spell up your sleeve do you?”

“Can’t be that hard,” she said, suppressing a grin. “After all, you already look quite like one—“ 

Anwyn only just managed to dodge the rolled up piece of parchment that he chucked at her head. 

———

The early hours of the morning always possessed a strange quality, as if the village itself was holding its breath. The night of the new moon was some other magic entirely however. He’d grown to find the near dark almost comforting, meditative. The black sky brought with it an odd lease of life, the perfect moment between the pain of one full moon, and the growing trepidation of the next in which he could just exist. Sometimes, if he found himself unable to sleep, he would sit on the window and watch the night go by, living in an odd limbo where, for a few short hours, he could forget the constant reminder that hung above him.

Tonight however, was not one of those nights. Despite the pitch black darkness of the room, despite the lack of cold light filtering in the sky above, Remus was restless. The moon was the last thing on his mind. He was far to preoccupied thinking about the lake.

It would be freezing. Sub freezing even, and there were plenty of muggles that got into trouble swimming in scottish lochs in summer, never mind January. Of course Harry wasn’t a muggle, but he was a fourteen year old boy with little experience and a far too many enemies for someone his age. And Remus had seen first hand the effects that water could have on such a young body.

He shifted into his side, mattress creaking as he pressed his cheek into the pillow and willed his eyes shut. Dumbledore wouldn’t let the boy drown. Surely not. And this was a planned task, part of the competition, a very different scenario than that which had led him to the lakes edge last year. Still, it didn’t help his brains rampant thoughts.

Remus stiffened as a noise echoed in the dark.

This time, he was sure he’d heard something. Wide awake as he was, it was impossible to miss the low, drawn out sound of something or someone in pain. Perhaps the Three Broomsticks had a ghost he hadn’t met yet. Once thing was for certain, he definitely wasn’t going to sleep now.

Remus carefully pulled back the covers, swinging his legs over the side of the bed as he strained his ears. Again, there was an odd mumbling noise, and he reached for his wand on the bedside table. It was probably nothing, but he hadn’t survived the last wizarding war by leaving his weapon behind.

He swung his bedroom door open slowly, wand at the ready, and inched into the sitting room. It was empty, the last few embers still glowing in the fireplace. He scanned the room, straining his eyes in the darkness but reluctant to light his wand. Old habits died hard.

There was no one there.

He was halfway into the sitting room when the next noise came, but this time the source was unmistakeable. The closed door to Sirius’ room.

Remus hesitated at the threshold. Barging in felt like crossing a line, but to ignore that sounds of distress from beyond the door felt like a graver insult. He settled with giving a gentle rap on the wood before pushing it open.

Sirius lay in a tangle of bedsheets, a thin sheen of sweat on his bare torso as he tossed and writhed, feebly kicking his feet as if trying to escape something that clawed at him. His features were contorted in some sort of expression of pain, and as Remus watched wide eyed, he let out a low, keening moan.

“Sirius,” Remus said out loud, clearing his throat when the words stuck there. “Sirius, wake up—“

The figure in the bed didn’t stir, instead muttering something that didn’t quite reach Remus’ ears. He set his jaw, ignoring the slight flutter of panic, and crossed the room to sit gingerly on the edge of the bed, a tentative hand reaching out to touch one of the taught arms.

“Sirius—“

Sirius shot upright, a raw, primal cry strangled in his throat. His chest heaved in air, ribs still painfully apparent under his old tattoos, and his eyes were wild, unfocused as they darted around the room seeking what ever danger had perused him. When they finally landed on Remus his face seemed to crumple, and he slumped forward to press his clammy forehead into the crook of Remus’ neck.

Haggard breaths ghosted across his collar bone. He didn’t move an inch, couldn’t even if he tried. His chest was impossibly tight, and he was suddenly horribly aware of how sad and threadbare his old striped pyjamas were. But he could feel the way Sirius was trembling against him, and suddenly thoughts of how old and decrepit he might look left his mind. He brought a hand up, awkwardly placing it around Sirius’ shoulder.

Just when he thought his heart might give up from the frantic pace, Sirius sat back, swiping a hand through his tangled hair as he exhaled a long, slow breath through his teeth. He wore a dazed expression, the face of a man still trying to shake whatever had sunk its claws into him in his sleep, but when he looked at Remus he attempted a crooked grin. It was something more of a grimace.

“Sorry. I uh— didn’t mean to wake you,”

“You didn’t,” he replied softly. “But when I heard I had to— Merlin, is this why you’ve been sleeping poorly?”

Sirius gave a slow nod, not meeting his eyes.

“Why didn’t you say? I could have helped, we could have gotten you Dreamless Sleep, gone to see a healer—“

“I don’t need a healer to tell me what I already know,” Sirius interrupted. “And dreamless sleep is just a— a temporary solution to an unsolvable problem,”

“Which is?”

Sirius gave a humourless snort. “I’m just a little bit broken aren’t I? In here—“ he tapped roughly, almost aggressively, at the side of his temple.

Remus gave a long, slow exhale of air, dropping his gaze to knees as he considered his next words. “I don’t believe you’re broken,” he said finally. “In fact I don’t think I’ve ever met someone quite as strong as you are. To go through what you’ve suffered and come out the other side with even a glimpse of yourself intact… well I’m not sure I would have had the strength for it,”

He looked up to find Sirius had fixed him with an odd expression that he couldn’t quite read, and he felt his heart constrict.

“You always did think too highly of me,” Sirius muttered. He ran a hand across his eyes once more, rubbing the sleep from them, and then shot Remus a pained glance. “Oh don’t give me that look,”

“What look?”

“You know exactly what look,” he scoffed. “The big, sad eyes, I fall for it every time. I’m not— I’m not looking for sympathy, Merlin knows I don’t deserve it. I’d just like a night— just one night— where I’m not back…there,”

The frustration was evident in his voice, and Remus didn’t have to ask where “there” was. He already knew, but it seemed like the conversation had opened the flood gates, and Sirius was already talking once more.

“When I’m awake, I’m a free man, sure. But in my dreams I’m back in Azkaban, with no chance of escape. Sometimes I’m in my cell and it’s like I never left. I can feel the damp air on my skin, hear whatever poor wretch is whimpering and crying in the cell beside me…,”

A shudder passed over him as he faltered, pressing a hand up to his forehead in an attempt to collect himself. But the motion couldn’t wipe the deep, gnawing grief from his face, nor could it release the iron grip that seemed to have clamped around Remus’ heart.

“Sometime James is there. Just watching, glaring…like he’s making sure I’m getting what I’m due,” he hesitated, shooting Remus a quick look. “Sometimes it’s you,”

The weird tightness in his chest had turned to some sort of nausea. He tried to swallow past it.

“What can I do?” He found himself asking, desperation leaking through in his tone. “Whatever it takes, I’m with you, just name it,”

Sirius looked slightly taken aback at the question, blinking rapidly before focusing on a point somewhere at the foot of the bed.

“Stay…will you?” He looked back imploringly at Remus before giving a little self deprecating laugh. “Merlin, I feel like a child asking but…well that night in Bethan’s flat was the best nights sleep I’ve had in years. I think having someone here would…help,”

He should say no. It was a bad idea, a terrible idea in fact, one that he knew might break whatever self restraint he managed to wrestle himself into. But Sirius looked so miserable, so broken. How could he turn him down now?

“Alright,” he said gruffly. “Shove over,”

Sirius shuffled to the side, letting Remus clamber in to the bed where he’d vacated it. The mattress still held his heat, and when he lay his head back into the pillow, he found the sheets smelt like Sirius. How he’d clung to that scent in the early days, like it somehow carried his ghost, until it had sent him into a maddened rage one day and he burnt every scrap he could find that held it. And now here he was, cocooned in it once more.

After a few minutes of listening to his own thundering heart, he couldn’t face the heavy silence any more. He was painfully aware of the body to his right. The sound of Sirius’ breathing. His own rigid limbs that he didn’t want to move. He tried stretching an arm out, shifting in an attempt to get comfortable, but his fingers brushed warm skin, and he immediately drew them back as if he’d received a static shock.

“What was it tonight,” he blurted out, voice louder than he meant to. Sirius didn’t reply immediately, and he silently cursed himself for putting his foot in it. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to—“

“The waters outside Azkaban,” came the sudden reply, voice deadpan. “I was trying to swim to the mainland, but the waves kept drawing me back to the island. Just miles and miles of water ahead, and the dementors gathering above and…Harry was in the water with me,” he paused for a second, and when he spoke again his voice was quieter, a slight trembling quality it it. “I kept swimming for him but he kept going under. Each time longer than the last. The water was so, so cold and the waves were huge, and then I…lost him. He didn’t come back up,”

Blue lips. Tremors that would abate. Skin freezing and clammy to the touch. That slow, horrific realisation of what the name on the map meant. He knew this terror well.

Remus let out a slow breath, blinking up at the ceiling in the dark but didn’t reply. Instead he stretched his arm out once more, the backs of his fingers touching the hand he found there, as if asking permission.

After a long excruciating moment, the hand moved and Sirius’ fingers intwined with his.

———

“Anwyn,”

Someone was shaking her shoulder. They were being quite insistent about it actually, and she grumbled a response, hoping to slip back into a deep, comfortable sleep.

“Anwyn come on, we’re going to miss the task!”

The task. Shit.

She bolted upright, neck stiff, and found Sarah looking down at her, already wrapped up in her winter cloak and woollens. Her cheek throbbed, and she raised a hand to find the edge of the book she’d fallen asleep on had pressed a line into the skin.

“Have you been here all night?” Sarah asked. “What were you doing?”

“I— nothing, just— just research,” Anwyn stammered, rubbing at her eyes as she surveyed the mess around her. “Go on without me. I’ll catch up,”

“The task starts in twenty minutes—“

“It’s fine, go, go!”

Sarah looked torn, glancing back over her shoulder to where Anwyn could see Russell waiting with the other boys in their year.

“Alright,” she finally said. “But don’t forget to wrap up warm, it’s freezing outside,”

“Yes Mum!” Anwyn called after her, looking despondently at the pile of open books scattered around her. Tidying them up would have to wait.

They’d been chucked out of the library shortly before nine o’clock, and she’d carried as many books as Madame Pince would allow back to the common room to continue her frantic research. But her work had been for nothing. She still didn’t have an answer to their most pressing issue. Harry surely wouldn’t be able to take part in the task if he couldn’t breath? Unless he’d had more luck than her.

But as she finally made it upstairs, she discovered that she’d have to wait to find out. There was no sign of Harry in the entrance hall, nor of Ron and Hermione though that probably wasn’t a surprise. She had wasted another ten minutes attempting to find her gloves before giving up and hoping that jamming her hands in her pockets would do. Harry would have it worse in the water after all. The thought sent a thrum of fear through her as she took the steps out into the court yard two at a time.

As she reached the path to the lake, she was relieved to find a steady flow of students still winding their way down the hillside. At least she hadn’t missed the start all together. She spotted a familiar blonde standing off to one side, scanning the students as they walked down from the castle, and she gave Signe a hasty wave as she scrambled past a group of gossiping Ravenclaws.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” Signe said as she reached her.

“I slept in,” she replied, still busy looking ahead at the students further down the hill. “Have you seen Harry?”

“Not yet,” Signe said. “Won’t he already be with the other champions?”

“Maybe. I was hoping to wish him luck before hand though. Merlin knows he’s going to need it,”

The Black Lake stretched out before them, dark, choppy and impossibly deep. There was a sheer wind blowing off the mountains, and even thinking about how cold the water must be made her shiver. Three new structures sat a good few hundred metres out onto the water, and if she squinted hard enough she could already see a crowd of students gathered in the seats, with more rowing across the water towards them.

A figure towered over the crowd at the lake’s edge directing students into a set of row boats, no doubt the ones that had carried her to her first start of term feast five years ago. As the queue dwindled, Anwyn found her chest inexplicably tightening, her eyes drawn to the dark water despite her best efforts to look away.

“Are you alright?” Signe asked her, and she found herself giving a quick nod.

“Fine. Just tired,”

“Righ’, who’s next,” Hagrid said as looking around. “Ah, Anwyn, you ‘avn’t seen Harry ‘ave you?”

She shook her head, worry growing. “Not since last night. Has he not shown up yet?”

“No,” he replied, but gave a distracted smile. “I’m sure he’ll be along shortly. Best get a move on, in you get,”

After a moment of hesitation, she stepped into the boat, the motion of if sending it swaying beneath her feet. Signe slid in beside her, and they settled down on the bench at the back of the boat as more students clambered in front of them. Anwyn gripped the wooden seat below her, peering over the edge with a flutter in her chest. Black water sat to her left, ripples bursting out around them, and floating up from the depths were fronds of thick lake weed.

She knew what those weeds felt like. How they tangled in the hair, wrapped around the ankles. She knew about the Grindelows they hid, with their sharp claws and needle like teeth, and she knew how the silt that had been stirred up in the water tasted, muddy and gritty.

It came to her now in flashes. The glint of her Gran’s pendant. Her cousins taunting laughter. The shock of the cold, the weight of her wet robes, the light filtering through the water as she sank.

The deep, oppressive knowledge that she’d be better off letting the lake swallow her whole.

“Let me out!” She stood suddenly, the entire boat rocking violently at the movement. The students in front of her cried out but she ignored them. “I need out, let me out!”

“Alrigh’, alrigh’, let her past,” Hagrid urged the others, sensing her panic. “Everything alrigh’ Anwyn?”

Anwyn didn’t reply, tripping over the lip of the boat in her haste to leave it. She landed on her hands and knees in the mud where it oozed up between her fingers just as it had done when she’d tried to claw her way back to the water. The panic. The fear. The deep, crushing pit of dread.

Her breath caught in her chest. Her ears began to ring, vision blurring.

Anwyn scrambled to her feet and began to take off towards the castle.

———

Her feet had already taken her to the second floor when she came to the sudden realisation that she’d been mindlessly making her way to the faculty tower, driven by instinct, a desperate need to find safe haven. But it wouldn’t be found in that little cosy dormitory, not anymore. Remus’ gramophone and chess set would be gone, no doubt replaced by dark detectors and terrifying artefacts. The stacks of cosy fantasy novels and defence books would now be towering piles of sinister looking tomes. And she wouldn’t be greeted by a warm smile and a mug of hot chocolate. The ex Auror who’d taken up residence would sooner curse her for trespassing. The thought alone was enough to send her spiralling back into panic.

Anwyn turned from the faculty door ahead, room spinning as her vision tunnelled, and grasped at the cool stone of the passageway, trying desperately to claw back some form of control. But the water lapped in her mind. Perhaps Sirius should have left her there. She was quite clearly mad after all.

Hands grasped as her shoulders, firm as they gave her a shake, and she looked up to find cool grey eyes looking at her, brimming with questions. Merlin, this was all she needed. Now Signe would realise how much of a freak she really was. She hiccuped a sob out, unable to process the words the other girl was saying to her. The grip tightened, and she found herself moving once more, this time dragged in the opposite direction.

They clambered down stairs, through the hidden passages they’d explored together and around empty corridors. At least the school was blessedly abandoned, the rest of the students watching the second task. Oh the second task— Harry— she was supposed to watch to report back— another fuck up—

“Here, sit,” Signe dragged her down, the smell of dust in the air as they settled onto soft fabric.

“I’m sorry—“ Anwyn mumbled. “I’m really sorry—“

“Shut up,” came the no nonsense response. “Stop apologising and just breathe. You’re having a panic attack,”

Signe’s knees were pressed painfully hard against hers, her fingers wrapped claw like around her hands. The other girl pressed her thumbs into Anwyn’s palms until she could feel the nails digging in, but as uncomfortable as it was, it seemed to pull her back into herself a little. Enough to let her focus on breathing at least. She tried to focus on the room around her; the smell of old tapestries, the creak of floorboards. Anything other than the water.

“I think…I think I’m okay now,” she finally huffed out after a moment.“Thanks. I’m sorry—”

“I told you not to apologise,” Signe replied, frowning, her grip lessoning but not letting go entirely. “You didn’t do anything wrong,”

Anwyn shook her head, screwing her eyes tightly shut. “There’s something wrong with me. I’m…crazy,”

The other girl gave a humourless snort. “No you’re not, you’re human. Panic attacks suck. There’s nothing you can do to change that,”

She found herself frowning. “You’ve…had them too?”

Signe shrugged, her thumb beginning to draw faint circles into the back of Anwyn’s hand. “Not for a while. But I know what it feels like. You might think you’re crazy but it’s just your brain responding to stress. It can be overwhelming,”

Anwyn blinked rapidly, but didn’t reply. If she wasn’t crazy then why did this keep happening? And why did no one else crumble under stress at every instance.

“What happened out there,” Signe asked quietly, thumb still moving on the back on Anwyn’s hand.

She looked down at their fingers clasped together and braced herself for the disgust. “It was the lake,” she said quietly. “I— had an accident in it last year,”

Signe was silent for a second. “You had a pretty bad year last year right?”

Anwyn sniffed, running her tongue along the back of her teeth. “I uh— yeah you could say that. I kind of…I kind of lost my mind a bit,”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She winced. “It’s a long story,”

“We have time.,”

Anwyn swallowed hard, flicking a hesitant look towards Signe. Her face was calm, unreadable. “It started when Remus started teaching here. My cousins have always hate me, but last year they were especially shitty. And I just found myself in this…pit that I couldn’t climb out of, and it just got worse and worse and worse until I no longer felt…real,”

”Hmm,” Signe made a noise of acknowledgment, squeezing her hands. “But you’re doing better now?”

Yes. No. Not really?

“Sort of,” seemed the only appropriate response, and she found her voice was thick, a hot tear escaping to track down her face.

“What changed?”

“Remus,” she said quietly, wiping an arm across her eyes. “I finally told him what was happening and he helped. I don’t know what I would have done if he hadn’t been here,”

Signe let out a small noise as if she was thinking, letting go of one of Anwyn’s hands to scratch at her nose. “You uh…you guys are really close, aren’t you?”

Anwyn nodded. “It’s always just been us. My Mum would disappear for months on end but he was always there. He’s always had my back,”

Signe made an odd face, a slight wince that only reached one eye and the swiftly disappeared again, but it was there long enough for Anwyn to notice it, and for the sick churning to start in her gut again.

“What? What was that face for? You don’t like him?”

Signe made a small scoffing noise. “I don’t know him, how can I not like him?”

“I tried to introduce you—“

“Yeah, yeah I know,” she let go of Anwyn’s hands, shuffling back and balancing her arms on her knees. “I just…seeing how close you two are. It’s just…weird,”

“How is it weird?” She couldn’t help the irritation leaking into her voice

Signe breathed deep, running her tongue along her teeth in a self effacing smirk. She look off into the corner of the room, and didn’t say anything for long enough that Anwyn concluded that she wasn’t going to answer the question. When she finally spoke, it almost sounded like it pained her.

“I don’t think I can ever recall a time in which my Father wanted me around. I’ve always been the spare. The extra. The disappointment. He’s always lavished Anders with attention, but me…well I think he’d rather I wasn’t there,”

Anwyn hesitated, unsure what to say. “I’m sure…he doesn’t really think that,”

Signe scoffed. “No, he really does. You know I don’t think he’s ever hugged me? Or…read me a bedtime story, or picked me up when I’ve fallen over. Not that I can remember. He’s always been a distant figure at the other side of the table. Cold. Closed off,”

Her foot bounced, a small rhythmic tap that echoed in the empty space. It was the first time, Anwyn realised, that she’d seen some sort of nervous energy from the girl.

“Seeing you with your uncle…rattled me,” Signe continued quietly. “Just the simple things. The way he seemed happy to see you. I’ve never had that and it…it fucking sucks,”

Anwyn didn’t reply. She wasn’t too sure what she could say, stuck somewhere between sympathy for Signe, and irritation that she’d taken her feelings out on her. And in that moment, with her nerves still jangling, she couldn’t promise that she wouldn’t do the same.

“It’s the reason why I lied,” Signe said slowly. “About why I was helping you,”

Anwyn shifted, sitting up a little straighter. “What do you mean?”

“I said that it because I liked the mystery. And I was bored. And that’s still true but…” she finally looked up at Anwyn, eyes unreadable as always. “I think…I think I just like him showing an interest. Even if it’s technically not about me, at least he’s not just lecturing me about my grades,”

She blinked rapidly, trying to parse the information with her still frantic mind. “Do you…I mean do you mean you never actually liked me—“

“No!” Signe interrupted her quickly. “No of course I do, I wouldn’t lie about that! I guess I’ve just been a little more…selfish…about the whole thing than I let on,”

Anwyn drew her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and balancing her chin on her knees, feeling totally and utterly confused. Her head was a strange mix of relief and panic, a tinge of anger and hint of longing mixed in. Why did everything have to be so complicated?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the wind rattling the windows, a low drawn out moan as it buffeted the castle. Signe looked up at the noise, giving a little snort of amusement.

“I’m kind of glad we’re not watching the task anyway. It would have been freezing. And boring, what is there to see above water?”

“Oh shit the task,” Anwyn groaned, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes until she saw stars. “I was supposed to watch it and let Sirius and Remus know if anything happened, they’re going to be so pissed—“

“Stop worrying about them for a second will you? You don’t have to keep everyone happy all the time—“

“But I said I would—“

“What’s the worst that could happen? They have to wait an extra half hour until golden boy tells them about his inevitable win himself?”

“Or something awful happens to Harry and I don’t let them know— and then I— I fuck everything up again like last time and they hate me—“ she rambled, panic threatening to grip her once more.

“They’re not going to hate you,” Signe replied almost forcefully. “People can be pissed off, it doesn’t mean they full on hate you, why would you assume that?”

“I—“ she floundered for a way to express the odd pent up anxiety inside her. “I don’t know— it’s just— why wouldn’t they? One fuck up is enough, but if I constantly just ruin things people will start to get fed up of having me around,”

Signe let out a long sigh. “I really don’t think anyone could get fed up of you. I certainly couldn’t. It sounds to me like the anxiety talking,”

Anwyn felt her face warm, swallowing back the protest that wanted to work its way out of her throat. Instead, she gave a humourless little snort. “Maybe. My head just doesn’t shut up. Sometimes I just want to scream,”

Signe gave her a thoughtful look, before her face broke into a grin and she scrambled to her feet. “You know what really works for me? When Father’s really pissing me off?” She gave a flick of her wand, and one of the old chairs stacked against the wall screeched along the floor towards her. “Breaking shit,”

Her wand shot upwards, and with it the chair arched into the air, flipping over once before her spell broke and it fell to the ground, exploding into a bundle of jagged wood.

Anwyn would herself giving a nervous laugh, taken by surprise. But Signe was looking expectantly at her.

“Go on,” she said, nodding towards then stacked furniture. “Your turn,”

Anwyn climbed slowly to her feet, digging her hand into her coat pocket where her wand sat. She gripped it tightly, drawing it to point at the stack of furniture, but didn’t cast. What if they got into trouble? What if she couldn’t do the spell and made a fool of herself? What if—

She was doing it again. The spiralling worries. Anwyn ground her teeth together, and flicked her wrist.

“Accio,”

A stool shot towards them, and just as it reached the half way point she brandished her wand once more.

“Depulso!”

The stool shattered against the back wall in a hall of splinters, and Signe whooped, clapping her hands.

“Fuck yes! How did it feel?”

“Good,” Anwyn said, and she meant it, an odd release of emotion running through her chest. “Really good,”

Notes:

Apologies for the wait on this one, I really struggled with it for some reason! It didn’t help that I accidentally deleted the entire wolfstar scene and had to rewrite it, which put me in a bit of a slump.

Also doesn’t help that I keep writing scenes for future chapters (and for the next installment, whoops)

Anyway, thanks for your patience, I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 27: Tensions

Any word on Harry?

 

Wyn?

 

He’s just written to Sirius, says he hasn’t seen you. Is everything alright?

Sorry, sorry, left the message book in the common room. All good here, he came 2nd.

You had me worried there for a second. How was the task for you? Not too cold I hope?

It was ok

———

Anwyn shot an anxious glance out of the window she was passing, trying to judge the time by the height of waxing moon. She’d left the common room later than she’d meant to, but the yards of parchment she’d needed to complete had held her hostage.

Helping Harry had, unfortunately, left an absolute mountain of homework for Anwyn to finish before she could even think about relaxing. The essays all seemed impossibly long, the practice tasks far too difficult for a muddled brain, and by the time she finally had a moment for a breather, the trek to the choir practice storage room seemed like far too much effort.

If only she could somehow sneak Signe into the Hufflepuff dorm. Then they could hang out in the comfort of her own home.

And then the prefects could chuck them out for smoking and report Anwyn to Sprout.

Maybe not.

Feet scuffing on the flagstones, she turned the corner to find that she wasn’t the only person wandering around this side of the castle. Flitwick was too. He was coming out of the storage room, muttering under his breath, and she realised with mounting horror that there was no where to go, no alcove to duck into, no where to hide. She was right there, right in front of him. Thank Merlin it wasn’t past curfew yet.

He did a double take as he turned towards her.

“Miss Blackthorn!” Flitwick exclaimed, eyebrows raised. “What brings you to the choir room?”

“I was uh— well I was looking for you sir,” she said, shooting a glance at the storage room door.

“Oh? Looking to join the choir?”

Shit. She hadn’t thought that far ahead. Her mouth opened and closed for a few seconds as she blinked rapidly, a horrifying image of her stuck in the ranks of the toad choir flashing through her brain.

“N—nooo…” she said slowly, drawing it out for as long as possible to give herself time. “I had a question. About the charms essay you’d set and— and someone said you’d probably be here,”

“Did they really? Who was that?” He said, looking confused.

“Uh… an older Ravenclaw boy. I didn’t get his name,”

Please believe me, please believe me.

“Oh, probably Richard, one of my prefects. It was him who found the mess after all,”

“The mess?” Miraculously she managed to control her voice.

“Yes, no doubt Peeve’s has been up to mischief again. The storage room is full of smashed chairs and stools, I’ve just had to spend the last half hour instructing them to repair themselves. He’s a terrible nuisance, that Poltergeist,” he shook his head. “But of course you didn’t come all this way to hear me complain, how can I help? You seemed to be grasping Reducto well enough in class?”

“Ahh yes,” she replied, brain running at a hundred miles and hour as she tried to make up an excuse on the spot. “I just— well I just had— I was struggling to remember the home work assignment. Sarah was sure it was 3 feet or parchment but— but I was thinking it was 4?”

Flitwick gave a chuckle. “It’s not due until Friday! Keen are we?”

She gave a pained smile. “I just wanted to get ahead of it. Lots of homework and that—“

“Jolly good, it’s good to see some enthusiasm from you after that nasty business last year. But miss Bones is correct, 3 feet will do nicely,”

“Great,” She forced a nervous laugh. “One less foot for me to write. I better get back before curfew, good night processor,”

Before the Charms teacher could say anymore, Anwyn turned on the spot and fled, right down the corridor and around the corner, taking the stairs at a run. They’d been fools to think that anywhere in the castle was safe. Of course someone was going to find them eventually, and now her actions, her selfishness, had left the charms professor with more work to do.

“Where are you going in such a hurry? You’re not standing me up are you?”

Signe’s light teasing interrupted her internal berating, and she looked up to find the girl walking towards her, evidentially on her way to their meet up spot. She grabbed Signe’s hand, drawing her to be side of the corridor.

“I just found Flitwick at the storage room! He’s just found the mess we left—“

“Shit, really?” Signe laughed. “I didn’t think anyone used that stuff, it was covered in dust,”

“Well Flitwick does use it,” Anwyn grumbled. “I told you we should have repaired it all before we left—“

“Well what’s the fun in that?” Signe asked a genuinely puzzled look on her face.

Anwyn floundered for a second, at a loss. “Because—“ she finally a managed to utter. “Cause it’s a bit of a dick move don’t you think? Smashing his stuff and leaving it—

“He’s a wizard,” Signe rolled her eyes. “He can fix it himself,“ she leaned forward, silencing any further protest with a distracting kiss. “Come on, let’s find somewhere else to hang out. You brought that creepy book right?”

“Yeah,” Anwyn replied reluctantly. “But what if we—“

“We’ll go to that abandoned classroom. It did the job well enough. I’ve got a gift for you anyway,”

“A present?” Her annoyance abated a little, a jolt of excitement replacing it.

“Yup. But you have to wait until we get there,”

The gift, Anwyn found out when they had snuck into the abandoned classroom, was another thick envelope with Signe’ name in a neat script. Though curious as to what it might say about her father, she couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. Signe however seemed far more excited, pulling the parchment from the envelope with relish.

“Father sent more photographs. There’s nothing particular of interest in the letter, but maybe you’ll notice something,”

She handed the loose photographs over, and then leaned back onto the edge of the table behind her to pour over the letter once more, her face unreadable. Anwyn frowned, and turned her attention to the images in her hands.

The first photograph was of Signe’s father and her own shaking hands over a chess board. Even at apparent leisure, both of their faces were bland, impassive, not a hint of a smile as they turned towards the camera. Why was he always so miserable looking? Was it the curse?

Unnerved, Anwyn pulled out the next photo to find three grinning young children. The boy, evidently the eldest, was attempting to hold a laughing toddler in his arms, struggling to contain her squirming, while the other girl, around the same age as the first, kept shooting a shy smile off camera, head already swamped by curls.

“Must be us,” Signe, who sitting on the desk behind her commented, balancing her chin on Anwyn’s shoulder. “Cute,”

Anwyn made a noise of affirmation, and pulled the last photograph to the front. Her father in the library, black curls falling into his eyes which had deepset bags underneath them. He was pouring over an old manuscript by the looks of it, and as he looked up towards the camera, he gave a nervous tug of his shirt sleeve which had been riding up. He wasn’t quick enough to hide what had been poking out however, an angry looking burn or welt that seemed to twist around his forearm.

“Did you see that?” Anwyn asked. “On his arm? He was injured,”

“Part of his condition?” Signe suggested as they watched him shift again until the burn came into view. “Dragon Pox maybe? Or a dragon burn?”

“Maybe,” Anwyn muttered, unconvinced.

But one thing was evident as she held the photograph closer to her face. Whatever had caused the mark was recent, and judging by the quick tug of the sleeve that her father gave once more, he wasn’t particularly keen to show it off.

———

Dragon pox. Possible cause of Dad’s issues?

I wouldn’t think so. He wouldn’t be searching for a cure, there’s already one for it. It’s also highly contagious so you and your mother would have had it too.

How do you know we didn’t? It’s not like she tells us anything about our time in Europe.

Trust me, you’d know. That kind of illness leaves scars.

He did have scars though, there’s something on his arm in one of the photos. Like a burn or a sore or something.

Interesting. That might help us to narrow it down. But dragon pox causes just that: pox marks. They would leave round scars about the size of a sickle, usually with a purple tinge until fully healed.

That doesn’t sound like what I saw then. It looked big, running up under his sleeve.

Perhaps not then. Leave it with me.

 

You’re up awfully late, don’t you have class in the morning?

I was just finishing some homework. What’s your excuse?

I’m 34, I set my own bedtime.

 

And I won’t sleep until I beat Sirius at chess.

An all-nighter it is then

Go to bed you

———

The hot throbbing of Anwyn’s ear lobe was surprisingly welcome. At least while it pulsated away, like a tiny heart trapped under the skin, it gave her something to focus on other than the horrific images that were spread across every page. She reached a distracted arm up, toying with the the hoop that now shoved its way through her ear.

Signe had finally managed to convince her to pierce her ears after a particularly disastrous Transfiguration lesson that had left her stewing in self pity. A self confidence booster she’d called it. Well Anwyn was yet to feel anything other than an uncomfortable pressure in her ear lobe and an odd sense that she’d done something wrong.

Mind you, that was the feeling that most of their late night rendezvous left her with. It was thrilling sure, and having someone be so apparently happy to see her was a novelty she wasn’t ready to let go of. But still, she was left with a sense of wrongness. A niggling feeling that she shouldn’t be doing it. Perhaps bumping into Flitwick had rattled her. Or perhaps she was just more of a teachers pet than she’d previously realised.

And yet her time spent with Signe also felt…freeing in a sense. Stolen moments in which she could let loose, lash out and let out all the frustration and anger that seemed to be building in her without judgement. In fact Signe seemed to revel in her outbursts, encouraging them, plying her with hip flasks of burning liquid, cigarettes, and most intoxicatingly, attention.

So why did it all leave her feeling so guilty?

“Stop playing with it,” Signe scolded, slapping her hand down from where it was still fidgeting with the earring. “Come on, next page,”

“Sorry,” Anwyn muttered, attention returning to the book.

The pastries she’d brought from the hall for lunch sat untouched on the bench beside her, long cold. Whatever appetite she’d started the hour with was long gone, replaced instead by a churning nausea in her gut. She turned the page, hoping to escape from the images of skin melting off a skeletal frame, and froze, breath catching in her throat.

“Oh lycanthropy,” Signe said through a mouthful of pastry, voice rising in sick fascination. “That’s a strong option,”

“That’s not what he had,” Anwyn replied, quickly turning the page once more. The chapter continued however, this time with descriptive images of snapping bones and elongating skulls. Her stomach roiled.

“Eww look at that, that’s disgusting—”

“Honestly, this is a waste of time,” Anwyn went to turn the page, but Signe’s hands shot out to point at the images, blocking her

“Ugghh check that one out! Wait, how do you know it wasn’t this? Maybe his scar was his werewolf bite,” her eyes widened as she said it, revelling in the thrill like she was sharing a ghost story by torchlight.

“Your Dad would have mentioned it, wouldn’t he,” she hoped the tremor in her voice wasn’t obvious, determinedly looking around the courtyard in an attempt to distract herself. “He’d have noticed if my Dad had been turning into a wolf once a month,”

“True, very true,” Signe said, blessedly dropping the subject as she forced the next step page. “What’s next? Hmm Vampirism—”

They were saved from further horror by the tolling of the bell signalling the end of lunch. Anwyn quickly snapped the book shut, glad to be rid of the horrifying images and disgusting descriptions.

“Meet me after Ancient Runes?” Signe asked as they entered the corridor, warmth heating their cheeks red.

“We can’t skip History of Magic again,” Anwyn shook her head. “I’ve got so much to do—“

“Oh come on, just one more time and then we can work together on the revision,” Signe tugged on her hand. “Go on, for me? Please?”

She fixed Anwyn with a look that sent butterflies flocking about her chest. It felt odd that her company was apparently so addictive, her time so precious. A once in a life time situation surely? It still didn’t feel quite real.

“Alright,” she muttered. “Same place as usual,”

Signe squeezed her hand, flashing her a rare, dazzling grin before disappearing down the corridor towards the Arithmancy classroom.

Anwyn’s chest tightened, but this time her feelings towards Signe had nothing to do with it.

———

Hey, could Dad have been a vampire? 

I think that’s unlikely, we’ve seen pictures of him outside in the sunlight after all. 

Ah yeah. Sorry that was a stupid question

Not at all. For a hypothesis to hold weight we should be ruling out the unlikely options as well as narrowing down possibilities 

Good point professor

10 points to Hufflepuff  

 

You’ve been quiet this week. Teachers keeping you busy?

Yeah. Lots of homework. You know the drill.

———

“Who’s— idea— was it to— climb a bloody — hill,” Bethan puffed out between breaths, pausing on top of the crag she’d just clambered up to rest her hands on her knees.

“Let’s go somewhere quiet,” Sirius replied in an accurate but slightly insulting impression of her voice. “Where we can’t be overheard—“

“I didn’t think you’d take us half way up the mountain!” She retorted. “In knee deep snow no less,”

“What’s wrong Bethan, feeling a little out of breath?” He smirked back.

Bethan grumbled something to herself that sounds suspiciously like swearing, but didn’t reply apparently choosing to save her breath for when she needed it. Remus wasn’t fairing much better; he had a bad stitch in one side and his knees felt like they’d seen better days, but he’d have been lying if he’d said that he didn’t enjoy seeing the tension seem to melt from Sirius’ shoulders. Out here on the hillside, away from prying eyes he seemed truly free. Perhaps when all this Triwizard business was over they could move to the countryside, have a slow, quiet life.

He was getting ahead of himself.

Or was he? There were…signs. Signs that perhaps he wasn’t going insane. Sirius’ back pressed against his in the night. A hand on the shoulder as he passed, left there for just a little too long. That soul destroying smirk whenever he caught his eye from across the room. Waking up from the dream of a softly pressed kiss on his temple to find the bed empty, and steaming mug of tea sat on the table at his head, just as he’d liked it fourteen years previously. He hadn’t quite worked up the courage to ask how much of that had been in his mind.

“I give up, I need a seat,” Bethan groaned. She pulled out her wand aiming it at the nearest snow covered rock which began to hiss as the white blanket quickly melted off the top, leaving the stone bone dry underneath. “Much better. Now. What’s the update on Harry’s situation,”

“So,” Sirius began, crossing his arms. “Harry didn’t see anyone acting odd around the task, well odder than usual anyway. Crouch didn’t turn up and Karkaroff was apparently furious that Harry had been awarded additional points, though his champion didn’t seem to care. Bagman seemed pretty happy—“

“Oh I bet he was,” Bethan gave a snort of laughter. “The man is riddled with debt. Those goblins you saw in Hogsmeade? Looking for their gambling winnings. And they’re not the only ones, I’ve got multiple sources saying he payed his losses at the world cup with Leprechaun gold. The man’s an idiot,”

“A dangerous idiot?” Remus asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. He’s been heard bragging to anyone who’ll listen that his money is on Harry, but he’s didn’t place any bets that a 4th champion would enter. I think he’s just an opportunist. What about Moody?”

“Harry didn’t mention anything out of the ordinary for him. He’s an intense teacher but he’s given Harry nothing but support since the start. He seems intent on getting him through alive,” Sirius shrugged. “ I don’t know Bethan, I still can’t see him being the culprit,”

“Hmm,” Bethan frowned, tapping her wand absently on her knee. She turned to Remus. “What about Wynnie? Did she see any of them acting oddly?”

Remus managed to keep his face neutral. “Wyn eh— Wyn didn’t say much at all on the matter. In fact she’s been rather quiet lately,”

That was putting it mildly. Anwyn’s message that evening had been an odd one, arriving a good hour and a half after Harry had already informed them that he was safe. Her messages since then had been sporadic, short, coming in odd bursts late at night or in the early morning. Something wasn’t quite right. He couldn’t place his finger on it, perhaps it was the tone, the length of time between replies. Maybe she was just spending time with friends. Or maybe there was something she wasn’t telling him again.

“Well she’s said even less to me,” Beth shot him a worried look. “You don’t think she’s having problems again?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” he replied, though without much conviction. “I’ll keep an eye out. Maybe send her a letter yourself? She might like to here from you,”

He half expected a waspish response, but his sister looked distracted, little worry lines creasing in the corner of her eyes as she gave a short nod. Perhaps the reality of her daughters mental state was finally kicking in. Or perhaps she was just failing to hide her worry as well as she usually did.

Bethan gave a little shake of her head, as if clearing it. “Anyway, back to the matter at hand. Have you heard anything in the village? Any rumours of what’s going on?”

“Nothing of any use. The villagers are a bunch of gossips, but it’s all fairly baseless and usually following whatever drivel Skeeter’s published that week,”

“Maybe you’re not listening to the right people,” Bethan said, before elaborating when she saw Sirius’ bemused expression. “If you want to hear about the real rumours, you have to go to the more…unseemly side of town,”

“Unseemly? Have you seen Hogsmeade? It’s like something off a shortbread tin!”

Bethan rolled her eyes. “The Hogshead. I’m talking about the Hogshead,”

Sirius gave a short, sharp laugh. “A perfectly good pub. Why Remus and I spent many a night—“

“Avoiding such an establishment because we were sensible young men,” Remus cut him off, shooting him a pointed look.

“Well, I suggest that if you want to hear what the real mutterings of the village are, you spend another night “avoiding” the Hogshead,” Bethan replied in a tone that sounded eerily like his mother.

“And what are you going to do?”

“I’m going back to Europe. Perhaps if I dig hard enough, I can find out exactly what Karkaroff has been up to these past few years,” she rose to her feet, kicking them in the snow to work some feeling back into her legs. “Now if you don’t mind, I think whoever’s bright idea this hike was owes me a hot butterbeer and a slice of pie,”

“Lunch is on you then,” came Sirius’ reply before he promptly had to dodge a handful of snow that had been aimed directly at his head.

———

Your Mum left a late Christmas present from your Grandmother with me. I took the liberty of opening it, do you want me to send the antique powder set on to you, or shall I dispose of it myself? It probably contains redcap dandruff or some other nasty ingredients outlawed years ago. 

I can’t tell if that’s a genuine present or if she’s trying to poison me.

Perhaps a bit of both. She probably would think a good poisoning is character building.

I think I’ll pass thanks.

A wise choice. To the bin it goes. 

Question - Briarbone. Possible curse for Dad? 

That’s some grim reading. Where did you learn about that? 

A book I needed for Moody. Could it be that though?

It usually starts with joint pain, progressing to stiffening of the limbs as it worsen. By the time the thorns have started extruding from the bones, it’s too late to cure. Usually the victim is unaware of the curse until it’s progressed however, so I think it’s unlikely.

Another one to rule out then. Thanks.

That’s very advanced spell work, what has Moody got you working on? I’m not sure I’m entirely happy with you reading anything that contains those sorts of curses, that’s restricted section material surely. 

Its fine. Stop fussing. Better get to breakfast.

———

Anwyn’s jaw cracked as she yawned. The morning light seemed far too bright, forcing her to half shut her eyes in an effort to suppress the banging headache. The path down the hillside to the Care of Magical Creatures paddock seemed even more uneven and slippery, the snow having finally begun to melt. It took all of her concentration not to slip, and even then her feet kept sliding unexpectedly. In her tired state, she was far to distracted to notice Sarah’s pursed lips until it was too late.

“You were out again last night,”

“Yeah,” she replied, shooting Sarah a guilty look out of the corner of her eye. No point lying. “What of it?”

“What of it? Exams are three months away and you’re sneaking out every night! Drinking no less—“

“Will you keep it down?!” She shot back. “I barely drank anything. I’m still going to study alright, it’s not a big deal—“

“Not a big deal?! I would have thought that after last year—“

“Last year was completely different,” Anwyn snapped. “Last year I had no choice, this year I’m…I’m doing this for me!”

Sarah was quiet for a second, an awkward silence hanging between them until she spoke again. “All I’m saying is that I don’t think you should just be jumping every time Signe tells you to jump,”

“I’m not,” she replied resolutely, though she didn’t quite feel it. “I’m just trying new things,”

“Like getting your ears pierced? You know they’re infected right?”

“No they’re not,” her ear throbbed at the lie.

“Yes they are!” Sarah’s voice was rising once more. “I thought you had no interest in getting them done? You told me you were scared of the needle—“

“We’ll maybe I decided to face my fears—“

“Not screaming at spiders is facing your fears. Taking part in…I dunno, public speaking is facing your fears. Letting your girlfriend shove a rusty safety pin into your face is just stupidity!”

Anwyn stopped, rounding on Sarah at a speed that had her feet slipping once more. “A— It wasn’t rusty. And B— like you’re any better? Russell told you he liked that denim skirt last October and it’s all you’ve worn since, even when it’s snowing!”

“That’s not the same—“

“Ladies, ladies, come on,” Russell appeared beside them, throwing his arms around their shoulders. “Wynz, Sarah is just looking out for you. And Sarah, our little Anwyn will only be young and in love once, let her live a little! Let’s not argue eh?”

The girls exchanged reluctant looks, but Anwyn found herself nodding. Perhaps something Sarah had said had struck a cord. The bubble of guilt had returned.

“Alright,” she muttered, turning back to the path. “But my ears are just healing, it’ll be better by next week, honest,”

“See, that wasn’t so hard was it?” Russell said, leaning into Sarah’s ear. His stage whisper wasn’t quiet enough for Anwyn to miss it. “Though you’re dead cute when you’re angry,”

“Eww, gross Russell—“

Anwyn was cut off as a hard shove came from behind and she found herself tripping over her own feet to land on her hands and knees in the mud. Her chin bounced off the ground, dirt splattering up her face, and her tongue smarted where she’d bitten into it on impact.

“Grovelling about in the dirt again Wynnie dearest?”

“Oh don’t be too hard on her Silas, she’s just very excited to see dry land,” Sorrell’s simpering voice came from behind. “So exited in fact that she wanted to give it a little kiss!”

“Shove off!” Russell spat, and as Anwyn rolled over she found his hand hovering close to his pocket.

“Did you hear something?” Silas asked his sister. “The sound of a mudblood maybe?”

“Oh I couldn’t hear anything over the sound of Wynnie screaming,” Sorrell started to flail her arms in an impression of Anwyn’s panic at the lakeside. “Let me off, let me off!”

Anwyn felt Sarah hook a hand under her arm, half dragging her to her feet. Her knees stung, and when she looked down the front of her robes were covered in grime. The palms of her hands were similarly coated, but with the added tinge of red where the soft skin had been scraped off.

“Why did you run screaming from the boat cousin? Too afraid of finally taking a bath and wash the stink of wolf off you?”

“Piss off,” she muttered, trying and failing to wipe the mud from her hands onto her already filthy robes.

“Ooh you’ve touched a nerve Sorrell!” Her brother crooned. “How is the wolf anyway? Found a job yet or is he still scrounging off the blood traitor?”

Anwyn’s feet slipped as she instinctively took a step forward, fist clenched, and Sarah’s grip on her arm was the only thing keeping her upright. Seeing her wobbling stance, the twins laughed again, before strolling past them, a hard shoulder slamming into Russell’s side as they went.

The trio watched them down the hill for a second before Anwyn looked down at the mess of her clothes.

“Fuck,” she uttered. “This is my good winter robe too,”

“Bastards,” Russell spat, glaring down the hill after them.

“Are you alright?” Sarah asked, concern evident in her voice. “Are you hurt?”

“Just my pride. And my knees. And maybe my palms, they’re stinging like hell,” she groaned. “Come on. We better get to class,”

Hagrid was not yet in the paddock when they arrived, so Anwyn took the opportunity to practice her water summoning charm in an attempt to wash off as much of the dirt as possible. Her attempts to control the temperature were middling at best, and by the time she was done she was only slightly cleaner, but a whole lot colder. Spotting Signe appearing at the gate in her immaculate burgundy robes, ash hair swept back from her face did nothing to improve her mood.

“What happened to you?” The girl asked, half amused, half bemused as she looked Anwyn up and down.

“My cousins,” she muttered in response, feeling her cheeks heat. “Is it really that bad?”

Signe shrugged. “We could say it’s a new fashion choice,”

“I don’t think that would work,”

“No? Is mud not your thing?” Signe smirked, but her smile faded when she saw Anwyn wasn’t returning it. “Hey, don’t let they ruin your day. They’re just— how do you say it…dickheads,”

“I know they are. Doesn’t stop this—“ she waved at her robes. “— absolute shit show. So fucking embarrassing…”

Signe pursed her lips, glancing over to where the twins were gingerly leading their blast ended screwt out into the paddock. It had grown in size despite the apparent hibernation that all the beasts had fallen into, and was now a monstrous thing about five feet long with a massive stinger on its tale. And judging by the fizzing noise, it wasn’t too happy about waking up for the spring.

A smile began to form in Signe’s lips.

“Come with me,” she said, taking Anwyn’s muddy hand.

“Where?” Anwyn asked reluctantly.

“You’ll see,”

It just so happened that ‘where’ was the fringes of the forest, just past the tree line far enough for them to see the paddock but remain out of view. Anwyn stumbled over sticks and fallen branches, crouching as far as she could go as she followed Signe around the perimeter to the side of the paddock nearest the twins. Hagrid’s booming voice announced his arrival, and judging by the hissing and cracking noises, the other students had gathered their screwts too.

“We’re missing class,” Anwyn whispered.

“Shhh,” came the reply. “This will be worth it,”

They stopped beside a fallen beech tree, sheltering behind its moss covered trunk, and Signe pulled her wand from her robes. Ahead of them, just through the foliage, sat the Blackthorn twins, crossed legged and looking incredibly bored as their beast crackled away between them.

“Right. Watch this,” Signe said, aiming her wand.

“Wait—“

Too late. A spark of red shot out of Signe’s wand, hitting the skrewt square on its side. The hard carapace meant it didn’t seem to take any damage, but the impact was enough, and the thing started hissing and snapping violently until it gave a single, angry bang, shooting forward across the grass. Its claws knocked Silas out of the way, sprawling him in the mud, and the blast from its rear end set Sorrell’s robes alight.

“Fucking hell Signe—“ Anwyn uttered as Sorrell started screaming, flapping her robes about her as she clambered to her feet. The motion only made them worse.

“Drop an’ roll, drop an’ roll!” Hagrid began to bellow at her as the other skrewts hissed, drowning out the surprised cries of students as they attempted to control the beasts.

“Quick! Before they figure out where it came from!” Signe managed to splutter through her barely contained laughter.

“But— but Hagrid— he nearly had his class shut down last year, we should—“

“He’s fine, come on!”

She grabbed Anwyn by the hand, and dragged her off back around the tree line, this time dodging the paddock completely and heading towards the hillside, leaving the sound of angry skrewts and panicking students behind them.

———

How is that assignment for Moody getting on, anything I can help with?

 

Of course I’m happy to help with anything else you’re struggling with, though I can’t guarantee any History of Magic homework would be correct.

All good, no issues.

 

Your friends were troublemakers right? How did you know when a bit of fun had gone too far?

I wasn’t particularly good at saying no when I should have, I’ll admit. But you’ll know it in in your gut. If your instincts are telling you somethings wrong, you should probably listen.

Got it

Is something bothering you Wyn?

Nothing major, don’t worry. I’ll figure it out.

 

Thanks

———

The Hogshead greeted them with a wall of heat, air thick with the scent of pipe smoke and stale ale. It was fairly quiet, though the occupants were far from the crowd that usually frequented the Three Broomsticks. In the corner sat two hunched back figures with their hoods up that Remus was fairly certain were hags, and there was a strange, incredibly pale man conversing with a goblin by the fire, heads bowed as they kept their conversation private.

“Quiet night,” Remus muttered. “Can’t see us getting much out of this lot,”

“May as well have a pint then,” Sirius suggested wiggling his eyebrows.

Remus gave a sigh, but couldn’t help himself smiling. “Alright. You’ve twisted my arm,”

The bar, they found, was already occupied by a massive figure that took up the space of three men. He sat alone, nursing an enormous goblet of some sort of ale which must have been a few pints worth at least. Sirius and Remus exchanged puzzled glances, and then slid into the stools on either side of him.

“Evening Hagrid,” Remus greeted.

“Evenin’ gents,” Hagrid replied, looking between them. “You sure you want to sit here? Not that I don’t mind the company but…” he tailed off. “Well I could understand if you wanted to sit elsewhere,”

“And miss direct access to the bar? I think not,” Sirius said, catching the bar man’s attention. Though his tone was jovial enough, he fixed Hagrid with one of his easy smiles, the sort that has always completely ruined his rock star appearance.

Hagrid gave a small smile in return. “Well I can’t say I wouldn’t enjoy the company,” he fiddled with the goblet is in hand, turning it around and around where it created an awful scraping sound on the bar.

“How have you been Hagrid?” Remus asked, nodding thanks to the barman as he slid a frothy pint towards him. “I haven’t seen you at the Three Broomsticks lately,”

“I’ve been here and there,” Hagrid replied with a slight edge of nerves to his voice. “Jus’ keepin’ busy. And layin’ low after…after…,” he cleared his throat before taking a great swig of beer, the liquid dribbling down his chin into his beard. When he spoke again it was with a complete change of subject. “Mighty fine job Harry did in the task eh? Mighty fine. Got a champion on our hands there I reckon,”

“He’s a marvel,” Sirius replied, pride evident in his voice. “And damn lucky too. But there’s a talent there I think he doesn’t realise he has yet,”

“A talent for getting into trouble perhaps,” Remus replied ruefully.

“He takes after his father there I’d say. And his godfather,” Hagrid chuckled, swirling his goblet. “It was quite the performance though. Shame Anwyn had to miss it, especially after they’d been working so hard on figurin’ it out. She’s doin’ alrigh’ now?”

Remus half choked on a mouthful of ale, spluttering as it went down the wrong way. “Sorry? She…missed it?”

Hagrid frowned. “She didn’t say? Clambered righ’ out of the boat, I thought she was going to capsize it for a second,”

“She hasn’t mentioned it,” Remus muttered, sharing a worried glance with Sirius. “Though she hasn’t been herself lately,”

“Come to think of it,” Hagrid said thoughtfully. “I haven’t seen her in class this past week either. Mind you, she wouldn’t be the first student to stop coming to my classes. I’ve ‘ad three drop out in the past month alone. Their parents wrote to Professor Dumbledore,”

“Why on earth would they do that?” Sirius asked with a frown.

Hagrid looked almost bashful. “Oh…you know…they’re eh— they’re not comfortable with me teaching their kids anymore. On account of me being…well on account of what I am,”

“Then they’re fools,” Remus said softly. “As is anyone who judges a soul on something as meaningless as blood rather than strength of character. You’re a finer man than any of them Hagrid,”

There was a moment of silence, one in which Remus caught Sirius sending him a wordless smile, and Hagrid seemed intently interested in his drink.

“That’s mighty kind of you to say Lupin,” Hagrid sniffed, and Remus was sure he could see tears welling his great beetle black eyes. “Mighty kind,”

“And I can assure you Hagrid, any absence on Anwyn’s part is not a reflection of her view of your parentage, though I am keen to find out the real cause. She’s not one to judge someone based on circumstances outwith their control,”

“Probably for the best,” Hagrid snorted. “Her class was a bit of a disaster this week, had a run in with an angry blast ended skrewt. Temperamental those creatures are, and he was a righ’ beauty…”

Cheered as he was, Hagrid regaled them with his latest pet monsters, and the drinks began to flow. Three slopping pint glasses appeared on the bar, and these were quickly followed by three more, and another three, until Remus started to wonder if the only thing they were going to find in the Hogshead was a head cracking hangover.

“Righ’” Hagrid hiccuped, having just finished off a particularly loud drinking song. He levered himself up from the bar, nearly sweeping the empty glasses from it with his beard in the process. “Best get back to the castle. Same time next week?”

“The pleasure would be all mine,” Sirius replied, climbing to his feet. His stool fell out behind him, and Remus had to stoop to pick it up. When he straightened, the room spun.

The cold air made it ten times worse. There was something about the sudden change in temperature that made his drunkenness increase tenfold while simultaneously sobering him up. Yes, tomorrow morning was going to be horrendous.

The paths back to the inn were treacherous, the melted slush having frozen once more. It took every ounce of his fuzzy attention to stay on his feet, walking incredibly slowly in what probably looked like an impression of an overgrown penguin. Sirius, in complete contrast, was strolling along with his hands in his pockets, humming what Remus recognised as a particularly vulgar pub tune.

“That was a good thing you did back there. With Hagrid,” he said after a moment.

“I just told him the truth. Or at least how I see it,”

Sirius slung his arm around Remus’ shoulders, his weight dragging on him.“You know, that’s what I’ve always loved about you Moony. No matter what shit hand you get dealt, you always seem to have this bottomless capacity for kindness. It’s really something, don’t you think?”

“I think you’re drunk,” Remus grumbled, though he couldn’t stop the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Despite the cold, a rush of heat seemed to bloom right up his face and into his ears. “And so am I. I’m going to regret that last pint tomorrow,”

As if on cue, Sirius’ foot hit a patch of ice, slipping out from underneath him. The arm around Remus’ shoulder was suddenly much heavier as he threatened to drag them both down, and he shot a hand around Sirius’ waist, grabbing him as he attempted to keep them both on their feet.

“Whoops,” Sirius barked a laugh before blowing out a long sigh that rattled his lips. “Perhaps I am a little drunk. Either that or someone’s hit me with a jelly leg hex while I wasn’t looking,”

He dissolved into broken snickering, his head dipping as he tried to watch where he was putting his feet, though somehow that had them slipping even more. Remus found himself grinning in return, and his eyes left the path, moving instead to the face beside him. Sirius Black. Actually here after all these years. Locks of black hair falling in front of his eyes, cheeks a glow from either the cold, the drink or perhaps a mixture of both. That smile, that maddening, hypnotic smile.

“What’s that look for?”

Remus blinked, turning his head to look back at his feet. “Nothing,”

“Really?” Sirius asked. “Because I could of sworn you were going to kiss me for a second,”

An odd, choking noise escaped Remus’ throat, which he managed to cover with a scoff. “You are definitely drunk,”

“Fuck off, I’m not that bad—“ his voice dropped, a slight note of something that sounded like hurt breaking through. “Is it really such a horrendous thought?”

Remus stopped walking, the sudden abrupt halt nearly sending Sirius skidding once more. He swallowed hard, his jaw working, and forced himself to look into the other man’s open, earnest face where he saw…hope?

“Of course it’s not— I— you—,”

Merlin, his mouth just didn’t want to work. It couldn’t seem say the right thing, whatever the hell that was.

The ghost of a smile flickered on Sirius’ face pain almost, and he huffed out a little shaky breath. His screwed his eyes tight shut for a few seconds, his head dropping, and when he raised it again he looked dead ahead, expressionless. But Remus had learnt to read that face a long time ago, and he could see the hurt written on the minuscule creases of his brow, the tightness of his lips.

Perhaps knowing that he was the cause of that hurt was the thing that pushed him over the edge. Perhaps it was the drink. Or perhaps he’d finally given up on holding himself back.

Remus raised his free hand, and after a moment of hesitation, fingers hovering close enough to feel the touch of Sirius’ beard, he placed them to the other man’s chin, gently guiding his head back towards him.

The second their lips met, it was like he’d never left. Thirteen years wiped out in an instant. He’d spent many a late night wondering what it would be like if he ever worked up the courage, if they’d be overcome with furious passion, if it would feel strange or unnatural, or just not feel anything at all. But it was tender, tentative, like they were both terrified that the other would break, or disappear in a puff of smoke at any second.

Sirius broke the kiss first, smiling against Remus’ mouth as he huffed out another shaky breath before dipping back in to kiss him again, and again, until he had a tight grip on Remus’ lapel, and their feet were sliding under them once more.

“Shit—“ Sirius laughed, letting go as he swung his arms in an attempt to balance, but Remus tightened his grip on his waist.

“I’ve got you,” he said softly, his eyes still locked on Sirius face.

Grey eyes met his, mouth quirking into that familiar smile. “Promise?”

He was damning him. Drawing him into this mess that was his life, never fully safe, never fully happy. It was selfish, it was insane, it was a disaster waiting to happen.

But then when had Sirius ever shied away from disaster?

“I promise,” he replied, lips grazing Sirius’. “I’m not letting you go,”

Notes:

Happy wolfstar New Year all!

It’s hard to believe that it’s nearly been a year since I started this series. I’ve had great fun getting these old ideas on paper, and it’s been lovely seeing all of you enjoy it too, so thanks for reading!

On the topic of this chapter, it’s been interesting trying to figure out how communicative Anwyn would be at this point. I don’t want to just repeat her not telling Remus anything, and at the same time she’s a teenager trying to figure things out and grappling with growing up, so there’s an element of her wanting to deal with things on her own (and knowing that he’d probably disapprove). But then she also gives me the vibe of the sort of kid that tells their parents everything. Hopefully this handles that in a somewhat realistic way.

Side not: Remus seemed so old when I was a kid, the fact that he’s only 34 constantly blows my mind every time I remember it

Chapter 28: Heartbreak Woven in Silk

The garden was filled with pink and purple blooms, a wall of flowers and foliage clambering up the wall beside them. The scent was heady, pollen and grass and all manner of springtime smells assaulting the nostrils. Anwyn lay her head back in the grass and shut her eyes, breathing in the aroma.

“Anwyn,” came a deep voice in front of her, male, unfamiliar. “It’s time to go inside,”

“Two more minutes,” she replied without opening her eyes. “I’ve missed the sun, it feels like it’s been winter forever,”

“The sun will be there again tomorrow. Come. Let’s not keep our hosts waiting,”

She cracked an eye, propping herself up in her elbows to look at her Father. His face was familiar, the same stoic expression that had stared at her from countless photographs, but there was an odd quality to it, a blurring at the edges that made her squint to try and focus it. He held out his hand to her, and she hesitated before taking it, letting him pull her to her feet.

“Why did we come here?” She asked, confident that it was an important question, but unsure exactly why.

“You know why,”

She blinked, his face shifting once more as she tried to puzzle him out. The emotionless expression was somewhat unnerving. Surely she should see some sort of affection in his eyes?

“I don’t. You still haven’t told me,”

The heat of the sun disappeared as it hid behind a cloud, the green garden slipping into a lifeless grey. She suppressed a shiver, wrapping her free arm around her chest. The other hand felt warm in his grasp.

“Don’t you want to find a cure?” her father asked, his head tilting ever so slightly to the side. “Or would you rather burn with me?”

It started as a spark. A sharp burst of heat above one of his eyes that swiftly began to devour his face, the skin melting and popping on the bone. The same, emotionless expression never shifted, even as the flames consumed his head and spread down onto his torso, even as Anwyn began to scream and scream, and his hand tightened on her wrist, drawing her into the inferno.

She awoke with a start, strangled cry in her throat as an almighty thud came from the floor beside her. The book, that blasted slab of curses had slipped from her knee, landing spine up on the floor. A light flared in the bed beside her, and then another at the opposite side of the room, muttered voices breaking out.

“What is it—“

“Who’s screaming—“

“Anwyn? Did you shout?” Sarah asked, rubbing at her eye as she sat half propped up, wand light bouncing off the walls.

“I— I think it was just— it was just a nightmare,” Anwyn managed to say, almost shocked that they couldn’t hear her heart as it hammered away. “Sorry,”

Sarah’s eyes moved from her to the book on the floor, brow lowering as she tried to make out the title. Anwyn leaned quickly over the side of the bed, ignoring how it made her head spin, and scooped up the Malidicta Malifica., snapping it shut on her thumb to keep its place.

“I’m fine,” she said hurriedly. “Go back to sleep,”

Sarah looked as if she was about to argue, but a yawn cracked her mouth wide, and she gave a shake of her wand, muttering nox. Around them the other wand lights snuffed out, and Anwyn sat rigid backed in bed, waiting for the sound of gentle breathing to resume. Satisfied that the other girls had drifted off, she pulled the covers over head, and retrieved her own wand from under her pillow, igniting its tip with a whispered Lumos. The book had landed open on the last page she had been reading, the images even more horrific than she had remembered.

Said to be hotter than the fires of hell, the fyndfire curse produces enchanted fire capable of melting stone as easy as flesh.

Her eyes were immediately drawn to the picture on the opposite page, a shrieking face with the flesh bubbling and melting off, drawn in exquisite detail. She dragged her eyes away, feeling somewhat queasy. Was this what had caused her father’s burn? She couldn’t help but imagine the agony on his face as his arm lit up, that emotionless expression suddenly replaced with abject terror. Or perhaps, as he had in her dream, he wouldn’t have screamed at all.

———

Remus woke slowly, reluctantly, to the sound of soft snoring and a rhythmic throbbing behind his eyes. He’d been having a fantastic dream in which he’d worked up the courage to finally make a move on Sirius, and he was quite frankly pissed off that his brain had decided to wake him from it. It took him a good few moments of crusty eyed blinking to remember that it had not been a dream at all.

Shit.

So much for keeping it together. A little bit of alcohol and he’d lost his composure like a school boy. He turned his head to the side, suppressing a groan at how it made everything throb more vividly, to find Sirius asleep beside him, hair tousled and mouth cracked open as he slept on. The sight was enough to dampen any worries about his actions, replacing them with a deep, almost instinctual longing. Merlin, he loved that man, he’d never stopped loving that man.

Shit. Shit shit shit.

Remus rolled away, groping for his watch on the bedside table, and a squinted at it through the dark. A little after 5am. Far too early to be awake with a hangover in his opinion, but there was another layer to his throbbing head, a dull buzz that seemed alive in all of his limbs telling him to get up, to move. The moon was swiftly approaching, and there was little he could do to ignore the effects. Sleep, he knew now he was awake, would not come again this morning.

Gingerly, as quietly as he could, he slipped from under the covers, bare feet touching cool wood. He shot a quick glance over his shoulder, but Sirius hadn’t stirred, tattooed chest gently rising and falling. Good. He need some time to sort out his racing thoughts before that particular conversation could take place.

The sitting room had cooled, so he banked the fire once more and gave a lazy flick of his wand to light it, flames erupting on the dry wood. He didn’t bother with any more candles, the light from the fire was enough to make the throbbing in his head flare as he sunk into the sofa with a long, exhausted sigh.

The question of how to occupy himself was a hard one. He was half a chapter into his most recent read before he realised he hadn’t taken anything in, and yesterday’s edition of the prophet only served to frustrate him, Rita Skeeter’s latest article on Harry’s heartbreak at the hands of Hermione banking his temper further. He climbed to his feet, chucking the paper on the fire and watching the text curl and smoulder before sinking back into the sofa, his agitation momentarily soothed.

He caught a glint of light out of the corner of his eye, and lowered his head, finding the message book flashing on the coffee table. He glanced at his watch. Just before six AM. Oddly early for Anwyn. Heart sinking, he pulled the book towards him.

Could fyndfire cause a burn like the one on Dad’s arm?

“Fyndfire?” He found himself uttering in disbelief. He searched around the sofa for his wand, finding it where it had slipped down the side of the cushion and gave a sharp wave, summoning a quill and inkwell across the room at a high enough speed that it was a wonder he didn’t spill any ink on the floor. His scribbled response was quick.

Where are you reading about this?

I just spotted it in the library.

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose, and let out a long groan.

Fyndfyre is dark, dark magic. It’s not a suitable topic for a fifth year.

But is it a possible cause?

No. Once caught, there’s no escape, he wouldn’t have survived even with scars

Okay, thanks

“That’s it?” He muttered incredulously, waiting on any further messages, but nothing came. He adjusted his grip on his quill and scribbled another message.

Which book did you find this in? I’m really not comfortable with this

It’s fine

It’s not fine, I only agreed to help pursue this line of investigation of it didn’t put you in harms way. We’re verging into dangerous territory here

It’s just a book, stop freaking out

Its not just a book Anwyn, it’s advanced dark magic

Just forget it

This is pointless anyway

I shouldn’t have asked

Though he couldn’t see her face, he could read the tone of Anwyn’s messages as if she were sitting right in front of him. He briefly considered pushing the topic, but he knew from experience that he wouldn’t get a reply. Her refusal to continue the conversation would be just as effective as a slammed bedroom door in his face.

“Oh Anwyn,” he groaned, chucking his quill down on the table and slumping back into the sofa. He rubbed at his eyes, the pain behind them a dull, constant thud. “What on earth is going on with you?”

“There you are,”

Remus started at the voice from the bedroom doorway. He looked up to find Sirius loosely draped in a dressing gown and caught a fleeting expression of something close to relief flit across the other man’s face.

“Feeling that rough are you? And here I was think I’d be the more hungover of the two of us. Don’t think I’ve ever seen you up before dawn,”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Remus replied, distracted. He dropped a hand to his knee, drumming his fingers absently against his leg. “I didn’t want my tossing and turning to wake you. I thought I may as well get up,”

“Ah,” Sirius shut his eyes briefly, giving a slow nod. “Pre-moon jitters is it?”

Remus nodded, slightly taken aback by the fact that Sirius would pick up on it so quickly after all these years. At one point in time he’d have sworn the man was psychic, quite often figuring out why Remus was in such a bad mood before he knew himself, and then Sirius would ply him with good food, his favourite music and a tranquil walk to ground him.

“You’re human, despite what you think,” he’d used to repeat to Remus every time the agitation had started to build and he’d ask Sirius why he insisted on spoiling him so. “And I’m going to make sure you fucking feel it,”

Remus was jolted from his revere once more by the sofa sinking as Sirius flung himself down with a sigh. He finally took a good look at the other man’s face, finding him to be pale with deep bags under his eyes, yet possessing a small, satisfied smile.

“Fuck me, I think I’ve become a real lightweight in my old age,” he chuckled, smile widening as he caught Remus’ eye.

“Really? I thought you were always a lightweight?”

“Slander,” Sirius replied, tipping his head back to rest it on the sofa and shutting his eyes.

Remus watched him for a second, leg beginning to bounce, and then cleared his throat. “How much of last night do you…remember?”

Sirius cracked an eye open, frowning. “Are you asking if I remember snogging you?”

Shit. “Uhh…yes? I suppose I am,”

He gave a bark of laughter. “Of course I do, I’m not going to forget that in a hurry!”

“Right,” Remus rubbed a hand across the stubble on his cheek, eyes darting anywhere but Sirius’ face. “Right yes, of course. Good. Good,”

He lapsed into a tense silence, leg still bouncing as he dropped his hand back to it, suddenly aware of every expression that drifted across his face. The quiet morning suddenly seemed oppressive, suffocating almost, and cleared his throat to speak.

“Do you—“

“Are you—“

They both gave a huff of nervous laughter, and Remus raised his hands in apology, indicating that Sirius should speak first.

The easy smile had slipped slightly from the other man’s face, replaced instead with that guarded expression that seemed to have clouded him since his return, and Remus felt a familiar dash of fear that he’d put his foot in it again. When Sirius spoke, his voice was careful, measured.

“You don’t…regret it? Do you?”

No. Yes. But not in the way one would expect. He’d never intended to drag Sirius back into the mess that was now his life. And yet having him back just felt…right.

Remus swallowed hard, but offered what he hoped was a tentative smile. “I am just…how can I put it…a little rusty in these matters. It’s been a while since…well it’s been a while,”

Sirius huffed out a laugh, but the relief was once again evident on his face. “You and me both. It’s…a lot to take in. But we don’t have to rush things, we can just take our time. Get to know each other again. If that works for you?”

Remus nodded, and this time the smile on his face was genuine. “I think I’d like that,”

He received a wide grin in return, and then Sirius was up on his feet, filled with an energy that hadn’t been there a few moments ago but had seemed to miraculously appear despite the hangover.

“Why don’t we start with you taking me on a coffee date. I saw Honeydukes were advertising a new hot chocolate with a dash of mild Wide Eye in it, sounds like just the thing we need this morning,”

Remus raised his eyebrow. “A date is it?”

He received a lopsided grin in return. “What’s wrong Moony? Brave enough to snog me after a few drinks, but a little bit of hot chocolate scares you?”

“I did not say that,”

“Oh I see how it is, you don’t want to declare your undying love in front of the Honeydukes customers—,”

“What— I— no—“ Remus spluttered face reddening.

“You’d much rather shout it from the top of the hill for all the world to hear,” Sirius spread out his arms wide and tilted his head back. When he spoke again it was at a much higher volume, and with what sounded like an attempt at a mild Welsh accent. “I REMUS LUPIN DO DECLARE—“

“Will you shut it!”

Remus couldn’t help but laugh as he grabbed the nearest cushion off the sofa and lobbed it Sirius’ head. It went wide as Sirius ducked with a bark of laughter. He opened his arms again as if to continue his proclamation.

“Alright, alright!” Remus interrupted him. ”We’ll go to Honeydukes, just stop talking for five seconds, my head is sore enough as it is,”

“Merlin, you haven’t changed a bit, it is far too easy to get you a fabulous shade of beetroot,” Sirius observed, grin still on his face.

“Yes, and evidently you’re still a dickhead, so not much has changed there either,”. Remus replied, exasperated, before clambering to his feet, attempting to avoid returning the smile and failing miserably.

———

Anwyn pushed the cereal around in the bowl, uneaten and soggy, fat with milk. Her eyes stung with lack of sleep, and she rubbed absently at them, thoughts elsewhere. It had taken what felt like an age to drop back off again last night, and even then her dreams had been patchy, her rest disturbed.

“Whats wrong with you?” Signe asked as she slid onto the end of the row. “You look like someone’s just spat in your cereal,”

“Nothing,” she replied. “It’s just— I wrote to Remus about another idea and it didn’t go down well,”

“Oh? What was it?”

“I was reading about fyndfire and I thought it might have been an option, but when I asked him he started freaking out on me!” she moaned. “He just wouldn’t stop going on about how dangerous it is, it’s not like I’m going to try casting it or anything!”

“I told you he would be no help,” Signe said, matter of fact as she picked up an apple from the bowl in front of her.

“He has been though, up until now,” Anwyn’s gaze returned to her bowl, and she started pushing the cereal around once more. “And I just gave him a shitty reply back, so he’s probably not going to want to help any more. I’m just…pissed off that he immediately assumes I can’t handle this,”

Signe shrugged. “So stop asking him for help then. It’s not like he’s had any good answers anyway,”

Anwyn dropped the spoon into her bowl with a sigh, splashing milk across the table. Perhaps Signe was right. Perhaps she shouldn’t have asked Remus for help at all. But his insistence that she could talk to him about anything, the way he’d listened without judging to her worries about Signe, hell the very existence of the damn message book itself all pointed towards the fact that he just cared, perhaps too much at times, but cared none the less. And again she’d chucked it back in his face.

She stood hurriedly from the table, wooden bench screeching on the stone floor of the great hall.

“What now?” Signe asked, apple half way to her mouth.

“I’m going to write back,” Anwyn said firmly. “Apologise. I shouldn’t have snapped—“

“Oh sit down,” Signe moaned, tugging on the sleeve of Anwyn’s robe to pull her back onto the bench. “Eat your breakfast, he can wait until later—“

“But—“

“Anwyn, you had a disagreement, you got angry and said some shit. It’s not the end of the world. It’s not that deep. But you’ve barely eaten and you look like you slept like shit, so eat your damn cereal already,”

Anwyn reluctantly picked up her spoon, gathering a soggy pile of cereal. It taste more of milk than anything else, and she quickly swallowed the mush.

“Better?” Signe asked with a smirk.

“Not particularly,” Anwyn grumbled in response, before taking another mouthful.

She managed two more before giving up completely and heading to class.

———

A hot shower and some fresh clothes had Remus feeling somewhat more human, though it had done little to chase away the gnawing headache. By the time they’d clambered down the stairs and out of the inn door, the sun was just scraping the horizon, a great red stain of colour bleeding across the sky. Hogsmeade was coming to life, the shop doors swinging open, witches and wizards walking bleary eyed to work.

“So, Wide Eye in hot chocolate is it?” He asked Sirius as he hurried his hands in his pockets. “Sounds a little like a muggle drink. They add hot chocolate to coffee to make a Mocha,”

“Do they really?” Sirius asked, intrigued. He shot Remus a lop sided grin. “I guess you’ll have to take me for one of them tomorrow then. So we can compare,”

The mention of Wide Eye potions in any form however reminded Remus of Hagrid’s odd news about Anwyn, another worrying puzzle to add to the growing list, and as they neared Honeydukes he dipped his head to the side, indicating down one of the alleyways.

“Would you wind grabbing the drinks? I’ve just remembered something I wanted to check,”

Sirius shot him a mock pouty look. “You’re supposed to be taking me on this date remember? That was the deal,”

Remus rolled his eyes. “You’ll have my full attention afterwards, I promise. I just want to follow up on something Hagrid said about Anwyn,”

“Alright then,” Sirius replied. “I’ll meet you outside?”

Remus gave a quick nod, and then turned off down the street towards the swinging sign of the apothecary.

The door creaked open on squealing hinges, wood swollen from the damp and cold, to reveal a short man standing behind the counter, half way up a ladder as he organised great glass jars on the shelves in front of him. He turned at the sound of a new customer, eyebrows rising in recognition.

“Ahh, Mr Lupin,” the man said as he stepped down the ladder. “Still in Hogsmeade are we? I must say, I was surprised to hear you were back,”

“I’ve had little need to visit the village until now I’m afraid,”

“And little want I’d imagine, now that the news of your affliction has spread,”

Remus couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows at the forthright comment, though he didn’t get a sense of any outright malice behind it. He found he didn’t have an answer so instead he cleared his throat.

“I just thought I’d pop in,” he said. “You’ll recall I had some concerns last term?”

“About your niece’s purchases? Yes, I remember. Quite the concerning shopping list if I recall. All the ingredients for…what was it… wide eye, draught of peace…”

“Yes, indeed. I was just wondering if you could tell me…has she…returned to those habits at all?”

The shopkeep shook his head. “I’ve not seen her since. Shame, she was a good contributor to my steady income”

He gave a guffaw of mirth, and Remus set his jaw, not convinced that there was a funny side to the conversation. “Yes. Well that’s…reassuring to know,” he replied, voice clipped. “Thank you, that was all. I’ll leave you to it,”

He turned to leave, but the shop keep stopped him once more.

“Oh— are you sure I can’t interest you in some supplies? We’ve had a fresh delivery of acconite in if you fancy giving that Wolfsbane a bash,” he wiggled his eye brows. “Though perhaps test the first batch away from here, there’s a good chap,”

He gave another laugh, and Remus turned back towards him, back rigid. His palm stung as he dug his fingernails into the soft skin, fist tight.

“I’m afraid not,” he replied, trying to keep the strain from his voice. “Potion making is not a talent she inherited from my side. Good day sir,”

Remus stepped out onto the narrow street, letting out a sigh as the door snapped shut behind him. He supposed that he should be greatful. Being treated like a money maker was at least a change from outright hatred. Still, it sent an uncomfortable feeling down his back, the sense once more that he was viewed as some animal that should in a cage, only this time to be studied.

“Everything alright?” Sirius asked as he approached, a little steaming porcelain jar in each hand.

“Just checking in on something,” Remus replied wearily, taking his drink when offered. “Anwyn developed a bad…habit. With potions last year. After what Hagrid said last night, I thought I better check, but it doesn’t seem that she’s taken it back up. I suppose that’s one less thing to worry about,”

Sirius, to his surprise, made a pained face. “So you knew about the potions then,”

“Yes I— wait, how did you know?” Remus asked as he fell into step beside him.

“Smelt it on her last year. Even met her coming from from Hogsmeade once and she was sick with the withdrawal from them,”

Remus stopped in his path. “Why on earth didn’t you tell me!?”

Sirius gave another pained wince. “Well I could hardly say at the time could I? What was in going to do, send you a letter? Dear Remus, it appears your niece has a potions addiction, hope you’re doing well, love Sirius?”

“Ah. Yes. Point well made,” he said, trying not to focus too much on how Sirius had signed off his theoretical letter.

“Besides, she seemed to have stopped that habit by the time we did meet, so I didn’t want to get the kid into any more trouble,”

“Too late for that,” Remus replied bitterly. “I caught her brewing them in the early hours of the morning, that’s why she stopped,”

“How did that go?”

He didn’t reply immediately. “Not well. Not well at all,”

They walked in silence for a few seconds, feet scuffing the slush on the cobblestones. A chill wind blew and a few icy rain drops drizzled down into their hair.

“She had a pretty rough year last year, didn’t she?” Sirius asked after a moment.

“I think that’s putting it mildly,”

“And you’re worried she’s slipping back down that slope?”

Remus nodded. “I don’t think she ever fully recovered and the trial was…hard on her. I have concerns it might have picked open a wound barely healed. One which I contributed to,”

Sirius shot him a quizzical look. “How so?”

Remus gave a long, drawn out sigh. “Well, by taking the job for one. Her cousins have never been particularly nice to her but that only worsened when I arrived at Hogwarts. And then if we add the whole business in the shack—“ he cut himself off, giving a frustrated shake of his head.

“Remus,” Sirius replied softly. “What she heard in the shack wasn’t your fault. You know that right?”

“Wasn’t it?” He couldn’t help the bitter note in his voice as he glanced at Sirius. “She followed me there. She wouldn’t have even been aware of its existence if I hadn’t gone. You had to drag her out, you saw the state she was in. I could have— I could have bitten her Pads—“ his voice gave a dangerous crack and he looked back down at his shoes. “Sometimes I think she would have been better off if I’d turned Bethan away,” he said quietly. “Kept her away from this life, from…me,”

A brief, gentle touch of fingers ghosted his. He looked up to find Sirius watching him, grey eyes pained. He hooked a finger around Sirius’, still in faint disbelief that he was even here, never mind standing so close.

“I think Anwyn would be heartbroken to hear you say that,” Sirius said quietly. “It’s not hard to see that she adores you Remus. That tells me that the life she has had has been a good one, despite recent hiccups. If I can be half as good a godfather to Harry then I’m doing something right,”

Remus managed a small smile. “You are already a fantastic godfather,” he shook his head, giving a humourless laugh. “Listen to me wallowing. I’m sorry, this was supposed to be a date. I told you I was rusty at this,”

“Well,” Sirius said brightly, taking Remus’ hand completely in his. “We have our drinks. We have an almost dry day. I don’t think we have to write it off just yet,”

The wink that he sent Remus’ way was enough to catch his breath in his chest, and he forced the worry, the shame down, if only for second.

“Alright,” his smile widened. “Lead the way,”

———

Anwyn sat her clippers down with a dull thud onto the scarred wooden workbench, attempting to scratch the tip of her nose with her elbow to avoid touching it with her dirty gloves. She checked the workbook, and sat down with a satisfied sigh, happy that she’d trimmed her Dittany shrub without destroying the new growth. Perhaps she could get away with dozing off for the rest of the class.

“Ahh Blackthorn!” Professor Sprout boomed from the table in the corner, jolting Anwyn upright. “If you’ve finished your trimming could you give me a hand with these saplings?”

Given her lack of sleep, she’d much rather just sit and stare into space (or perhaps, more realistically, sit and worry about what she was going to say to Remus) but she wasn’t about to turn down her head of house, so Anwyn hopped to her feet and crossed the greenhouse, skirting the other chatting students as she went.

“You grab these two trays, there’s a good chap,” Sprout told her, indicating to the ones closest. We’re taking them to greenhouse one. A little bit of heat will get them started I dare say,”

Greenhouse one was indeed a great deal warmer, the humid air hitting Anwyn in the face like she’d just walked into an oven. She gingerly placed the seed trays down on the work surface where Sprout indicated, and wiped her muddy palms on the front of her apron, hoping that was the end of it.

“While I have you Blackthorn,” Sprout rounded on her, dashing her hopes. “I’ve been hearing muttering of you missing classes again. Is everything alright? Your cousins aren’t pestering you again are they?”

“N-no more than usual,” Anwyn stammered, caught off guard. “If it’s about Care of Magical Creatures, I fell on the way to class last week. Got covered in mud so I had to head back to clean up, that’s all,”

“Hmm…I’ve been led to believe it’s not just the one occasion,” Sprout replied, disapproval evident in her voice. “When was the last time you went to History of Magic for instance,”

“I— well I—,”

“Now, if your cousins are up to something—“

“It’s— it’s really not because of them,” Anwyn managed to reply, feeling her cheeks redden. “Sorry Professor. I’ll try and be more organised,”

Her head of house narrowed her eyes a little, looking up and down as if searching for signs of disease on an overgrown plant. Anwyn shuffled uncomfortably under her gaze, before hearing a frustrated harrumph.

“Well you don’t look any worse for ware, so I’ll take your word for it. Now, I know you’ve grown quite close with young Miss Nilsson, and I’m loathed to get in the way of young love—“

Oh just kill me know, please.

“But if she’s proving a distraction and I don’t hear about any improvements to your schooling, I’ll have to take it up with your mother—“

“Oh please no,” Anwyn said hurriedly, a thrill of panic bringing a shrill edge to her voice. “I haven’t told Mum yet—“

Sprout’s expression softened, and she let out a small sigh. “Perhaps your uncle then. Merlin know’s he’d want to hear if something were the matter—“

“No! No I— I’ll start paying more attention Professor, I promise,” she cringed. “Just— I’ll do better,”

Sprout pursed her lips, surveying her for a few more seconds before giving a curt nod.

“We’re in agreement then, I want to see full attention on your studies from now on. Now hurry along, and— oh Blackthorn do take those earrings out, they look dreadfully infected,” Sprout tutted, shaking her head.

She didn’t need told twice. Anwyn fled from greenhouse one before Sprout could unravel anything more incriminating than her throbbing ears.

When she returned to her station, Signe was lounging against the table, absently twirling her wand in her hand. Her ashy hair was pinned up in a messy bun, and she had a smudge of earth on her cheek, but she still was strikingly attractive, a fact that would have once made Anwyn a little short of breath. Instead she couldn’t help but notice other details. The bored expression, the mess of tools left scattered across the table for Anwyn to clear up. The way that she’s seemed to stand with her back to where Sarah and Russell were working, as if their company was not welcome, and it shot a surge of unease through Anwyn that had her frowning in response to the smirk that Signe sent her want when she spotted her.

“Did sprout have you shifting hippogriff dung or something?” She asked, eyeing Anwyn’s tight expression when she finally approached.

“She just pulled me up on all the classes I’ve been missing,” she muttered back. “I’m lucky I’m not spending the week in detention, we can’t keep skipping—“

“Oh come on, don’t tell me your worried about that glorified gardener,” Signe snickered, and before Anwyn knew it she felt a familiar flare of anger, this time one that she couldn’t quite contain.

“Professor Sprout isn’t just a gardener! And she’s got a point, it’s OWLs year, it is important! I need good grades this year otherwise I’m going to have apprentice with Filch for the rest of my life!”

“Alright, fucking hell Anwyn, I was just joking,”

“That’s just it, isn’t it, you’re always just joking! You don’t take any of this seriously! We can’t keep fucking up, and I don’t understand why you don’t care about any of this!”

Signe’s smirk slid from her face, her tone suddenly sharp. “I thought that’s what you wanted? You asked me how to stop giving a shit about stupid things, and what— that’s not good enough for you now? Are you sick of me or something?”

“No, that’— that’s not what I’m saying,” Anwyn whispered back, the bite gone from her voice. “I’m just—“

“I thought you liked hanging out with me,”

“I did— I do!” She quickly corrected herself. “I just— I just need to be careful alright? Like maybe we should just hang out during school hours, stop breaking curfew? If I get caught she’s going to write home and—”

“And you don’t want to disappoint dear Remus,” Signe finished for her, voice laden with sarcasm as she rolled her eyes. “Alright, alright, we’ll take a break from the midnight meetings. But I’m going to be bored as hell on that ship, I hope you know that,”

Anwyn let out a short sigh, and then began to gather the tools for cleaning, hoping that the busy work would stop Signe from seeing just how flustered the whole conversation had made her. The other girl was right, she had wanted this. But in the beginning her care free attitude had seemed impressive. Now it just ate away at Anwyn’s guilt.

“You know the question you should be asking?” Signe appeared at her side, but didn’t move to help. “How did she know about the classes. It’s not like the ghost will have noticed,”

“What are you saying?” Anwyn frowned. “Someone else told her?”

Signe moved her eyes ever so slightly to the right, a small tilt of the head angling in the direction of the other two Hufflepuffs. Sarah seemed to be completely absorbed in her trimming, but there was a little worry line between her brow that suggested she wasn’t exactly care free.

“Sarah?” Anwyn mouthed to Signe. “Really?”

She shrugged. “Who else?”

She had a point. Sarah had been very vocal from the start about her new extra curricular activities. But they were friends, surely she wouldn’t sell her out?

Perturbed, Anwyn scooped up the gathered tools and turned towards the cleaning station at the side of the room. Signe followed, sticking close to her heels.

“If we’re really going to stop hanging out at night then we should go out with a bang. I’ve got this place— I found it a few weeks back. I was going to save it for a special occasion, but if your forcing my hand…”

“I don’t know,” Anwyn said, uneasy. “The teachers are obviously on the lookout,”

“We won’t be out too late. And we could go tomorrow night seeing as it’s Friday. No classes to get to the next morning. Go on Anwyn, for me? It’s worth it, I promise,”

She fixed Anwyn with her most dazzling look, but this time it did little to enthral her. The guilt bubbled away in her instead, and it was that which decided her answer.

“Alright,” she said reluctantly. “One last adventure,”

“Brilliant,” Signe replied, grin widening. “You won’t regret it,”

———

The clock tower bell tolled for the eighth and final time, urging Anwyn to pick up the pace lest she be late. The tapestry was in an odd corner of the castle, one that she’d not had to venture to before, and judging by how empty the corridor was, no one else did either. In the flickering torchlight it truly felt like she was alone. In any other night she would have taken that as a good sign, but after Sprout her nerves were feeling frayed at the edges. It seemed that no secret could be kept at Hogwarts without her finding herself in trouble. Perhaps these night time wanders really should stop.

But then again, Signe had made her feel particularly bad about giving them up. And there her destination lay, just ahead.

The tapestry Signe had told her to look for was fairly nondescript at first glance; a pleasant image of a mother holding a young girls hand, both standing on a bold capital K which she presumed was the family crest. Trees and bushes framed them, and on closer look she could see multiple intricately stitched birds dotting the foliage. It was pretty, but as of yet she had no idea why she’d been invited here.

Touch the tapestry, Signe has told her. As simple as that.

“Alright,” Anwyn said out loud, unconvinced. “Here it goes,”

She had expected the cloth to press back against the wall, but the surface gave way beneath her fingers, stiffening and swinging forward as if it were a door. The opening it left was just wide enough for one person, and beyond lay a long, dark corridor, lit only sparsely by intermittent torches.

“Not creepy at all,” she muttered, taking a hesitant step inside.

“BOO!”

The strangled scream that left Anwyn’s lips gave way to nervous laughter as she pressed a hand to her collarbone, feeling her racing heart underneith. Signe stepped out from the shadows, wand illuminating her face from below, and let out a sharp burst of a laugh.

“Your face! Did you think I was some sort of beast waiting to pounce?”

“No,” Anwyn replied, on the defensive. “You just startled me. Anyone would scream if someone jumped out of the dark at them,”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Signe rolled her eyes, smirking.

“It’s true! Especially in a creepy hallway like this,”

She peered past the other girl into the gloom, trying to see as far as possible. The other end of the path lay in dark shadow, and at each pinprick of light stood a large, hulking shape that’s form she could quite make out. Her overly active imagination was quite happy to fill in the gaps.

“Close your eyes,”

She shot Signe a suspicious look. “Why?”

“I told you, it’s a surprise,” she stuck her wand behind her ear, sending the light bouncing oddly across the walls, and then stepped behind Anwyn, cool hands coming around to cover her eyes. “Don’t worry. I won’t let you walk into anything,”

“If you do, I’ll step on your toes,”

“Shh. Stop complaining, start walking,”

The corridor felt impossibly long. Scared that she’d trip, she shuffled her feet the entire way, the flagstones feeling gritty with dust beneath her feet.

“How did you find this?” Anwyn asked.

“Just wandering. I was bored when you were helping the golden boy and Ander’s wouldn’t shut up about his latest girlfriend so I decided to go exploring again. I just kind of happened upon it,”

After what felt like an age, her hands brushed something in front of her, and she flinched away from it, only just managing to stop another squeal from escaping her throat. What was it, spider web? A net? A great big monster made of threads?

“You’re fine,” Signe snickered behind her. “It’s another tapestry, just push through,”

Anwyn reached a tentative hand out, and sure enough the texture below her was suddenly obvious, just the soft if slightly dusty texture of cloth. She found the edge, pulling it to the side and stepped through. The hands left her face, and she felt Signe step away.

“You can open your eyes,”

Anwyn cracked an eye open, followed by the other. The light was dim, the room illuminated only by flickering sconces, but she could see great tapestries draped across the walls, spread floor to ceiling with a quite frankly awe inspiring level of detail.

“Aren’t they amazing,” Signe said softly beside her. “It’s a sequence. Each one tells a portion of the story,”

“A nice, fluffy romance?” Anwyn asked, voice wavering.

Signe turned to her, eyes flashing as a mischievous smile spread across her face. “More like a horror. Look, it starts here, with the newborn,”

The first tapestry showed a family gathered around a cot, babe wrapped in blankets. They appeared to be in some sort of forest, a tent erected behind them and plants growing at their feet.

“The mother goes walking,” Signe continues, moving onto the next tapestry. “But returns injured,”

The scene was once again outside of the tent, but the woman looked distressed, with figures gathered around her as they bandaged her bleeding arm. Anwyn squinted up at the tapestry in the poor light, trying to make out the details.

“They return home, where on the full moon, the nature of her injury is revealed,”

Her stomach plummeted. The silver orb hung about the parapets of the castle, and through the gates ran the woman, half human, half wolf, chased at her heels by wizards on horses with hunting dogs. She wanted to look away, to run away, but her gaze was locked on the tapestry.

“They chased her to the forest, dogs snapping at her legs and wizards firing spells to ward off the monster,”

A panicked looking wolf amongst the trees. An angry, murderous mob, snarling dogs. Nausea choked up Anwyn’s throat, her heart racing. The smell of the musty old shack, screaming, cracking, breaking.

“And there she remained, never to return to her daughter, left to wander alone,”

A lone werewolf outside the castle walls, howling at the moon while the baby, now a little girl, stood at the window. Anwyn could feel tears pricking at her eyes as her chest tightened.

“And finally…” Signe announced, with a kind of triumphant, savage glee. “Here she is,”

They turned to the last wall where a marble statue sat. A dark figure loomed over them, and as Signe raised her wand, Anwyn had a horrifying realisation that she already knew what they would find. Her imagination was nothing compared to the real thing however.

Great, elongated limbs. A hideous, stretched snout, fangs protruding from dark gums as it froze in a snarl. Ragged, scraggly fur carved perfectly in stone, and talons that looked like they could rip the skin clean off the bone. And the eyes. There was something hauntingly human about the eyes.

Her stomach rolled, and she pressed a hand to her mouth, desperate to stop the rising gorge in her throat. Was this— was this what he became? Merlin it was horrific, the changes involved, the pain— so monstrous and yet so recognisably human—

“Well?” Signe said expectantly. “What do you think? Best find yet?”

Anwyn let out a humourless laugh that was something close to a sob. “What do I think? I think I’m a fucking idiot,”

“What—“

“Did my cousins put you up to this?” She asked voice wobbling. “Has this all been some kind of a joke?”

“What— Anwyn what the fuck are you talking about?”

“You brought me here on purpose! To— to fuck with me? Am I that pathetic to you? After everything— after everything I’ve told you about last year, it was all just a— another game to try and break me?”

Signe shook her head. “Of course not, I just thought you’d like—“

“I’d like what? To see what sort of ‘monster’ he becomes?” She quoted in the air, fingers a sharp jab. Her voice was riding in volume, disgust quickly giving way to a deep, hot rage. “Is this why you didn’t want to meet him? Why you didn’t like him? Because you’ve known all along, it had nothing to do with that sob story about your Dad,”

“Anwyn, will you just—“

“Because it could never be about me, could it?” She was crying properly now, hot angry tears pouring down her cheeks. “It was never because you liked me, or you wanted to spend time with me. I knew it made no sense but still I went along with it because I’m a fucking idiot! You were only ever interested in using him to fuck with me!”

“Who!?” Signe’s voice was rising to meet hers. “Who are you talking about—“

“Who do you think?! Remus!” She bellowed.

Signe screwed her face up. “What has your uncle got to do with any of this—“ She froze, mid sentence, and then her eyes widened, recognition sweeping over her face and Anwyn knew that she’d been wrong, that this had all been a terrible coincidence, and somehow Signe did not know about her family secret.

But she did now.

“Your uncle.” Signe said, deadpan, glancing at the marble statue. “Is one of them?”

There was a beat of silence as she turned to look at the frozen beast, and then Anwyn replied slowly, quietly, eyes fixed on her feet. “If by one of them, you mean he has lycanthropy, then yes,”

Signe let out a slow breath between her teeth. “That’s— oh thats fucked up,”

Anwyn’s head shot back to look at the other girl. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean he’s a fucking werewolf Anwyn, they’re…they’re dangerous! Father says—“

“Since when did you give a fuck about what your father says?” She spat back, voice rising once more.

“Since the topic of discussion is something we’d cover in Dark Arts class! What else haven’t you told me? Are you one yourself?” Signe retorted.

“No, no of course not—“ Anwyn started to protest, but then felt an immediate flare of anger at the girls tone. “Would it be a problem? If I was?”

Signe didn’t reply. That was answer enough.

Anwyn started to back towards the door. “You know what? Go fuck yourself—“

“Anwyn— I didn’t mean— it’s just—”

“No, I don’t want to hear it. Just stay the fuck away from me!”

“Look, let’s just talk about this—“ Signe’s hands were raised as if trying to placate her, beg her to stay, but it only served to anger her further.

“I said FUCK OFF!”

There was an almighty crack, and at first she thought it was her voice bouncing off the walls, until she looked around to find the tapestries on the wall all billowing out the way as if caught in a gale. Signe turned on the spot, watching as each of the massive woven artworks began to pull at their mountings, creaking and groaning as they grew taught before lashing back down again.

“What are you doing— stop it,” she snapped at Anwyn, but for the first time since they’d met, there was a hint of what sounded like fear in her voice. “What the fuck is wrong with you, cut it out!”

“I’m not—“ Anwyn began, cowering back as the first tapestry pulled taught once more, a shower of dust reigning down as a its mounting popped from the bracket at one side. “I didn’t mean to—“

Fuck. Oh fuck, she was doing it again.

Anwyn ran. Through the tapestry at the doorway, into the long dark corridor. The sconces flickered past her as she went, statues rearing out of the dark at her, great snarling beasts with claws raking the air, an entire hallway of werewolves that had been hidden by Signe’s hands. She let out a panicked whine and sped up.

She didn’t stop running until she was through the fake tapestry door, past the twisting turning corridors and into the clocktower atrium, the great swinging pendulum groaning overhead.

Notes:

So what do we think? Was Signe in league with the twins all along, or was this just a innocent misunderstanding?

The minute I found the werewolf tapestry room in Hogwarts Legacy, I knew I had to have Anwyn visit it. Some details of the tapestries are slightly different, mainly just to have more of an impactful story for her, but hopefully the feeling of this weird little room is still there. I realise this was made up as a puzzle for the game, but I do have to wonder what the implications of Remus finding this while he and his friends mapped the school would have been.

Chapter 29: Fourth Page News

Summary:

CW: very brief comment alluding to self harm, no actual scenes or intent

It was some time before noon on Saturday before Anwyn resurfaced from a deep, haunted sleep. Her dreams had been full of towering statues, all teeth and claws with horrific screams and cries echoing down never ending corridors. She had startled awake when Annabelle’s cat had jumped onto her bed, and realised that the other girls were already up and moving around the room, chatting about homework, boys, the usual routine. She huffed out a long sigh, stretching, and rubbed at her eyes.

“Wakey wakey sleepy head,” Sarah plopped herself down on the end of the bed beside the cat, the whole thing jostling. “We’re going to watch the boys mess about at the Quidditch pitch. Are you coming? I guess you can bring Signe if you want,”

At the mention of the Durmstrang girl her heart ached, throat already closing up. “No,” she managed to croak out. “I’m good, you go on without me,”

“Alright, suit yourself,”

She burrowed down further under the covers, hiding her face as the tears swiftly came. What an idiot. What an absolute idiot. Did she really think that it would have worked out? That she deserved someone like Signe? No she’d been kidding herself. And this pain, this ache that filled up her chest was punishment for having ever tried.

Saturday disappeared, a slow trickle of hours that she spent floating somewhere between dreams and reality. If Sarah was surprised to still find her in bed when she returned, Anwyn didn’t know. She’d refused to poke her head out of the cover, face sticky with tears as they sink into the pillow, too wrapped up in misery to care.

Would this be her life? Constantly hiding her family’s secret until it leaked out and tainted whatever brief snatches of romance she’d somehow managed to wrangle? Would this judgement hang over her forever? Or was she doomed to never find that person who would truly understand her? Always detached from the world.

Always alone.

It certainly felt like it in that moment.

———

Sunday wasn’t much better, though the sorrow had been joined by anger. She’d lain awake half of the night going over the werewolf tapestry room in her head, analysing every word they’d shared, trying to recall the exact look on Signe’s face when the penny had dropped, and it only served to fuel the flames.

Your uncle is one of them?

How dare she. How fucking dare she judge when her own family didn’t even care about each other, when she’d come from a house with its very own library, ornamental gardens and house elf? What did she know about hardship other than Daddy not giving her attention? Nothing, she knew absolutely nothing.

“Anwyn?” Came a tentative voice. “Are you alright? Did something happen?”

Sarah had evidently crept back to the room after breakfast. So now she was paying attention. Funny, when Anwyn had returned on Friday night, needing nothing more than a hug and a friendly ear, Sarah had been too busy devouring Russell’s face in the common room to even notice. Well she could just piss off too.

Her fingers were clamped around the duvet, knuckles actually in pain from the tightened of the grip. She didn’t bother to draw it back from her head.

“Leave me alone. I don’t want to talk about it,”

Silence for a second, and then Sarah spoke up again. “Is it Signe? She was looking for you at breakfast—“

“I said I don’t want to talk about it!” She snapped back, but the mention of the girl had her eyes burning again and her voice thickening.

She strained her ears, waiting for another comment but none came. Instead there was the soft pad of feet on the floor, followed by the door to their room clicking shut.

Good. She didn’t want to talk. What did Sarah understand of it anyway? She’d barely been there all year, if it wasn’t for her, Anwyn might not have had to befriend Signe. If it wasn’t for her, maybe none of this would have happened.

Thats a lie. All of this is your fault. You deserve it. You can’t get anything right.

She let out a whine, clamping her hands over her ears as if it would help, and curled into a tighter ball.

———

“Right. Get up. Now,”

The duvet ripped from Anwyn’s head in a sudden rush of cold air, and she groaned, lifting her pillow and stuffing it over her head instead.

“Piss off,” she muttered from under it.

Sarah either didn’t hear her or didn’t care, because they next thing she knew the pillow had been ripped from her grasp as well.

“Come on Anwyn. You’ve been rotting in bed all weekend, I’m not letting you miss any classes,”

“Just give me the pillow back or smother me,” she growled, trying in vain to press her head into the mattress. It didn’t little to hide the light, or Sarah’s disapproving huff.

“Look, I don’t know what she’s done, but you can’t avoid her forever. You have to see her at some point,”

“I beg to differ,” Anwyn finally raised her head. “In fact I’m planning on never seeing her stupid, perfect face again. I’m running away,”

“No, you’re getting up and going to breakfast,” Sarah snapped. “Or I’m getting Sprout. You’ve got five minutes,”

She marched from the room, leaving Anwyn shivering without her duvet and becoming increasingly convinced that running away had been the better option.

She’d briefly considered it. It had been an errant thought, one that had creeped up on her as she’d shuffled back through the corridors on Friday night. Perhaps she’d walk down to the village and beg Remus to sleep on the sofa, or perhaps she’d disappear into the hills, become a hermit. It was a ridiculous idea of course. For one thing, she didn’t like the cold, and living in a cave as a vagabond would definitely involve its fair share of freezing her arse off. And there was no question of her going to Remus. For one thing, she’d realised with a pang of guilt, she’d never followed up on her bitter response to him, and to turn up on his doorstep would require a reason to be given. One that she would never tell him.

But the moment she set foot through the doors of the great hall, she regretted leaving her bed at all. Signe was waiting at Hufflepuff table in their usual spot, and her head turned as Anwyn entered. If she didn’t know her any better, Anwyn would have sworn that the Durmstrang girl looked nervous. Her stomach gave an enormous churning roll, heart feather light in her chest, and she turned on the spot, sure that she was about to puke in front of the whole hall.

Fuck, fuck, she couldn’t do this. She couldn’t breath, couldn’t even look back into the hall, what if—

“Blackthorn—“ boomed the voice of her head of house, and for a panicked moment she thought Sarah had been good to her word and summoned Sprout. But the herbology teacher was looking at her with a bemused expression, muddy apron telling Anwyn that she’d already been seeing to her plants this morning.

“Sorry Professor?” She asked weakly, realising she hadn’t taken in a word.

Sprout, frowned, looking mildly exasperated. “I said you’re looking ghastly. Are you feeling quite alright?”

An out. She’s been been given an out, a miracle. “I’m actually feeling a bit sick,” she mumbled. “Not sure if I’ve picked something up,”

Sprout’s frown deepened, and then she sighed. “I have heard there’s an odd spate of illnesses going about. Vomiting, nosebleeds, feinting first years all over the place. Off to the hospital wing with you. I’ll let your teachers know,”

Anwyn gave a quick nod, and then hurried off before Sprout could change her mind.

———

She survived Monday and Tuesday with Promfrey’s good graces and a few mild pick me up tonics that she’d been forced to swallow despite her protests, but by Wednesday morning the nurse had lost any sympathy she might have had. She took one look at Anwyn, pursed her lips, and then pointed back out of the hospital wing door.

“Back to class I’m afraid Blackthorn,” she said giving Anwyn a knowing look down her nose. “Nausea I can heal, but a broken heart you‘ll have to fix on your own. Go on, off with you,”

And so she couldn’t escape it any longer. She’d have to face her. With each step down into the dungeons, Anwyn’s dread grew. Her mood darkened along with the passageway, until she finally stood on the bottom step in that strange half light that was thrown by the sconces, and had to take a few moments to calm her breathing. Perhaps potions would be an adequate distraction. Snape at least kept a silent classroom, and she could focus on the instructions, give her mind something to dive into for a few hours at least.

The class was almost full when she arrived, though it hadn’t yet started. To her disappointment, Signe was already seated at their table, and there were little other options unless she fancied partnering up with the Slytherin. After a moment of hesitation at the door, she reluctantly stalked to her seat.

“Should she really be allowed near potions?” Silas asked his table loudly as she passed. “She’s quite mad after all, surely that’s a danger to us all?”

Anwyn’s cheeks began to heat, and she kept her head down as she slid into her stool. Had Signe told them about her losing control? Or was it just a well timed jab? She wouldn’t find out, as Snape chose that moment to sweep into the room.

“That will be enough idle chatter,” he drawled, though Anwyn was sure that if it had been a Hufflepuff talking they’d have lost house points already. “Today we will be brewing Invigoration Draughts. This will of course be a graded assignment so pay attention. Begin,”

Anwyn could see Signe looking at her out of the corner of her eye, and she made a pointed attempted to turn her entire body towards the board, determined not to acknowledge her in anyway. She was already rattled enough without having any interaction with the girl.

“Anwyn,” Signe whispered.

She ignored it, scooping a handful of stewed mandrake onto her cutting board. Small pieces, diced, the finer the better, she told herself, envisaging the page in her textbook. Her knife was sharp, a fresh edge in it, and it pared through the mandrake with ease. This was simple, easy. She could do this.

“Where have you been? I’ve been worried about you,”

Again, she gave no answer. How many mandrake roots would she need? Two? Three?

“Will you not even talk to me?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she ground out through her teeth, though her voice shook. The mandrake slipped out from her grasp, and she repositioned it, taking a deep breath.

“Listen, I really didn’t know alright, I’m sorry it took me by surprise, that’s all—“

“I said I don’t want to talk about it,” she hissed back with a little more bite. The knife slid through the root again, but her cuts were poor, uneven. She swore under her breath and tried again.

“Look, I’m sure your uncle isn’t that bad, it’s just—“

The knife slid off the greasy surface of the root, the tip cutting a hot red line into the tip of her finger. At first it was just a sharp shock that had her giving a hiss of surprise, and then the blood began to bloom and well along the wound she’d carved into her finger tip.

“Shit—“ she uttered, dropping the knife and wrapping the fingers of her other hand around the wound. Blood oozed out between her finger tips.

“Blackthorn are you incapable of something as simple as preparing your ingredients without harming yourself?” Snape sneered, his lips curling in a cruel smirk.

“It— it just slipped sir,” she pressed harder on her fingers, willing the bleeding to stop. “It’ll be fine in a minute, I can finish the lesson—“

“And have you bleeding all over the classroom? I think not. Take yourself to Madame Pomfrey and get it seen to,”

“But—“

“Now Blackthorn. And that’s ten points from Hufflepuff for your carelessness,”

Anwyn ground her teeth together but didn’t attempt to argue, slipping off her stool. She shot Signe a murderous glance, and the Durmstrang girl sent her an apologetic look back that only served to make her angrier. This was all her fault.

She was half way to the door when another voice piped up.

“I’m not surprised she’s been cutting herself,” Sorrell declared. “I’ve heard a lot of crazy people do it as a cry for attention,”

Her breath caught in her throat, and to her horror, her eyes began to sting. She took the last few steps towards the door as quickly as she could without running, hearing laughter behind her followed by a swift but lazy reprimand by Snape.

Madame Pomfrey was not happy to see her. In fact her severe glare was enough to have Anwyn wondering if there was anyway she could just heal the finger herself. The sight of the blood made her a little woozy though, so she sat down on the chair in the nurses office as directed.

“Really Miss Blackthorn, this is quite enough. I humoured your complaints of feeling faint, gave you the benefit of the doubt, but if this is another attempt to get out of class—“

“It’s not Madame Pomfrey, honestly,” she said, perching on the edge of her seat. “It was an accident—“

“Did you do this to yourself on purpose? Should I be concerned?”

“What? No—“

“Really Miss Blackthorn, I must take possible incidents of self harm seriously,” she said, the severity lessoning in her voice. “And after lake last year—“

“My knife slipped,” Anwyn cut her off, surprised at how firm how voice sounded when she was inwardly quaking. “Thats all it was. An accident,”

For the second time that day, the healer pursed her lips, fixing Anwyn with a hard stare, before tutting. She squeezed the dropper in her hand, and Anwyn hissed through her teeth as the ditany soaked into her cut.

“I can’t be too careful,” Madame Pomfrey said. “And after I read the Prophet today…well it’s not worth talking about is it. Just gossip. Now, on you go. A good, healthy lunch will help any left over nerves.

She shooed Anwyn from the infirmary before she could ask just exactly what she’d read in the Prophet, or why it had concerned her so. She didn’t have long to wait, as it turned out. Harry was waiting for her in the Great Hall.

“Have you seen the Prophet?” he asked, voice grim. He’d waved her over as soon as she’d arrived in the great hall, but not before she’d noticed other eyes following her from all tables.

She shook her head. “I skipped breakfast. Why?”

He didn’t reply, folding the newspaper back on itself and slapping it down onto the table beside him. She slid onto the bench, scanning the columns until he tapped at the title half way down the page.

HARRY POTTER SHELLSHOCKED BY NEWS OF GODFATHER’S AFFAIR

Just days after Harry Potter’s supporters found out about his heartbreak at the hands of Miss Hermione Granger, it appears that the boy’s ill fortunes yet to end. Fresh from the wounds of his betrayal, now Harry Potter must deal with the sordid revelations coming to light about his Godfather, Sirius Black.

Readers may recall that Black was once romantically involved with disgraced Hogwarts Professor Remus Lupin. Sources can reveal that this romantic liaison has once again been ignited by the flames of passion, with the couple spotted leaving notoriously shady Hogsmeade establishment The Hogshead. It seems that Harry Potter can no longer avoid the presence of such dangerous characters in his life, but what impact might this have on the young boy?

Concerned followers need look no further than Lupin’s own niece, the young Miss Anwinn Blackthorn, who when questioned at Black’s trial suffered from a bought of hysteria, and had to led from the court. And it appears her emotional distress does not stop there. Witnesses spotted the Miss Blackthorn suffering a similar attack of nerves at the second Triwizard Task.

“She’s quite insane,” An anonymous student told the Prophet. “Nearly sank the boat from what I heard. Not surprising really, she did grow up with a werewolf after all. That would be enough to drive anyone crazy,”

What trauma, readers may ask, will Harry Potter be subjected to? Having suffered such great tragedy, it seems terribly unfair that a defenceless boy such as himself may find his sanity eroded away in a similar manner to Miss Blackthorn’s. One can only hope that the support from his followers helps him to endure these trying times.

“What the fuck,” she uttered, grip tightening on the paper. After the week she’d had, it felt like someone had spotted her struggling to tread water, and instead of helping had chucked a rock at her head. “How— why?”

“I dunno,” Harry replied glumly. “But it’s only a matter of time before the whole school is talking about it,”

“Do you think it’s true?” Ron asked from where he sat across the table.”About Remus and Sirius?”

“It doesn’t matter if it is, it’s no one’s business!” Anwyn replied, slamming the paper down on the table. “They don’t deserve this, they should just be able to— to get on with their lives and—“

Her voice broke and she cut herself off, pressing the heel of her hand to her mouth. Focus on the anger. Focus on that rage, focus on anything other than what had been written about her fractured sanity.

“What she wrote about you is horrible,” Hermione said gently, as if reading her thoughts. “It’s one thing writing about teens love lives but dragging their mental health into it…”

“She didn’t even spell my name right,” Anwyn replied weakly, her attempt at a jest doing little to chase the sick feeling in her chest. She looked at Harry. “Have you heard from Sirius?”

“Not yet. Not sure what I’m going to write to be honest,”

She gave a glum nod in response. What could she write that would even begin to cover what needed to be said? On one hand, her immediate reaction was to write to Remus, to check he was alright and send her own furious reassurances and remarks on Skeeter’s character. On the other hand, the topic of her uncle’s love life was possibly one of the most awkward conversations she could imagine having with him. How on earth did you start that discussion? “Hey, heard you and Sirius were snogging in Hogsmeade, congrats”? No that wouldn’t do at all.

Perhaps it was for the best that she’d fallen out with Signe, she thought morosely, picking up a pork pie that was destined to be nibbled on and then forgotten. If they’d still been talking this whole thing would have been even worse. There was no way the Durmstrang girl would have avoided the news this time, not with the stares already sent Anwyn’s way. At least this spaced the misery out.

She looked up, glancing around the hall to try and gauge how far around the school it had gotten. The Slytherins had multiple copies of the Prophet circling the table. There were a few across the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables too, and even the Gryffindors were shooting Harry odd, if sympathetic, looks.

Yes, it was going to be a long day indeed.

———

Ghost Island by Norman Shade. How Centuries of Hauntings Have Shaped Wizarding Britain.

Interest piqued, Remus flipped through the book from back to front, giving the text a quick skim. The writing seemed sound, an interesting take on a subject he hadn’t visited in a while, and he’d enjoyed Shade’s work on the poltergeist hotspots of Paris. How anyone got any work done in that city was beyond him.

He stopped at the chapter listing, raising an eyebrow at the mention of the different cultural practices when dealing with hauntings. Yes, it was certainly a promising find. He turned to check the inside cover, and that was when the disappointment set in. Two galleons. He didn’t have that kind of money to burn.

He weighed the book in his hand, torn, and then produced the skinnier volume he’d tucked under his arm. It was an old second hand primer on potion making with magical beasts in mind, in good condition and a rare find at that. He’d intended on putting it away for Anwyn’s birthday. She’d probably find it fascinating. He jammed Ghost Island back on the shelf and headed to the front desk before he could make any ill advised financial decisions.

Flourish and Blotts was busier than he’d expected for a random Wednesday in late February, and by the time he’d paid there was already a queue forming behind him. Sirius, he spotted, was right at the back, a basket of books hooked over his forearm. He gave Remus a lopsided smile and a wave, and Remus indicated towards the door in what he hoped was an obvious message that he’d wait outside.

Diagon Alley had seemed impossible busy after weeks of roaming the streets of sleepy Hogsmeade. When Sirius had suggested a trip down to London, he’d jumped at the chance, hoping to avoid the odd looks that he was unfortunately growing accustomed to in the little village.

They’d started at Gringotts, the main reason for their trip. It had been some time since Sirius had actually taken stock of his finances, of which there was a sizeable pile nearly pouring out of the vault at Gringotts. So sizeable in fact, that it had been kept in one of the high security vaults in the pits of the bank, a good half hour of tumbling and twisting cavern from the surface. Remus had nearly swallowed his own tongue when he’d seen the heap of galleons and priceless artefacts that stretched out of sight into the gloom. It was perhaps more money than he’d ever seen in his entire life put together, and Sirius had seemed almost bashful, clearing his throat before producing his wand.

“Well I don’t fancy getting lost in there, let’s just…accio deed,”

A scroll of paper had rattled from the drawer of an antique grimoire, shooting through the golden debris towards them. Sirius gingerly unfurled it, a small tarnished key falling out into his hand.

“There it is then,” he muttered, reading the minuscule text. “Grimmauld is mine. The old bat will be turning in her grave,”

Her was silent for a second, brow furrowed as he looked down at the deed in his hand, but Remus couldn’t miss how tight his jaw was. He placed a tentative hand on Sirius’ back, and the other man finally looked up, giving him a half hearted smile.

“Bit of a surprise really. Always thought it would go to Reg,” His voice sounded hollow, forced, and he swallowed hard, not meeting Remus’ eye.

“Are you alright?” Remus asked quietly.

Sirius cleared his throat, giving a quick nod. “Yeah. Yeah I’m fine. Let’s just…let’s head back to the surface. I think I’ve got what I came for,”

He’d been quiet on the carriage ride back through the caves, though he looked far more comfortable at the high speeds than Remus certainly felt, but as they stepped out onto the street he’d given a deep sigh, straightening up, and then had returned to his usual self. Remus hadn’t pressed the subject again, choosing instead to indulge the other man’s whims, dipping in and out of shops until his feet had begun to ache. The apothecary to stock up on some potions before the moon that week, the quidditch supply shop to browse new gloves for Harry, even the owl emporium where Sirius had nearly left with a handsome looking eagle owl until the bird had given his fingers a harsh nip, drawing blood, and he’d declared the Hogsmeade post office as sufficient for his current needs.

And so that led them to the bookshop, usually Remus’ favourite haunt, but today he wasn’t quite feeling it. Perhaps it was the approaching moon, but he couldn’t quite shake the paranoid feeling that even here, in Diagon Alley, his presence was drawing looks. He’d happened upon a gossiping pair of witches down one of the bookshop aisles that had stopped talking the moment he’d appeared, and now, standing outside of the shop, he could have sworn that a wrinkly old wizard was shooting him off looks from across the street.

The door to Flourish and Blotts swung open, bell ringing, and Sirius stepped out, paper bag tucked under one arm. He looked up and down the street until he spotted Remus where he stood against the window.

“Got everything?” He asked, and Remus gave a nod in response. “Good, I’m famished,”

They fell into step, swerving a woman with a crying toddler and started down the street towards The Leaky Cauldron. A couple in matching vermilion robes strolled past in the opposite direction, and the wife elbowed her husband in the ribs before giving a poorly hidden nod towards them.

“Have you noticed anyone behaving…oddly?” Remus asked Sirius under his breath.

The other man screwed up his face as he thought. “More than usual? Cant say I have. Why, what do you mean?”

“I just feel like we’re being watched. Or perhaps not watched but noticed,” he gave a shake of his head. “Maybe it’s just me being paranoid. You know how my head gets close to the…well you know,”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Sirius frowned. “That so called paranoia saved my skin on multiple occasions. If something is putting you on edge I’m inclined to listen to it,” he scanned the street for a second, still walking casually but with a subtle tense posture that probably only Remus knew to look for. When he spoke again his voice was quieter. “Do you think we’re in trouble?”

Remus considered his question for a second, and then shook his head. “Not trouble per say…we’re just drawing more attention than I’d expect,”

“Hmm. Let’s see if we can get a table with our backs to the wall. Just in case,”

They sequestered themselves in the back corner of the pub, ordering two huge plates of fish and chips and a butter beer each, and made quiet conversation while surveying the room, an old habit that they fell back into as easily as breathing. When the food finally arrived, Remus began to relax. There had been the odd stare sent their way, but nothing particularly threatening. Perhaps Sirius was still just a famous sight in London.

The tables previous occupant had left their copy of the Prophet, and he dragged it towards him, chewing absently on a chip as he skimmed the headlines; a wizard arrested for selling ‘good luck charms’ to muggles that were in reality just cursed to put them into a deep, dreamfilled sleep. Two American witches travelling around the world by broomstick. Bertha Jorkins, still missing, the ministry close to giving up. He read that particular story in detail before flipping to the next page and freezing.

HARRY POTTER SHELLSHOCKED BY NEWS OF GODFATHER’S AFFAIR

“Oh Merlin,” he uttered, and Sirius looked up from his fish.

“What?”

“I think I’ve found the source of why we’re the centre of attention once more,”

He ploughed on through the article and by the time he’d finished the last paragraph, whatever positivity he’d started the day with had completely leeched out of him, leaving an empty shell behind. He folded the newspaper back on itself, passing it to Sirius without looking before sitting forward and putting his head in his hands.

“Fucking hag,” he heard Sirius mutter after a few moments of rustling paper. “I can take the pot shots at me, but poor Wyn…the woman is heartless,”

Remus finally sat up just as Sirius slammed the paper down on the table in front of them, but he didn’t reply, instead giving a feint nod. His head was spinning, like someone had flipped the entire room upside down while he clung to his seat, and when he finally opened his mouth to speak he couldn’t quite find the volume needed.

“Sirius…” he started to utter, but was immediately cut off.

“Oh no you don’t, don’t you dare apologise!”

“But—“

“No, no I won’t hear it,” he leaned suddenly forward across the table, grasping him tightly by the hand. “This is not your fault Remus. Not one bit,”

But it was. The whole thing, every bit of it. The kiss in the street, the association with a monster adding another black mark against Sirius’ name. Anwyn. Hell, had she read this yet? Had her classmates?

A small part of him, a sensible voice hidden somewhere in his brain recognised that he was spiralling, recognised the onset of panic, the racing of his heart and the odd, cold spreading through his limbs, the numbness. The animal part of him screamed over that sensible voice. It told him to run, to fight, to gnaw at the trap that held his ankle tight.

Remus pulled his hand from Sirius’ grip, and climbed to his feet so quickly that his chair toppled behind him.

“Let’s go,” he said sharply, dully registering the faint look of shock that flickered over Sirius’ face.

“Alright”, Sirius rose slowly. “Let’s head back,”

His feet had barely touched the ground, head still spinning from the floo network’s frantic twists and turns before he was taking the steps to their suite two at a time. The scuffling in the passage behind him told him that Sirius was hurrying to keep up, but he paid it no mind, the door to their sitting room rattling open with a shove so harsh that it nearly bounced off the wall.

“C’mon Moony—“ Sirius urged him, shutting the door with far more care than it had been opened with. “It’s not that bad—“

“Of course it’s bad, it’s a fucking nightmare!” he interrupted as he started to pace in front of the fire. “I can’t— we can’t do this, I knew it was a terrible idea—“

“What do you mean?”

“This,” he motioned between the two of them. “Us. Whatever it is we think we’re doing here, it’s not going to work,”

Sirius may have looked less shocked if he’d been slapped. He froze by the door, the colour draining from his face, and Remus found he could no longer look him in the eye.

“Why?” Sirius croaked. “What have I done—“

“You haven’t done anything, it’s entirely my fault—“ “

Sirius scoffed. “Oh, the old ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ routine, charming,”

“It’s nothing like that! We’re not kids anymore Sirius, we can’t keep fooling ourselves that this can work. It’s not fair on you for one thing,” he rubbed at his eyes, exasperated. “I have no job. No income. I’m practically homeless for Merlin’s sake! Until last year I could at least scrape by unnoticed, but all hope of that went out the window the minute my secret got out. And now the Prophet will take every opportunity shout about what I am,”

“I don’t care about any of that, I’ve never cared about any of that,” Sirius stalked forward, grasping into the back of the armchair in front of him with fingers so tight his knuckles were white. “You saw the vault, money is no object—“

“It’s not just the money! It’s— it’s everything else that goes with it. The reputation. The shame. You’ve barely just gotten back on your feet and now what, I’m supposed to just drag you back into the gutter with me?” He gave a humourless, self deprecating laugh. “I think not,”

“Then why did you kiss me?” Sirius shot back, voice sharp.

“What?”

“If you’re so adamant that I should have nothing to do with you, why did you kiss me?”

“Because—“ he found himself floundering, the answer on the tip of his tongue but he just couldn’t seem to spit it out. “Because— I— it was a spur of the moment decision and I— I— was drunk and—,”

With every word Sirius’ face was morphing from a look of hurt to an incredulous glare. When he spoke it was short and sharp, an intense bite, eyes dark.

“No, fuck that, fuck you and fuck your excuses!” He jabbed a finger in Remus’ direction. “I know that’s not right. You forget how well I know you, I can tell when you’re lying so how about we cut the bullshit? Why the sudden change of heart? I thought we were on the same page here—“

“Because look at me Sirius!” Remus all but roared, jabbing a savage hand at his own chest. He was faintly aware of the stinging in the corners of his eyes, the tightness of his chest, but it was like something had finally unleashed in him. “I am a sad, washed up old man! I have nothing to offer you. Nothing! I just— I don’t understand what you could possibly see in me!”

Sirius’ reply, in contrast, was so quiet he almost missed it. In fact if it hadn’t been for the haunted look that he was receiving, he might have thought he’d dreamt it up completely.

“Home,”

Remus blinked rapidly. “What?” He asked, voice choked.

“Home,” Sirius repeated. “When I left that morning it’s like I— I left half of myself behind. When I shut my eyes in that cell and thought of home, it was you I saw. Your voice I heard,”

Remus was silent, his words stolen completely. His legs felt like jelly under him, and he reached a hand out to clasp at the mantle piece should they give out completely.

Sirius’ head dipped, dark hair falling in front of his face as his voice shook. “I know I fucked up. I know I left you, and I don’t deserve to ask anything of you, but I don’t think I’ll ever be truly myself without you. You’ve left this— this mark on me and I’d hoped…I’d hoped I’d done the same to you but maybe I’ve gotten this all wrong,” he looked up, fixing Remus with those grey eyes, brimming and intense. “Say you still feel it. Or tell me I’m imagining things, either way, put me out of my misery here Moony,”

“Of course I still— but I don’t understand— why?” he asked, his voice tight. “You could go anywhere. Be with anyone. I’m…I’m not even worth your time— I’m nothing—,”

“Remus. You are everything,” Sirius said simply, and he could see in his eyes that he meant it. “There is no place I would want to go if you weren’t there. There’s no one I’d want to be with other than you. I have loved you, every day with every fibre of my being. Do you, or do you not feel the same?”

“Of course I love you,” he replied, almost a whisper. “How could I not? I don’t think I ever stopped,”

“That settles it then,” Sirius replied softly. “That’s all I need,”

Remus let out a short, juddering breath. The tears he’d been fighting back finally spilled over, streaking down his face. His chin dropped to his chest, and he wavered on the spot. “I don’t— I don’t want to ruin your life Pads,”

Sirius finally let go of his iron grip on the back of the armchair, crossing in front of the fire to stand in front of Remus. He raised a tentative and placed it to Remus cheek.

“You haven’t ruined it you idiot,” he huffed, his voice thick. “You’ve saved it,”

Remus felt himself crumple. His head tipped forward, foreheads pressing together as he brought a hand up to overlap the fingers that cupped his cheek, and he wept, wept like he hadn’t allowed himself to do in years, all of the stress and the hurt and the anger of the last twelve months finally pouring out of him. Sirius’ hand pulled his head down onto his shoulder, firm but gentle, and there he held him like his life depended upon it, two souls lost at sea, with only the other to keep them from drowning.

———

For the second time that day, heads turned when Anwyn entered the great hall. She could swear she saw multiple sets of eyes on her, whispers and laughter growing across the hall. It was hard to tell if she was just imagining it, but the Slytherins were definitely looking her way, a twin set of black haired fifth years letting out shrieks of laughter.

The afternoon had been hard. Every class she went to felt like she was walking into a room that was already discussing just how mad she was. After her disaster in Potions, Russell had at least stepped in and taken her seat beside Signe, leaving her to sit with Sarah but the other girl had been tense, awkward, finally starting to piece together the puzzle of what had happened, but unable to help.

“Just ignore everyone,” she’d told Anwyn while scribbling notes. “We all know that Skeeter only prints lies anyway,”

She didn’t have the energy to dispute the point. Because in reality, how much of it was made up? And how much would Sarah even understand? It left her feeling isolated. Exhausted. Yes, she was just completely exhausted.

Anwyn turned and fled back the way she came.

She’d reached the grand staircase when a familiar figure appeared ahead, plodding down the steps with his hands deep in his pockets, a glum look on his face. Harry looked up as she approached, a defensive scowl melting away when he realised who she was.

“Oh. Hey Anwyn,” he said, sounding just as miserable as he looked. “Have you already eaten?”

“Nah,” she replied. “I couldn’t be bothered with all the funny looks. Thought I’d just grab something from the kitchens and head back to the common room,” she took another look at Harry’s slumped shoulders. “Want to come with me?”

The boy brightened slightly. “Sure,”

“How’s your day been?” Anwyn asked as they took the twisting staircase down to the lower levels.

“Insufferable. Malfoy’s having the time of his life,”

“I can imagine. The twins are acting like it’s Christmas,”

The painting that hid the entrance to the kitchens loomed out of the shadows. She reached a hand out, tickling the pear, and the entire thing swung open to reveal a short doorway. The moment they stepped through a wall of heat and smells assaulted them, and Anwyn’s stomach gave an angry grumble. House elves were darting between the huge tables, giant platters of desserts floating into place ready for the students above. Giant vats sat above the fires, and a group of elves stood in front of massive sinks scrubbing dishes. From off in the distance, Anwyn heard an excited squeak, and then an elf approached at speed.

He was clothed in an odd assortment of garments, far more than the pillow cases and table cloths that the other elves wore, and he was practically vibrating with excitement. On one ear alone it appeared that he’d stacked multiple woollen hats into a precarious tower.

“Harry Potter!” He bowed so low that his nose scuffed the ground and one of his hats fell off. “Such an honour as always! How can Dobby be of service?”

“Hi Dobby,” Harry greeted, ignoring Anwyn’s raised eyebrow. “We were hoping to just grab a quiet bite to eat? Maybe some soup if it’s not too much trouble?”

“Of course! Dobby will be just a moment!”

The elf disappeared before Anwyn could comment, with Harry calling a word of thanks after him. She watched him for a moment, marvelling at how polite he was to the house elf, a trait that now she thought of it, not a lot of wizards seemed to share.

Dobby reappeared with two steaming bowls of pea and ham soup, the smell making Anwyn’s mouth water. She took a spoonful and let out a satisfied hum.

“This is great Dobby, thanks,”

“Oh thank you, thank you, such a lovely thing to say!” He crowed, almost sounding like he was about to cry. “Can Dobby offer you anything else? Some bread perhaps?” He fixed her with an unblinking stare, eyes watering, as if pleading with her to say yes.

She shrugged. “Uh sure. Why not?”

“Right away Miss Anwyn, right away!” He bowed terribly low again. “Anything for a friend of Harry Potter!”

The little house elf darted off to the other end of the kitchen once more, and Anwyn watched him go before leaning in close to Harry’s ear.

“This is really fucking weird mate”, she whispered. “Really weird,”

“I know just…roll with it,” he cringed. “It makes him happy,”

The house elf returned for a second time with a plate of crusty bread slathered in butter, so much in fact that Anwyn had to sit it on the table behind her to avoid juggling it with her bowl. They thanked Dobby once more, and with tears shining in his eyes he bowed before retreating to hover by the ginormous fireplace, watching them carefully the whole time.

“So uh…how did you two meet?” Anwyn asked after a moment of quiet munching.

“He was Malfoy’s house elf. He tried to warn me about the chamber of secrets but uh— well he did it in his own special way of course. Even got my arm broken by a bludger,” he noticed Anwyn’s alarmed expression and grimaced. “He meant well,”

“Sounds like it,” she replied sarcastically. “So what’s with the outfit?”

“I managed to trick Lucius Malfoy into freeing him and he’s run with it. I think Hermione’s been knitting clothes for the house elves. She thinks they’re taking them but I guess we know where they’re going now,”

“Let’s not tell her,” Anwyn replied with a thin smile. “She’ll be so disappointed,”

Harry gave a snort. “I dunno, maybe it’s worth letting her down gently,”. He dipped his spoon back into the bowl of soup, blowing on the steaming liquid. “You know she’s been on the receiving end of Skeeter’s rumours too? Did you see that article last week about her apparently breaking my heart?”

Anwyn paused, spoon half way to her mouth. “Seriously? But you guys are just friends right?” She because suddenly embarrassed, clearing her throat. “At least I thought that—“

“We’re just friends” Harry said hurriedly. “That’s why I don’t have a clue what to think of this article. She’s made stuff up about me and Hermione loads of times, how do we know she’s not making all this up?”

She took a slow, shallow sip of soup before clearing her throat. “Well she uh— she got a few things right. Like the stuff about the boat. I have a bit of an admission to make there actually,” she shot him a nervous look. “I kind of missed the entire second task,”

“You missed my heroic performance?” He asked incredulously, but the grin on his face told her he wasn’t upset. She opened her mouth to apologise but he beat her to it. “It’s fine, it’s not like there was much to see. And you still helped me out, that was more than enough,”

“How did you do it anyway? Last time I checked in you were a goner,”

“Dobby,” Harry nodded to the elf by the fire. “He got me some Gillyweed. Swallowed a ball of it and I grew gills and fins. I probably didn’t look too far off from your Grindylow suggestion,”

“Hmm,” she raised an eye brow. “sounds like an improvement,”

“Thanks a bunch,”

They ate in silence for a few more moments, mopping the last of the soup up with the bread that proved to be as soft and fluffy as it looked. Finally feeling a little less hungry, Anwyn sat her bowl down on the table with a sigh.

“So what are we going to do about all this? Ignore it and hope it all goes away?”

“I think that’s all we can do with Skeeter,” Harry shrugged. “You haven’t spoken to Remus yet?”

She shook her head. “I haven’t quite figured out what to say. This is new ground for me too. And if I’m honest, I was a bit of an arse the last time we spoke. I guess I’ll have to talk to him eventually, I just don’t want to say the wrong thing,”

“Yeah, I know exactly what you mean,” Harry replied, the glum note creeping back into his voice. “It’s not that I don’t want them to be happy it’s just…I’m just worried that— ugh” he gave a frustrated groan. “I’m probably just being stupid,”

“No worry is too stupid as far as my brain is concerned,” Anwyn replied wryly. “Go on. What’s bothering you?”

Harry shifted against the table, absently flicking a crumb from his knee. “Well if it is all true, what if— what if now that Sirius has Remus he— he doesn’t want me around? He doesn’t want me to live with him anymore? Maybe he’ll want his own family,”

Anwyn considered his point for a second, chewing on her lip as she thought it over. The idea that Sirius might take up more space in Remus’ life than he had to share hadn’t really crossed her mind, but now that Harry had mentioned it the thought set off a little twinge of anxiety in that part of her brain that told her she wasn’t good enough, wasn’t wanted. She pushed it down, choosing to ignore it for now.

“I think…” she started slowly. “I think you’ll always be at the centre of Sirius’ life, regardless of where or who he’s living with. Maybe your family will just be a little bit bigger than you expected,”

Harry shot her a surprised look, and a faint smile started to grow on his face, his eyes dropping to the floor.

It took them another half hour to escape the kitchens, of which they spent most of it in a losing battle with Dobby who finally succeeded in forcing sticky toffee pudding on them. Bellies full and worries if not lighter, but shared, they clambered back up the stairs again.

“—Ron is beast at chess but you’ve maybe got a chance if we play gobstones—“ Harry was saying as they reached the bottom of the grand staircase before a snide voice interrupted him.

“Ugh, what’s the smell? Is that wet dog? Has she been for another dip in the lake?”

Silas. Of course. With his sister, and handful of other Slytherins including the blonde idiot himself. Anwyn dropped her head, immediately mentally willing them to leave.

“Cosying up to the lunatic are we now Potter?” Malfoy sneered, and the group of Slytherins around them snickered away at his jibe. “Trying to figure out what end of Lupin’s hovel you’ll sleep in? Maybe you’ll have to fight over the driest bit of dirt,”

“Know much about that do you Malfoy?” Harry returned coolly. “Doesn’t your father make you sleep outside when you lose at quidditch?”

The blonde boy’s eyes narrowed, and she heard him muttering under his breath.

“Ignore them,” Anwyn ground out through her teeth, struggling with her own instructions as her hand itched to go for her wand.

Harry’s gave the briefest of nods, though he looked reluctant to do so, his fists clenched at his side as they took the stairs two at a time.The Slytherins followed.

“A wolf’s cave probably seems like luxury after Azkaban,” Sorrell piped up. “But they’ll probably kick the weirdo out, I know I would,”

The sick feeling had returned in Anwyn’s stomach. She sped up, Harry following close behind her.

”What do you think Black sees in him? Can’t be money anyway,” Malfoy laughed.

“Father said that Black only managed to escape because he’s an animagus. Maybe he misses dealing with the fleas,” Silas said, gaining another hoot of laughter from the group.

“Probably has a thing for dogs,” His sister added. “Freak,”

“Do you think if Lupin attacks someone we can finally put him down? Maybe if we’re lucky the beast will take a bite out of Black and we’ll get rid of the blood traitor too—”

The leg locking jinx that Anwyn sent out hit her cousin square on his chest, and he crumbled on the spot with a cry of alarm. Malfoy flipped head over heels backwards down the stairs, whatever jinx Harry had cast at the same time finding its mark, but even as he landed, winded, he immediately scrambled for his wand, sending a flash of purple light in their direction. Anwyn brought a shield up in front of them just in time for it to be sent ricocheting off the wall, painting subjects darting for cover, but the impact of it made her drop the shield immediately, and the familiar burn of one of Sorrel’s stinging hexes pelted her in the shoulder.

Harry raised his wand to retaliate, but it was swiftly pulled from his grip. He turned to face his new attacker, only to find a furious looking McGonagall marching down the stairs towards them.

“I hope there’s a very good reason that you think it’s appropriate to be duelling in the corridors!” She barked. “20 points from each of you!”

“Professor, they started it—“ Malfoy began to whine, but she cut him off.

“I don’t want to hear it! You better get back to your common room Mr Malfoy before I make it fifty points!” She rounded on Harry and Anwyn. “And you two, particularly bold of you to be picking fights when your godfathers are staying in the village. Don’t think I won’t be reporting this to them!”

“But Professor—“

“No arguments Miss Blackthorn!” She fixed Anwyn with a particular sharp glare, and she found herself cringing under it.

“They were saying stuff about Sirius and Remus!” Harry blurted out rapidly, obviously used to attempting to argue his case with his house head.

McGonagall’s glare left Anwyn as she rounded on the boy. “Both of which are grown adults who do not need you to defend their honour Potter! I expected this kind of behaviour from them as boys, but you are not to follow in their footsteps, do I make myself clear?”

“Yes Professor,” The pair replied in unison, heads hanging in defeat.

“If I catch you attacking other students again, you’ll be dealing with more than the loss of house points. Now I believe your common room is in the basement Miss Blackthorn, so you best turn around. Go on! Off with you,”

Anwyn shared a pained look with Harry, and then turned, slouching off back down the stairs, mood well and truly soured.

One thing was certain. Her next conversation with Remus was going to be even more awkward than she’d anticipated.

Notes:

I really hope you enjoy the Wolfstar in this because I was tearing up writing it so I’m hoping I’ve not just gone delulu.

Chapter 30: An Intervention

Remus woke bare and shivering, the frigid winter wind chasing all warmth from his limbs. There was a thick tartan blanket scratching at his skin, and a heavy weight pressed against his chest radiating warmth. He tried to shift a leg, let out an accidental grunt of pain, and the mass in front of him jolted, giving a whine.

“Morning pads,” he muttered, voice dry and cracked.

The black dog rose from the ball it had been curled in against him, stretching its massive back as its tail began to wag. It snuffled in at his face, a hot tongue tickling his ear, and he gave a half hearted laugh that turned into a yelp as his rib cage shifted and burned.

The dog stepped back, rising onto its hind legs and then continuing until it was once again Sirius Black in human form, a stricken look on his face.

“Come on,” Sirius said urgently. “I’ve cast half a dozen warming charms on you since I was sure you’d passed out, but it’s freezing. We need to get you back inside,”

He pulled out his wand, casting yet another charm as he spoke, and warmth blossomed over Remus’ head, sinking down into his limbs until the shivering subsided a little. He got as far as propping himself up on one arm, and then had to stop to breath slowly, the muscles in his shoulder feeling raw and torn.

“Uneventful?” He asked, voice quaking with effort.

“Perfect,” Sirius assured him, stopping to sift through the rucksack he’d propped against the wall of the ruined house they were sheltering in. “You spent about two hours chasing a puffin, and considering you can’t fly…,” he produced a small glass vial of green potion, shaking it in his hand as he turned and gave Remus a lopsided grin. “Well, let’s just say you were unsuccessful,”

Remus huffed out an amused laugh, though there was something of relief to it too. He’d chosen this island for its remote nature, but there always a worry in the back of his mind that some unsuspecting muggle might choose that night to do some exploring, and then his luck would run out. Still, one more night without an encounter was a small victory that would carry him through the next month.

Even with a vial of pain relief and a change of warm clothes, it was another hour before he felt strong enough to apparate back to the Three Broomsticks. By the time the sitting room materialised he could have happily collapsed onto the sofa and slept right there, but Sirius insisted on helping him through to the bedroom. Rosmerta had lit the fire for their return, he noted on the way, and there was a little tray of fresh baked bread, cheese and cold meat sitting on the table waiting for them, along with a pot of tea. He was momentarily caught off guard by the gesture, swaying in Sirius’ grasp. Perhaps, now that she knew he wasn’t a threat, this was the innkeeper’s apology, or at least her way of welcoming him back.

Loathed as he was as to admit it, the bed was fantastic. The mattress felt almost like floating on a cloud after waking on the hard ground, and Sirius plumped the pillows around him for the optimum level of comfort before disappearing back through to the sitting room for the food. The potion for the pain was properly starting to kick in, and though it never quite chased away the depths of it, it had at least subsided to a gnawing ache.

“I’m fine, stop trying to pamper me,” he swatted Sirius’ hands away as he returned and started adjusting the blankets again. “You’re giving me a headache,”

“Oh come off it, you’re telling me that Anwyn doesn’t fuss like a little old lady post moon?”

“I don’t let Anwyn see me post moon,” Remus replied shutting his eyes as he leaned back into the pillows. “Last Halloween was the first time she’d seen me and she was quite shaken,”

“Ah. Sorry,”

He opened his eyes once more to find Sirius looking positively sheepish, his shoulders slumped as he hovered over the tray of food.

“What did we say? No more apologising for things we can’t change, that goes for you too,” he managed a tired smile. “Besides, I think you’ve more than made up for it having now saved her life twice,”

Sirius inclined his head in acceptance. “I suppose you’re right,”

He grabbed a slice of bread and a hunk of cheese and began munching away with a satisfied sigh. He looked, Remus couldn’t help but notice, almost as tired as he himself felt. Probably not a surprise given the fact he’d been up all night keeping an eye on the Wolf, but still, his willingness to forgo sleep and put himself within biting range still made Remus’ chest swell with a gratitude he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to put into words.

“Oh, we’ve had a few letters this morning. This one came from the school.“ Sirius picked up a crisp envelope from the tea tray and handed Remus. It had a familiar seal on the outside. “I have one too, so don’t be too concerned. It’s from McGonagall,”

Remus shot him a disbelieving look. “Oh? And why on earth would McGonagall be writing to us both?”

“It appears that our Godchildren have been duelling Slytherins in the corridors,” Sirius said with a grin as he flopped down onto the edge of the bed, taking another slice of bread from the tray.

“Duelling? I thought you said it was nothing to be concerned with—”

“Oh come on Moony, it’s not like we didn’t have our fair share of scuffles. It’s quite normal. And given the news this week, perhaps it’s not…unexpected. Wouldn’t you prefer that they stick up for themselves rather than get pushed around?”

“I’d prefer if they didn’t break school rules on our account,” Remus grumbled, ripping the letter open and skimming it. It didn’t say much more than what Sirius had already told him, though it did have an additional note informing him that Professor Sprout had noted some poor attendance on Anwyn’s part. Concerning once more. “Have you seen my message book?”

“I’ve got it here, it’s been flashing away since we got back. I thought you better rest first,”

“Let me see it. I’ll sleep better knowing everything’s alright,”

Sirius slipped the book from under the tray and passed it over. It was glowing just as he’d said, and when Remus muttered the pass phrase and opened it there was a whole screed of messages awaiting him. Sirius disappeared into the sitting room and returned with a quill and ink pot, handing those over too.

I saw the Prophet. Don’t even know what to say. I hope you’re ok.

Listen I’m sorry about my last few messages, I was out of line.

Didn’t mean it, I really appreciate you helping

I just have a lot on my mind

Remus?

You’re not mad are you?

I’m guessing I missed you before you left. Hope your night goes smoothly. Stay safe.

He pressed the end of his quill to his lips, tapping it lightly. This wasn’t a discussion he’d been hoping to have, at least not via the book. He reread the message again, trying to judge her mood by the tone. Anxious by the sounds of it. She would be worrying about him, that much he knew without even having to read it, but Skeeter’s article had already laid the pressure on her shoulders. He wouldn’t add to it.

Don’t worry about me. Worry about Skeeter. Your mother will be on the warpath after this

A lie, but with the best intentions. Perhaps if he put on a brave face, she could too.

Still, it left a glaringly obvious topic unaddressed. He scrunched his aching eyes shut, massaging the bridge of his nose and then quickly wrote the next line before he could chicken out.

I’m sorry you had to find out like this. I’d rather have told you in person

Speaking of which, am I right in thinking it’s Hogsmeade this weekend? Fancy a spot of lunch?

He waited for a minute, tapping the quill on the page, but there was no reply. Probably not a surprise as she should be in class. Satisfied that he wouldn’t have a response any time soon, he closed the book, sitting it on the bedside table along with the quill and ink, and then sunk slowly into the covers.

“All done?” Sirius asked, lifting the tray from the covers to give him more room.

Remus shut his eyes once more, and gave a tired nod.

“Did she mention the duel?”

“No. Nothing of the sort. I’m inclined to wait and talk to her in person about it,”

“So no mention if they won or not. Shame,”

“Sirius!” He opened his eyes to give a warning glare, but the other man was already laughing.

“Okay, okay, not a shame at all, I hope they’ve learnt their lesson and so on and so forth. See, aren’t I the responsible Godfather? A fantastic role model,” he said as he clambered into his side of the bed, careful not to jolt it too much.

“Positively saint like,” Remus muttered in reply, but his mind was already drifting.

It took only a few more minutes of warm dozing between he slipped out of consciousness fully, more than happy to sleep the day and the pain away.

———

Anwyn adjusted her grip on her satchel, hopping over the fake step in the staircase that she knew would trap her foot. A trio of fourth years passed her on the steps, breaking into a chorus of giggling as soon as they were behind her. She sped up, reaching the bottom of the staircase with her head down.

It had only been two days since the article had been published but it had spread like wildfire around the school. Those students that weren’t openly quoting it to her at any chance they got were still sending her odd looks and whispering behind her back as she passed. It was like the week after Remus had resigned all over again, but this time she didn’t have the approaching summer holidays to drag herself towards. Still, at least it was Friday and she could disappear off to Hogsmeade tomorrow. That had to count for something.

Anwyn looked up as she turned the corner to find the potions master stalked along the corridor towards her. She quickly put her head back down, intent on walking past without acknowledging his presence. She’d learnt in her first year that greeting the grumpy old git was a quick way to get on his bad side, best just to pretend she’d never seen him.

He stopped two paces in front of her.

“Blackthorn. A word,”

Anwyn did a double take before looking over her shoulder, hoping for the first time in her life to find her cousins behind her. Her heart sunk when she realised that she was indeed the Blackthorn in question. What on earth did he want? Other than her mishap with the knife earlier that week, Snape had barely said a word to her since term had started after new year, his terse nods and silent dismissals signalling that her performance in class was frustratingly, at least to him, adequate. Perhaps he was still angry that Sirius had been declared innocent, or perhaps he’d finally found something else that he could needle her on. Either way, she’d much rather he just continued to ignore her.

Snape was waiting for her at the side of the corridor, a few other students passing between them with curious looks. She fidgeted with the strap of her satchell and shuffled forward to meet him, hesitantly meeting his eyes. They narrowed, and she immediately looked at her feet, attempting to channel the smallest sliver of confidence and failing.

“I must ask,” he finally drawled after letting her stew in silence for a few seconds. “Do you think that because of the leniency shown to you last year you are above reproach?”

“What?” Confusion brought her head up sharply. “No, I don’t—“

“Or perhaps you think that your mediocre ability gives you the right to help yourself to ingredients from my store at any time,”

She couldn’t help but wince slightly at the insult, stung. Her potions had been perfectly satisfactory this year, and homework grading well. What else could she do to gain his approval?

“I wonder, does Boomslang skin, lacewing flies, and powdered bicorn horn ring a bell?” He asked, voice dangerously smooth as he drew his cloak around him.

Was it a trick question? She hesitated, unsure what he was implying but still eager to impress. “Polyjuice potion sir,”

He raised an eyebrow. “So you are familiar with it. Interesting,””

“Only what I’ve read in my textbooks sir,”

“And gillyweed, what have you read about that?”

She swallowed hard, thinking back to Harry’s little house elf friend in the kitchens. She hadn’t asked where Dobby had got it from. It appeared that she was now finding out.

“It…it produces a transfiguration effect in whoever ingests it. Lets them breathe under water,” she replied weakly. “But I didn’t—“

“Did Potter put you up to it, or did you take it upon yourself to steal it for him?”

“I didn’t take anything sir, honest!”

“Don’t. Lie,” he said through ground teeth as he loomed over her close enough that she could see the sheen of grease on his hair, and Anwyn found herself flinching back. “I know you’ve been helping Potter and his friends, you were seen in the library with him. With Granger participating in the task, that only leaves you to plan the heist. Merlin knows it was probably above Potter’s abysmal level of intellect to do so,” he sneered. “Your amateur dramatics at the lake may have fooled everyone else, but I am not so gullible,”

Anwyn opened her mouth to argue, shame welling up in her. To her horror, she felt an uncomfortable prickling in her eyes, and when she tried to speak her voice cracked. “I haven’t— I haven’t taken anything—“,

But Snape wasn’t having any of it. “I’ve yet to determine where or why you are brewing polyjuice potion, but when I find out— and I will find out…you and your little Gryffindor friends will be counting the days you have left at this school—“

“But sir—“ she began to protest.

“Silence,” the potions master snapped back. “Out of my sight,”

Her mouth snapped shut, and she scurried off before he could think of another reason to expel her.

———

The study hall was already beginning to fill up, groups of students dotted around the long tables with varying stacks of textbooks in front of them. McGonagall and Sinestra were strolling between the tables keeping order, and as Anwyn paused in the doorway, looking for a space far enough away from her cousins, she was relieved to see that the potions master was not on duty. It was far too soon to face him again.

The cluster of ginger hair signalled the presence of a particular group of Gryffindors, and sure enough, Harry and Hermione were amongst them. Anwyn slid into the spare seat beside the bespectacled boy.

“Hey,” she whispered to Harry. “Did Snape talk to you about missing ingredients? He just cornered me and started lobbing accusations out of no where,”

“Yeah!” Harry exclaimed, a little too loudly, gaining a disapproving look for McGonagall across the room. He lowered his voice. “He’s after you too? I don’t have a clue what he’s talking about, but this time it’s definitely not us,”

“Wait…this time?”

“Uhh…yeah. We brewed Polyjuice in second year to try and find out of it Malfoy was the heir of Slytherin,”

“In second year? Thats so impressive!” Anwyn leaned in further, her voice rising ever so slightly. “Where did you brew it? Was it hard? How did you manage the long brewing time between classes—“

“Oh it was quite simple really,” Hermione leaned past Harry. “You see—“

“Miss Blackthorn, will you please refrain from distracting the 4th years,” McGonagall’s disapproving tone cut through their conversation.

“Sorry Professor,” Anwyn muttered, dropping her head to rummage in her bag.

Once she’d pulled out a scrap of parchment and her Ancient Runes textbook, she chanced a look at the transfiguration teacher, finding her at the back of the hall. She leaned back towards Harry.

“Who ended up being the heir of Slytherin anyway?” Anwyn whispered.

“Voldemort,”

“Oh. I probably should have expected that,”

“Who do you think is brewing Polyjuice?” Ron asked. “Bit of a weird one isn’t it?”

“Maybe someone stole it when they were trying to enter the tournament?” Hermione suggested. “To try and trick the goblet,”

“Nah, surely Snape would have noticed a long time ago, he’s really paranoid about his stores,” Anwyn shook her head.

“Not paranoid enough,” Ron muttered. “Clearly someone is giving him the run around,”

”Miss Blackthorn,” McGonagall’s voice, which was suddenly behind her, had grown increasingly clipped, and Anwyn found herself wincing. “One would think that you’d be putting a little bit more effort into your homework after that performance in class this week. If I have to talk to you again, you’re out,”

The students hurriedly dipped their heads, quills scratching once more at their essays. Anwyn flipped her textbook open, flicking through the pages until she found the dogear she’d left in class. They’d started looking at Logograms in spell crafting, a topic that might have been interesting if the author of the textbook hadn’t had such a dry way of describing everything. Still, the homework had to be done, so she may as well make a start.

She was a paragraph into her essay when someone slid into the seat beside Ron. She looked up to find Signe pushing her bag under the table, and immediately dropped her head back to her book, pretending the other girl wasn’t there.

“Aren’t you even going to say hi?”

Anwyn’s quill continued to scratch away for a second before her resolve broke. “I don’t have anything to say to you,”

“Oh come on, you can’t ignore me forever,” Signe scoffed.

“I can! I will! I don’t want to talk to you!” Anwyn hissed, as quietly as she could, glaring across the table at her.

“Anwyn please, I just want to—”

“No. I don’t want to hear it,”

“If you would just listen—“

Anwyn raised her head, mouth open to argue but Ron beat her to it. “She said no! Just piss off and leave her alone already!”

“Nobody asked you!” Signe spat at him, and Anwyn felt her temper flare.

“Don’t talk to him like that—

“Right, I have had quite enough of your impudence Miss Blackthorn,” McGonagall’s voice was sharp barb. “You and Miss Nilsson can continue this discussion in your own time, outside of the study hall,”

Anwyn opened her mouth to protest, but her transfiguration teacher pursed her lips in a thin, dangerous line that discouraged any argument. She glance at her friends, finding Ron and Harry looking somewhat sympathetic, and Hermione looking almost as disapproving as their teacher. There would be no help there.

With a defeated sigh, Anwyn closed her textbook and rolled up her essay. It seemed that Signe had gotten her way after all.

She was half way down the corridor at a near run when Signe caught up with her, initially calling her name which Anwyn resolutely ignored. The study hall mishap had only served to fan the flames of her anger once more, and she put on a burst of speed, hoping the girl would get the message. She didn’t.

“Look, will you just hear me out,” Signe grabbed her arm, and Anwyn glared at her hand, briefly considering going for her wand.

“What do you want? Why won’t you leave me alone?”

“Because I’m sorry alright? I said some stupid shit and I’m sorry, I’m not— I’m not good at apologising—“

“Well maybe you should practice more,” Anwyn growled. “I’m done talking to you,”

She made to leave again.

“No wait!” Signe tightened her grip on Anwyn’s arm, her fingers biting in. “I was thinking about your Father—“

“No need. He’s none of your business anymore—“

“Just listen, if whatever he was cursed with happened before he arrived at our house, maybe we’ve been asking the wrong people. Maybe we’ve not been looking far enough back,”

Anwyn’s escape attempts stopped, her interest grudgingly caught. “What are you talking about?”

“Your father’s family. You should ask them,”

“Oh,” Anwyn feigned surprise. “Oh of course, why didn’t I think to just ask the people who clearly fucking hate me!”

“Anwyn—“

She wrenched her arm out of Signe’s grasp, ignoring how it smarted. “It’s funny,” she said, her voice wobbling as her eyes started to well and she internally cursed her habit of wanting to cry when she was angry. “You seem quite happy to ask my shitty, abusive family for help, but the one person who actually gives a shit about me is off limits because of something out of his control? You’re just another typical blood purist aren’t you?”

She felt a stab of sick satisfaction at the hurt that flickered across Signe’s face, but it didn’t last long, her expression dropping to that cool, indifferent mask that she seemed to favour.

“Fine. Figure it out on your own. I don’t give a shit,”

She turned and marched off, leaving Anwyn standing with a fist clenched around the strap of her satchel, and the feeling that somehow she had lost the fight after all.

———

A heavy mass landed on Anwyn’s legs, jarring her awake. She raised her head and squinted out of bleary eyes to find Circe, one of the pet cats that belonged to a fellow fifth year marching around in a circle attempting to find the best spot for a morning snooze. Cute, but mildly annoying. It had taken her most of the night to get to sleep and she was reluctant to give up on it so soon.

It was Saturday though, she told herself, rubbing at her eyes. Finally a day away from Signe, away from the staring eyes. A chance to check in on Remus after the article. Sure, it might be a little awkward at first, but surely it couldn’t be worse than another day at the lunch table attempting to ignore the whispers behind her back?

By the time she was sat in the common room, shoving her feet into her trainers, her mood had greatly improved. She was, despite how terrible the week had been, looking forward to Hogsmeade. That wouldn’t last long however. She was shrugging on her coat, listening to Sarah and Russell argue about whether they should have lunch at the inn or the tea shop when Cedric Diggory appeared through the porthole door.

“Blackthorn, there you are. Before you disappear Sprout wants to see you in her office,”

“Why?” Anwyn asked, immediately defensive.

Cedric shrugged. “She didn’t say. But no Hogsmeade until you’ve spoken to her, alright?”

“What do you suppose that’s about?” Sarah asked as he left, buttoning up her jacket.

“I’m not sure,” Anwyn replied, though a thousand possibilities were running through her head starting from whatever damage she’d done to the werewolf tapestries, all the way through to one of her family members having dropped dead. Her mouth was suddenly very dry. “You may as well go ahead with out me though, I have no idea how long this will take,”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” she plastered on a forced smile. “Yeah, no worries,”

Anwyn had, in fact, a lot of worries, each one clammering to be heard above the rest as she hurried through the corridors to Sprout’s office. By the time she reached the door, she was certain that her theory about death in the family was probably the reason she’d been called here, which considering Cedric had mentioned her going to Hogsmeade after the meeting was probably unlikely, but her panicked brain refused to accept that point. Oh hell, it had been the moon the night before last, had something happened to Remus? Had he bitten someone? Or was it her Mum, injured while travelling? Or perhaps her grandad, she hadn’t seen him for a while and he was getting older. Or perhaps—

She nervously wet her lips, and then hammered on the door, heart loud in her own ears. There was a muffled call from the other side, and she pushed it open to poke her head around it and peer in.

Sprout sat behind her desk, a steaming pot of tea in front of her as well as three china cups. She was nearly hidden by the trailing fronds of plants that grew all around her, some of which had flowered since the last time Anwyn had been in the office, the perfume heavy and cloying in the air. She was not alone however, there was another figure sitting in one of the chairs opposite, a familiar cane leaning against the desk in front. He had turned around at the sound of her knock, and Anwyn felt an immediate wave of panicked nausea.

Remus.

“Ah good Blackthorn, you’re here. Come in and sit down, Sprout said, no nonsense as always.

Anwyn took the few steps to her seat at a half stumble, eyeing Remus with wide eyes. His face was unreadable, and he didn’t look at her as he leaned forward to lift his own cup of tea.

“Right,” Sprout said. “Now we’re all here, we best get on with it. Blackthorn, I’ve asked you here today because—,”

“Is it Mum?” She blurted out, her voice cracking. “Is she okay, did something happen?”

Sprout frowned, exchanging a confused look with Remus, who merely shook his head.

“Your Mum’s fine Anwyn,” he said. “We’re here to talk about you,”

“Oh,”

The flood of relief was short lived. It took approximately ten seconds of silent thanks that nothing terrible had happened for Anwyn to fully comprehend what that meant. She was in deep shit.

“Oh,” she repeated, a little softer this time.

“As I was saying,” Sprout continued. “I’ve asked you here today to discuss a number of worrying behaviours that you’ve been demonstrating over the past few weeks. Now, we had a little chat you and I didn’t we? And I did warn you at the time that if I didn’t see any improvement I’d need to talk to your mother, or in this case, your uncle Remus here,” she nodded towards him, and Anwyn shot him a quick look. He was listening intently, focused on Sprout point, but there was a tense draw to his brow, and a tightness to the way he held his cup that did not bode well.

“I don’t— I don’t understand, I’ve not missed any more classes,” Anwyn tried, her voice trembling slightly, but then she corrected herself. “Well I did this week but I— I wasn’t feeling well,”

“Yes, that’s partly what concerns us,” Sprout sighed, before leaning forward to pour a cup of tea for Anwyn. She pushed it across the table where it was left untouched. “Madame Pomfrey has raised concerns with me after multiple visits from you this week. And now I’m hearing from Professor McGonagall about you duelling in the corridor and disrupting the study hall. Not to mention Professor Snape’s reports of missing potions ingredients—“

“I swear, I didn’t take any of his ingredients,” Anwyn interrupted. “I’ll own up to the rest, sure, but I told him and he wouldn’t listen. It wasn’t me, honest, I’m not a thief—“

Sprout opened the top drawer of her desk as Anwyn spoke, producing a thick, familiar leather bound volume. The sight of it was enough to stop Anwyn’s protests in her throat. Her teacher slid it across the table, and tapped the cover.

“Do you recognise this Blackthorn?”

“It’s uh…it’s a library book?” She tried.

“A restricted section library book. One which I don’t believe you had permission to access, let alone remove from the library, am I correct?”

Anwyn winced, but gave a slow nod. She glanced to her right to find Remus staring at the book on the desk, jaw tight.

“And yet one of the house elves found it under your bed when cleaning yesterday,” Sprout gestured towards it. “Peculiar, don’t you think,”

“I…must have…I was reading it in the library and I must have picked it up with my other books by accident,”

Remus cleared his throat, speaking for the first time as he pointed at the book. “May I, Pomona?”

“Of course,”

He slid the Malidicta Malifica across the desk, holding it quietly in both hands for a second as he looked at the cover before cracking it open. With each page that he turned, with every grotesque illustration, his expression darkened. Her stopped for a second to pull his wand from the inside of his jacket pocket, and then began to turn the pages again, tapping each with his wand as he went.

“This is…morbid reading Anwyn,” he said hoarsely. “I would have hesitated to recommend this to a seventh year. What on earth possessed you to pick this up?”

“I thought it…might be interesting?” She tried, but the two adults shared a look that suggested neither believed her.

“Did your cousins put you up to this?” Sprout asked

“No,”

“Then what possibly reason would you have to steal a restricted book of this nature? This isn’t like you Blackthorn, not at all. You’re not using this to…” she hesitated, dropping her normally booming voice to something approximating a careful tone. “…to cause yourself harm at all? Madame Pomfrey was very concerned about an incident with a knife earlier this week—”

“What incident?” Remus asked sharply, looking quickly up from the book.

“Nothing! It was— it was nothing, I told her it was just an accident in potions, my knife slipped when I was slicing mandrake root and I cut my finger open,“ she told him, but the look her fixed her with told her he wasn’t convinced.

Fuck. This was just like the potions lab all over again. How hadn’t she seen it coming, why had she gone along with all of Signe’s suggestions like a sheep. Why had she taken the damn book?

“Let me be frank. This behaviour is most worrying. Now, given the papers this week—“ Sprout shot a sympathetic look at Remus, who kept his gaze resolutely on the book, but Anwyn didn’t miss the subtle wince. “ — I understand why you might be inclined to lash out at your peers. Your cousins in particular I’m sure have been cruel, though I do wish you’d come to me with any issues on that front. But the rest? I’m at a loss!”

She started to shiver, an odd trembling that was pure cold panic, sick to the stomach. Remus quietly shut the book and sat it back on the table, and she dragged her eyes from it to his face, both terrified and sure that she would see that fury he’d worn that night in the girls toilets but it wasn’t there. Instead he turned to look at her with nothing but a sort of pained concern crinkling the corner of his eyes.

She swallowed hard, and forced herself to speak. “I’m sorry,” she told them. “I’ve just been…distracted,”

“It’s your OWLs this year Anwyn, it’s incredibly important that you put the effort in,” Remus said, his voice haven taken on a firm tone as if he was her teacher once more. “What could possibly be distracting you to the point of missing classes?”

“Ahh,” Sprout sat back in her chair, fixing Anwyn with a knowing look. “I think I see what’s going on here. I’ve had many a Hufflepuff in this office Remus, I can tell when a student is acting out to impress their peers. Nilsson again is it?”

Andy’s face burnt. She shrugged, trying to appear non committal but she was sure that colour of her cheeks complete gave it away.

“I’m glad you two are getting along—“

She crossed her arms, bringing them in tight against her chest in an attempt to hold the brimming emotions in, fixing her eyes on a scratch on the table while she tried to think of something, anything, other than Signe.

“— it’s only natural that a young woman should start to seek out romance at your age—“

How could she have been so stupid? Oh Merlin this was so embarrassing, did they really have to get into this? Being caught was bad enough, but picking this fresh wound open was far too painful.

“— but your studies have to come first, and we can’t have you breaking school rules for a teenage fling—“

Merlin, her eyes were stinging something awful, if she could just hold it together for one more minute perhaps they’d change the subject so she could forget about how much of pathetic loser she was.

“— are you listening Blackthorn? What do you have to say for yourself then, hmm?”

Anwyn’s head shot up to find Sprout watching her sternly, waiting on a reply. Her breath was catching in her chest, and she hesitated, voice cracking when she finally spoke.

“I know I’ve messed up, I’m sorry. But it uh— it won’t happen again. Me and Signe are not— we’re not—” she cleared her throat, blinking hard, and trailed off to a murmur. “It won’t happen again,”

“Is that really the case? Forgive me, but you’ve lied to me once already, can I take your word this time?”

“Yes. Yes I promise, I—“ her voice broke again, and she shot a pleading look to Remus. He met her eyes for a few seconds and then sighed.

“If I may, Pomona,” he said, turning back to Sprout. He seemed quite calm, as if they’d merely been discussing a poorly completed homework assignment. “I think Anwyn has realised the error of her ways. If she assures us that her behavior will improve going forward, I’m inclined to believe her,”

Gratitude and relief flooded her in a tidal wave of emotions that nearly took her breath away. Anwyn felt her bottom lip begin to quiver uncontrollably, and she bit down on it, hard, her hands clenching so hard that she could feel the bite of her fingernails in her palms.

“What do you say Remus? Will a simple detention be enough for this matter?”

“I think that would be satisfactory, yes,”

“Good, good,” Sprout eyed her for a second, and then tutted. “You’ve got promise Blackthorn, I’d hate to see you waste it. A good green finger and quite adept at potions, so I hear,”

She couldn’t bring herself to feel the pride that Sprout was trying to encourage, and instead just gave a shallow nod.

“You plan to take both into NEWT level?”

“Yes Professor,” she replied quietly, not looking up.

“Well I think that’s certainly achievable. What are you planning to do after Hogwarts?”

“I uh…I want to go into experimental potions. Medicinal research and the like,”

Sprout made an approving noise. “St Mungos has a good potions apprenticeship for an eager young witch. You just need to apply yourself, avoid these distractions of the heart. Plenty of time for that once you’re older, wouldn’t you say?”

She nodded again, feeling utterly wretched. Career advice was the furthest thing from her mind right now.

“Right,” Sprout cleared her throat. “Well, with that out of the way, you can go on with your day. I’ll see you in detention starting on Monday. Thank you for coming Remus,”

“Not at all,” he stood slowly, reaching for his cane. His movements seemed stiff, and she was hit by a new wave of guilt for having dragged him to the school to soon after the moon.

Anwyn rose as well, turning towards the door, desperate to be out of the room. She stuffed her clenched hands in her pockets to avoid showing how they shook and put her head down.

”Where are you going?” Remus stopped her. “You can floo back to the inn with me, save yourself the walk,”

She hovered at the door, looking between them. “I’m…still allowed to go to Hogsmeade?”

Remus looked at Sprout. “I don’t see why not, unless you’re against it Pomona?”

“If I thought you’d be sneaking off to meet Nilsson, I’d be against it. But I think in these circumstances perhaps a spot of lunch with your uncle might give you time to reflect. I have no objections,”

Or in other words, Sprout expected her lectures for the day to have only begun. Anwyn bit her lip once more, the skin feeling rough from her worrying, and then reluctantly headed towards the fireplace. Lunch in Hogsmeade no longer seemed so inviting.

———

The sitting room was blessedly empty when they stepped inside. Sirius had evidently left to go and meet Harry, a Hogmeade weekend that would be a far more pleasant experience than her owner’s shaping up to be. She stepped away from the fire place as it began to flare green once more, taking the few shaky steps to the sofa where she promptly sunk into the leather and put her head in her hands.

The sound of Remus’ cane clicking on the wooden floor came as he moved away from the fire place. She could hear his slow, laboured steps as he scuffed towards her, and then the sofa shifted beside her, and he let out a long exhale of breath.

“I’m sorry,” she said, voice wavering. “I’m really sorry,”

“What’s going on Wyn?” He asked. “You have me terribly worried,”

“It’s…complicated. I’ve been a complete idiot,”

“Start at the beginning. I’m sure we can figure it out together. But Anwyn—“ his voice was quiet but there was a tone to it that brooked no argument. “I covered for you with Professor Sprout because I understand that there may have been some topics you didn’t wish to discuss with her. That doesn’t mean, however, that I will tolerate you lying to me,”

“I won’t!” Her head shot up as she gave him a pleading look. “I’m not!”

“Then start with the book. Why did you take it?”

“I didn’t go to the library with the intention of taking it but I found it when I was helping Harry and…I thought it might have some clues about what was wrong with Dad,”

“I suspected as much,” Remus said, frowning. “This was the source of your queries about him?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I’ve been slowly going through it bit by bit. But it’s not like I’ve enjoyed reading it or anything, the whole thing gave me the creeps,”

“I can’t imagine why,” Remus replied wryly. “These books are often illustrated with those more…sadistically inclined in mind. It would be enough to give most people nightmares,”

She shot him a guilty look. “I might have had a few,”

“Of course you did,” he shook his head. “And you’re lucky you didn’t suffer worse fates. I checked the book for any residual curses and this time you were lucky, but some of the books in that restricted section are not just dangerous because of their content. They can do serious harm Anwyn. You can’t just be taking them out of the library when the fancy takes you,”

“I know,” she muttered.

“Do you?” He asked. “And what about the classes you’ve been skipping how do they fit into all of this? Please tell me you’ve not been brewing potions again—”

“Of course I haven’t!” She all but whined back, voice trembling. “Do you seriously think I’d voluntarily start that habit again? I can barely smell Wide Eye in potions without having a bloody panic attack! Do you really think I’m that stupid?”

Remus exhaled but his expression softened. “Of course I don’t. I’ve just been worried that you’re in some sort of trouble,”

“Well I’m not. I’ve just been skipping a few to hang out with Signe alright?” She grumbled. “But it wasn’t anything major, just History of Magic—“

“Anwyn, it’s your OWL year, every class is—“

“Important yes, I know, I know. I just got…carried away,”

“And what have you been spending these skipped classes doing? Not raiding Snape’s store I hope?”

“No! No of course not, we’ve just been…hanging out,” her face was heating up once more, but she had promised not to lie, and there was one point that she was sure would not go down well if it got back to him at a later date, so she uttered it quickly in the hopes that he might just gloss over it. “We’d mostly just read books and talk about what was going on with Dad and…she’d bring her hipflask,”

Remus gave a few startled blinks, pressing his lips together in a thin line. “Am I to assume the contents of the hipflask were of an alcoholic nature?”

Anwyn cringed, but gave a slow nod.

“Merlin, I’ve raised a delinquent,”

“If it makes you feel any better I always felt too guilty to really enjoy it,” she replied weakly.

The look she received in return told her it didn’t help much at all. Remus ran a hand through his hair, the grey streaked nest standing on end, and then rubbed his face, almost looking as if the effort of trying to work the situation out was painful.

“Why though Wyn?” He finally asked. “That’s what I’m struggling to piece together most. This is not like you at all,”

She considered his question for a second. It had been one she hadn’t really thought of the answer to yet, though she’d asked it herself over the course of the last week. But when she thought about going back to classes next week without Signe at her side, without Remus to visit in the faculty tower, without her mother’s input other than infrequent letters, the answer became clear.

“I’ve just been…lonely. Sarah and Russell have been different since everything last year, and now they’re together I just feel like I’m always on the outside. Harry’s got the tournament to worry about, and even if he didn’t, him and Ron and Hermione are still in the year below, I can’t see them all the time. And then Signe arrived and she was different from anyone I’d ever met, and for some reason she wanted to hang out with me, which makes absolutely no sense at all—” what had started as a slow, deliberate thought was quickly devolving into an outpouring, her voice thick. “I really liked her and I just thought if I went along with it she’d like me back, and I think she did but she liked the weird, fake me. But once I started I couldn’t stop and we kept breaking the rules and I felt awful about it because I knew everyone would be disappointed in me—“

“So why keep going along with it then?” Remus asked.

“Because! If I— if I didn’t she might not— she might not like me any more and— and when am I ever going to meet someone like that again? I just— I just liked being liked, I just wanted—“ she gave a frustrated groan. “Ugh it’s hard to explain, you don’t understand what it’s like,”

“Don’t I?” He raised an eyebrow. “Are you forgetting what me and my friends got up to at school? A map of Hogwarts secrets. Illegal animagus transformations. Midnight escapades, and duels with the Slytherins and all manner of rule breaking? I know a little of what it’s like to be a lonely teenager desperate for approval. I’ve lived that life”

She suddenly feeling very foolish. Of course Remus knew what it was like. Compared to what he’d had to contend with, her time at school was a breeze. Still, the apparent hypocrisy stung.

“Then how can you be annoyed at me for doing the same? I haven’t even done half of the things you got up to!”

“Because I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did!” He replied, clearly exasperated. “It’s a wonder we didn’t get into more trouble than we did, but that’s not an excuse for you to act out. I want you to make better decisions than I did,”

She didn’t reply, almost angry at how much sense he was making. That was the worst thing about Remus’ lectures. He always managed to twist it around until she agreed with him and ended up berating herself. It was a far more effective form of discipline than any stinging hex from Sylvestus. It made her want to be better.

Her silence didn’t stop him, but the stern edge to his voice lessened, and he leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “Anwyn, you are a bright young witch. You’ve got a fantastic mind on you and when you get an idea in your head there’s no stopping you. I have ever confidence that you can do whatever you want in life, whether that’s following your potions or anything else that takes your fancy. I just wish you’d put more energy into your studies,”

“I know,” she replied sullenly. “I will,”

“And as far as Signe goes—“

“It’s fine.” She cut him off quickly, voice trembling again. “You won’t need to worry about her. I don’t want anything to do with her,”

“You two had a falling out?” Remus asked gently.

She didn’t reply, instead picking at the fabric of her jean, head dipping to try and hide how her face kept screwing up as she tried to hold back the tears.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly,”

“Do you want a hug?”

“No—“ she hesitated, grim face breaking into something a little more miserable. The tears she’d been holding back finally made their escape, running down her cheeks to drop off her chin. “Yes,”

Remus lifted an arm, and she shuffled along the couch to slump against his side, sniffling as she went. His thumb rubbed a soothing circle into her arm, and he propped his cheek on the top of her head.

“I’m just angry with myself,” she said, scrubbing at her wet face. “You specifically told me not to change who I am and I couldn’t even get that right. And now I’ve disappointed everyone and I don’t even have anything to show for it,”

Remus hummed out a little sigh. “Sometimes it’s difficult to show our true selves to people, especially those that we admire. But when the right person comes along though they’ll make you feel comfortable doing so. You don’t need to pretend to be someone you’re not,”

She peaked up at him. “Like Sirius?”

His cheeks, to her surprise, flushed a little, and he cleared his throat. “Uh…yes. Yes, I suppose so,”

Anwyn detached herself from his side, kicking off her her shoes before pulling her feet up onto the sofa. She wrapped her arms around her knees and propped her chin on them considering her next words.

“You really like him don’t you? He makes you happy?”

“Yes,” he replied softly after a second, his mouth curling in a tentative smile. “Yes, very much,”

“Good,” she managed a watery smile back. “I’m not going to lie and say it won’t be a little weird to have someone else around but…I think I could get used to it being Sirius. I like him. He’s…unexpectedly cool,”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, because I’m not?”

“No, I didn’t say that, he’s like rockstar cool, you’re more…nerdy academic adventurer cool,”

“Nerdy?!” He scoffed.

“No like, not bad nerdy, cool nerdy, like that muggle movie you took me to, what’s his name? Indy— Indy something,”

“Indiana Jones?”

“Yeah. You’re like a wizard Indiana Jones,”

“Where’s my wand,” he made a show of going for his pocket . “I’m going to conjure you a shovel so you can dig this hole faster,”

“Nooo-“ she half moaned, half laughed as she buried her face in her knees. “Remus—“

“Alright, I’m just winding you up,” he shifted to face her, wincing slightly as the movement pulled at some spot of pain, and draped his arm over the back of the sofa. “Truth be told, I’m a little relieved. I was worried…well I was worried you wouldn’t approve. And finding out via the newspaper wasn’t how I’d expected the news to be delivered,”

“Why wouldn’t I approve? If you’re happy isn’t that a good thing? And it means you’ve got some company while I’m at school and Mum’s away doing her thing,” she hesitated. “Anyway I think I uh— I think I kind of already knew,”

His opened his mouth, speechless for a second. “What? How?”

“I sort of worked it out at Christmas?”

“At Christmas? It was that obvious?” He said incredulously, shaking his head. “Blimey, no wonder Skeeter worked it out so easily,”

“She worked out quite a few things,” Anwyn muttered bitterly, pressing her mouth back into her knees.

Remus smile faded, and he drummed his fingers against the back of the sofa. “What happened at the lake Anwyn?” He asked gently.

Anwyn brought her thumb to her mouth, absently chewing at the ragged nail. “Nothing important. I just…freaked out. I got in the boat to go to the task and as soon as I saw the water it just all came back to me. The cold, the panic,” she gave an involuntary shiver, and Remus’ frown deepened.

“What happened last year at the lake was traumatic. It’s bound to have left its mark, I wouldn’t expect you to have just forgotten it,”

“I know, just feels like I made a fool of myself. And coupled with everything else, I can’t help but feel like I’m going insane,”

“You are not insane—“

“But what if I am? You don’t know everything that’s been happening, I keep just losing it and it’s like I can’t control it. Even my magic goes…mental” She threw her hands up as if demonstrating some sort of magical explosion. “I keep doing things without meaning to and I’m scared that one of these days I’m going to hurt someone! You should have seen Signe’s face when—” She caught herself, mouth snapping shut, and tightened her arms around her knees. “It’s just weird, that’s what I’m trying to say. Between that and panic attacks, it’s no wonder Skeeter wrote what she did,”

“Skeeter had no business writing about any of it,” Remus said firmly. “And accidental magic, though rarer at your age, isn’t necessarily a cause for concern when we look at the other pressures surrounding you. These things get easier to juggle as you get older and more familiar with your magic, but it’s still unclear the impact that high stress can have on a witch or wizard at any age. Let’s look at this logically for a second,” he held up a hand and began to count on his fingers. “You spent last year being hounded by your cousin until the point of burn out. You nearly drowned in the black lake, and you witnessed, to my great regret, a lycanthropic transformation—“

“Which wasn’t you’re fault—“

“But it left its mark regardless,” he continued, despite her protest. “Then we had the business at the World Cup, your friend being entered into a famously dangerous tournament, a quite frankly sadistic judge that had no business questioning you to the degree he did. And to top it off, you’ve discovered that your father may have been cursed by dark magic. I think given those circumstances, it’s a wonder you’re holding up as well as you are,”

She gave half hearted huff of laughter. “When you put it like that, it has been a bit of a shit few years,”

“Then perhaps you can try not to be so hard on yourself, hmm?” he suggested gently.

Anwyn let out a long, shaky breath and then nodded. He had a point. And if she’d just came to him with these worries instead of hiding them, perhaps the whole embarrassing business with Sprout wouldn’t have happened.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were struggling like this?” Remus asked quietly, as if reading her mind. “You know I would have listened,”

“I didn’t want to bother anyone,” she mumbled, picking once more at the fabric of her jeans. “Harry’s tasks are way more important than this, and I just wanted to handle it myself. It feels childish to come running to you with every worry,”

“Harry’s situation may be important, but so are you. And you’re never too old to ask for help, I’ll always be here if you need me. So put thoughts of being a bother out of your mind,”

She gave another silent nod, wiping her face with her hand before pressing her mouth back into her knees. The tears were beginning to dry, leaving her face sticky and eyes itching, an air of exhaustion beginning to hang over her.

Remus was drumming his fingers against the back of the sofa again, a dull tap tap tap of leather as he watched her. He cleared his throat, suddenly looking somewhat nervous. “You’re sure that my…relationship with Sirius isn’t adding to any of this?”

“No, of course it isn’t,” she said, hoping that it was clear in her tone. “Like I said, I’m glad you’ve got some company. If anything it makes me feel better knowing someone’s watching your back during the moon,”

That seemed to sooth him a little, and he stopped the tapping, mouth curling again in a slight smile. He shifted suddenly, reaching for his walking stick as he heaved himself out of the sofa with a poorly hidden grunt. He swayed for a second as he adjusted his grip in the cane, and then took a slow step towards the door.

“Now, I think we could both do with a spot of lunch—“

Anwyn clambered up from her seat. “Let me go,”

“It’s fine, I can manage—“

“Stop being stubborn. You’re never too old to ask for help remember?” She said, parroting his words back to him.

Remus’ mouth tweaked in a faint smile. “Alright. But tell Rosmerta to put it on the room’s tab, it’s my treat,”

“No arguments there,” she said with a grin, and then turned to leave.

“Anwyn, one last thing,”

“Yeah?” She asked, hoping it wasn’t going to lead to another lecture, but when she turned back to Remus he wore a pained expression once more, a little crinkle between his brows.

“Last year…when you told me how you were feeling after the lake…you’re not…you’d tell me if those feelings returned…wouldn’t you?”

Anwyn felt a sudden surge of affection that choked her voice in her throat once more and threatened to start the tears all over again. She set her mouth in a thin line, and shook her head.

“It’s…never been that bad since. And I don’t ever want to feel like that again,” she said. “I promise I’d tell you if I did,”

“Alright,” he replied quietly, briefly cupping her cheek with one hand. “Thank you for telling me the truth today,”

She gave him a small smile. “Thank you for listening. And not being too mad. I half expected a howler at breakfast after the duel,”

“A howler, really?” Remus raised an eyebrow. “When have I ever been one for using humiliation as punishment? I can’t think of any situation you could get yourself in that would warrant that,”

“Sounds like a challenge,” she grinned, and headed for the door.

She was already on the landing when she heard Remus’ response.

“It was not a challenge! Anwyn? Are you hearing me? It was not a challenge!”

Notes:

I rewrote a lot of this chapter so apologies for the wait. It originally had Anwyn turning up to the Hogsmeade visit and immediately getting a lecture from Remus on taking her OWLs seriously but something felt off. I made myself come at it from a different angle, and this ended up feeling better suited to where they both are. I think the potions lab taught both of them a valuable lesson last year that would be a shame to waste.

A note on the movie mention - I like to think that Remus is a bit of muggle film fan. Not only was his mother a muggle so might have introduced him, but he’s spent a lot of time forced to live a somewhat muggle life, so he’ll have dipped his toes in a bit.

Also, this chapter is a whopper! Thats with me cutting stuff too which may or may not end up in the next chapter, we’ll see how well I can organise it.

Anyway, thanks again for reading!

Chapter 31: Owl Post

The first signs that they were about to have company were the clatter of footsteps on the stairs and a barking laugh. Anwyn was polishing off the last of her slice of apple pie, licking her fingers when the door opened, and Harry stopped on the threshold, a perplexed look on his face.

“What are you doing here!?” he asked incredulously. “We waited twenty minutes for you in the great hall, and you’ve been sitting here eating cake all along?”

“Sorry,” Anwyn gave him a guilty look. “I got…uh…caught up,”

“How did you get here before us though? Did you take the tunnel to Honeydukes?”

At that she brightened. “There’s a tunnel to Honeydukes?”

“Dont get any ideas,” Remus said. “You’re not planning a chocolate heist,”

“There’s a tunnel to Honeydukes, and you knew about it and didn’t tell me?!” She glared at Remus. “How could you?!”

“We took the floo network,” Remus told them calmly, ignoring his niece’s look of betrayal.

Ron stopped, jacket half off. “That’s an option? You mean we froze for nothing?”

“It’s only an option when your head of house drags you in for an impromptu meeting,” Anwyn replied bitterly. “She let me floo back with Remus,”

“No way?!” Ron looked between the two of them. “I’ve had howlers before but Mum’s only ever been called in for Fred and George. What did you do?”

She shot a nervous look at a Remus. “Just…skipped some classes and stuff. The duel this week didn’t go down too well either. It was an altogether unpleasant experience, I don’t plan on it happening a second time,”

“I’d certainly hope not,” Remus muttered over the rim of his glass.

“You know, I’m disappointed in you Anwyn,” Sirius said as he flopped down onto the armchair across from her. Her heart sunk, certain that she didn’t have it in her to be the subject of another lecture today, but he was sporting lopsided grin. “Fifth year and it’s the first time you’ve had a guardian called in for bad behaviour? It’s like you’re not even trying,”

His grin only widened at the unimpressed look that Remus was shooting at him, and he fired Anwyn a wink as she fought to keep the smirk from her own face.

“Sprout must have been worried if she called you Remus though, she’s much more laid back than Professor McGonagall, and she’s only ever given us detention,” Hermione said knowingly.

“Wow, thanks Hermione, you really know how to cheer a girl up,”

Hermione pursed her lips. “I only meant to say—“

“Give it a rest Hermione,” Ron groaned. “Can we eat already? I’m bloody starving!”

“Oh you’re always starving Ronald—“

“Lunch it is,” Sirius interrupted their squabbling. “Food should be arriving any minute,”

The conversation lulled momentarily as the food did indeed arrive, and then Sirius dealt out a deck of cards and started teaching them a game that’s rules went into Anwyn’s brain and then straight out again. The complexity of the card game was not helped by the photographs in Remus’ hand. She’d retrieved them from her bag hoping he’d be able to recognise something she did not, but his careful review was taking, in her opinion, a painfully long time.

“Hah, two kings, that trumps your hand Anwyn,” Harry slapped his cards down on the table,”

“How? I’ve got an ace—“

“Only a single, that’s not the same, you’re out,”

“That makes no sense—“

“This is very odd,” Remus muttered from the chair by the fire.

Anwyn looked around, losing all interest in the argument in an instant. “Yeah? You’ve spotted something?”

Remus nodded in reply. She folded without comment, dumping her cards on the table and ignored Harry’s smug grin before quickly shifting to perch on the arm of Remus’ chair.

“This burn,” Remus said, pointing to the mark on her father’s arm just as he pulled his sleeve down again. “You were right to find it strange, if this had been a normal injury, say by fire or boiling water, he’d have had it healed. St Mungo’s can deal with something like that quite easily, which would suggest this was inflicted by something magical in nature,”

“What though? You said Fyndfire would have consumed him completely, could it have been a dragon? Or something else entirely?”

“Even dragon burns can be healed by the right person. He was a keen potioneer, perhaps it was an experiment gone wrong? It’s difficult to say without any more information on what he was studying with Nilsson,”

“Yeah, and I’m unlikely to find out more there now,” she said bitterly before hesitating. “Signe did have one suggestion but I don’t know how I feel about it,”

“Oh? What would that be?”

“She said I should write to Grandmother. Ask if there was a family curse or something that he had since he was younger,”

Remus was silent for a moment, watching her father pottering away at the desk it front of him. He finally turned to her, frowning, his mouth a thin line.

“It is an avenue we haven’t considered,” he said slowly. But are you sure you’re comfortable contacting her? I wouldn’t be opposed to you cutting that side off completely if I’m honest,”

“I’m not sure. I guess I don’t have to make a decision now, but it’s an option if we can’t think of anything else,”

“I’d write for you but something tells me they wouldn’t deign to grace me with a reply,” he muttered, turning back to continue flicking through the photos.

“Twats,”

“Anwyn—“

“Sorry,” she grumbled, though without much feeling. “I’m not sure how much she could tell me anyway, or if she would do so willingly. If they hate you so much, what’s to say they’d admit to having a cursed son? From the way Grandmother talks about him you’d think Dad had been Merlin reborn,”

Remus gave a huff of amusement, holding the next photograph up to his face. Sebastian Blackthorn shook hands with Nilsson over the chessboard, and Anwyn was sure he wouldn’t spot anything. She’d already poured over that one for hours.

“Has your Grandmother ever spoken about why your father left?” He asked after a moment.

“Umm…not really?” She replied, screwing up her face as she tried to recall anything helpful. “She’s mentioned it, but it’s always been in the form of poorly disguised jabs at Mum,”

“Dare I ask?”

She sat up straight, pressing her lips into a pout and attempted to affect her poshest voice. “Your father had so much promise before he ran away with that woman. Your father was a proper gentleman, he stood by this family before your mother bewitched him. Why can’t you take more interest in your blood ties like your father would have. Your father—“

“Alright, I get the picture,” he said with a chuckle. “A truly terrifying impression I must say,”

“What can I say, I’ve spent many an hour having to listen to her lectures. It’s given me time to perfect it,”

“Well hopefully you won’t have to listen to another one again. If you somehow ever end up back there I’ll be dragging you out myself,” he watched as Sebastian Blackthorn began to shift chess pieces, and sighed. “If only photographs were as sophisticated as paintings, we could have just asked him,”

“Yeah, and it’s not like we have a family portrait lying around. Although…” Anwyn paused, and then shook her head. “Nah it would never work. He never speaks to me anyway,”

“Who?” Remus turned to give her a quizzical look.

“Dad. There’s a portrait of him in Thornhill but he’s a lot younger. Maybe even too young to be at Hogwarts yet. I used to try and talk to him when I was little,” she flushed a little at the admission, a fact she’d never told anyone before. “But he never spoke back to me. I guess he was too young to know who I was at that point so it makes sense. I gave up pretty quickly anyway because Grandfather stormed in from the portrait along the hall and started screaming at me for daring to speak to his pureblood son,”

It was clear from Remus’ face what he thought of the old man. “I am thankful that you never had to meet him in person at least,”

He gave a frustrated shake of the head, turning back to the photographs. He shuffled through them, pausing briefly on the picture of the families together, and then stopped on the trio of small children.

“God, you look like the spitting image of your mother here,” he chuckled, but there was a slightly melancholy tone to his voice. “Where has the time gone?”

There was a bang as a hand of cards were slammed down onto the table, quickly followed by an excited whoop from Sirius.

“Has he always been this boisterous?” Anwyn asked, a note of amusement in her voice.

“Oh yes,” Remus replied, not looking up from the photo. “If you think this is loud, you should have heard him after a quidditch match—“

“Oh good, I haven’t missed you. And Wynnie’s here too! Is it a Hogsmeade weekend already?”

Anwyn nearly fell off the arm of the chair at the sound of her mother’s voice. She looked quickly around the room before finally spotting the head in the flames of the fire.

“Mum!” She exclaimed, scrambling to sit at the hearth. “Where are you?”

“I’m flooing from my hotel in Romania, just checking in before my portkey to Albania. How are you all faring? I swear when I next see Skeeter I’m going to ring her neck—“

“Told you,” Remus muttered behind her, giving her a nudge with his foot, and she suppressed a grin.

“Can’t say it’s been the best of weeks but we’re holding on in there,” Anwyn told her with a weak smile.

“And is that Sirius I see too? I have a few words for him as well,” she said in a tone that suggested those words wouldn’t be entirely pleasant.

“Charmed to see you as always Bethan, but perhaps it can wait until your back? Preferably when I’m not in the room,” Sirius called from his seat, leaning back and propping his feet in the coffee table.

Anwyn watched her mother scowl, mouth opening to argue and she quickly cut her off. “When are you coming home Mum?”

“Soon. I’m just following up on this Bertha Jorkins disappearance and then I’ll be back. But Remus—“ her head turned to look towards her brother. “—this visit has unearthed some interesting rumours about Karkaroff,”

“You should have opened with that,” Sirius sat forward. “Don’t leave us in suspense. What have you managed to dig up?”

Her Mum hesitated. “Are you sure you want the kids hearing about this?”

“I want to know what he’s up to,” Harry said quickly, shooting his godfather a pleading look. “It’s my neck on the block after all,”

Sirius nodded. “I’d rather they were prepared for the worst. Go on Bethan, out with it,”

“Alright. I haven’t gotten anywhere near the school, but the rumours are there if you know where to look. Karkaroff has been building a reputation in Europe. His Defence Against the Dark Arts classes have shown a worrying lack of “defence” in the last few years, and despite lobbying from sympathetic parties, he’s overruled attempts to institute a Muggle Studies class at every turn,”

“So despite avoiding Azkaban, he hasn’t exactly turned a new leaf,” Remus said.

Her mother’s fiery head gave a nod in a shower of sparks. “Even more concerning is his hero worship of Grindewald. He personally steps in to teach History of Magic when Grindewald’s rebellion is the topic of study,”

“Do you think that’s why Moody is so interested in him?” Hermione asked. “He knows what sort of a wizard he is?”

“I’d put money on it,” Sirius said. “But it doesn’t explain his interest in Snivillus,”

“Snape seems to know Karkaroff pretty well, but he wants to keep that quiet,” said Ron.

“Yeah, you should’ve seen Snape’s face when Karkaroff turned up in Potions yesterday!” said Harry quickly. “Karkaroff wanted to talk to Snape, he says Snape’s been avoiding him. Karkaroff looked really worried. He showed Snape something on his arm, but I couldn’t see what it was.”

“He showed Snape something on his arm?’ said Sirius, looking bewildered. He ran his fingers distractedly through his flyaway hair, glancing at Remus, and then shrugged again. “Well, I’ve no idea what that’s about,”

“No? You didn’t hear the rumours then?” Her Mum asked from the fire place.

“What rumours?”

“That You Know Who’s followers were marked. An identifying feature that could prove their loyalty to their leader,”

“How do you know this?” Remus asked frowning. “And why have we never heard of it?”

Her Mum pressed her mouth into a thin line. “It’s hardly a fact they’d want to be made public, is it? But I have my sources,”

“But Snivellus? A death eater?” Sirius mused. “He did surround himself with all of the likely characters, but surely Dumbledore wouldn’t let him teach at the school if he’d been one. He’s always put his trust where others did not, but that seems a step too far,”

“Maybe that’s why he brought Mad-Eye Moody in. To keep an eye on him,” Rob suggested, and then he slapped his palm off his forehead. “Of course! That’s why Crouch was in his office too, it’s got to be!”

“What’s this?” Bethan asked, looking between the two of them hopefully. “We’ve found our missing wizard?”

“Harry saw him on the map in Snape’s office of all places,” Sirius replied.

“The map? The one you two made in your school days?” She raised an eyebrow, looking sceptical. “How reliable is that thing?”

“Very,” Remus said. “The map is always right. If it said that Crouch was there, then he was,”

“I’ll take you word for it,” she replied, not sounding convinced. “What was he doing in there?”

“Who knows,” Harry said. “But whatever the reason it was apparently more important than the task, because he sent Ron’s brother Percy in his place,”

“That’s not even the full story. Tell them about what Moody said Harry,” Hermione urged, practically sitting on the edge of the sofa.

“Oh yeah, Crouch hasn’t been the only one searching Snape’s office, Moody has been in there too. I don’t know what he’s looking for, but he really seems to hate Snape. And Karkaroff come to think of it,”

“Do you think it’s related to stuff going missing from Snape’s stores?” Anwyn asked.

“Ahh yes, we never did talk about that particular point,” Remus said. “What exactly were his accusations?”

“He thinks I’ve been stealing potions ingredients. Boomslang skin, lacewing fly, all components of Polyjuice potion,”

“And he thinks you took it?” Her Mum asked. “Why on earth would he assume you were the culprit?”

“I dunno, because he hates us? You saw what he was like at the trial, that’s him on a good day. And he thinks I’m plotting something with Harry,”

“Yeah he accused me too,” Harry said bitterly. “Threatened to put veritiserum in my pumpkin juice—“

“He threatened to do what?!” Sirius growled. “That slimy, rotten shit—“

“That begs the question, who is stealing polyjuice ingredients?” Remus asked, ignoring the other man’s continued grumbling.“A few brave students up to no good? Or someone who wanted to submit an extra name to the goblet without being spotted,”

“But if it’s whoever put Harry’s name in the goblet, that means they could be impersonating anyone! How are we supposed to know who to trust?” Ron exclaimed.

“They need a hair or something from the person they’re impersonating, and they’d need it consistently if they were replacing them often,” Anwyn pointed out. “So it must be someone who’s got access to the same areas as their target. Someone from the same house, or a teacher or something,”

“A very good point,” Remus said. “Of course we’re jumping to the worst case scenario here. For all we know, it’s a poorly timed but completely unrelated incident,”

“Still, watch your backs,” Sirius warned them. “Keep an eye out for anyone acting out of the ordinary, and stick together. I don’t like how in the dark we are about all of this,”

They lapsed into silence for a second, Sirius’ words hanging over them as the fire continued to crackle away, and then Anwyn’s Mum spoke again.

“Moody, Crouch, Snape, Karkaroff…. there’s something we’re missing here, something tying them all together,” she muttered.

“Maybe Professor Snape’s…looking out for Harry?” Hermione suggested. “Maybe he’s on the same side as Professor Moody but they just don’t get along. After all, he doesn’t seem to get along with anyone,”

“You give him far too much credit Hermione,” Sirius grumbled.

“But he’s had four years to try and harm him and he’s not!” She continued. “Surely he’d have done something by now if he really wanted him dead?”

“So what, he’s just a grumpy bastard?” Anwyn asked. “One who enjoys making people miserable for the fun of it?”

“I’m inclined to agree with Hermione,” Remus said reluctantly. “I can’t pretend to approve of his teaching methods, or the way he’s still harbouring this grudge against Harry, but he’s still Dumbledore’s man. That goes a long way,”

“So that leaves us with Crouch and Karkaroff again. Oh how I’d love a word with Crouch’s house elf,” her Mum muttered, eyes focused on a point across the room as she thought. “The secrets she must know…but where’s be sent her?”

“That’s an easy one,” Harry said. “She’s in the school kitchens,”

“Is she really? Do you think she’d talk to you?”

Harry shrugged. “I dunno. But we can try,”

“Give it a bash. You never know what she might have heard. Damn it, I’ve got to go—“

“Already?” Anwyn asked, mildly embarrassed by the desperation in her voice. “When will we hear from you?”

“Soon Wynnie, soon. But I can’t chat any longer, my portkey’s in an hour and I’m barely packed. Look after each other alright? I don’t want to read any more second hand news about you in the Prophet,”

“Sure,” Anwyn said weakly, knowing she was fighting a losing battle. “Safe trip,”

And with that her face disappeared almost as quickly at it had materialised. Anwyn sat for a moment and watched the point on the flames where it had been, an odd familiar sinking feeling in her chest that often came after talking to her Mum. It was the knowledge that she’d managed to scrape the barest amount of her time, and that the next opportunity to talk could be weeks or months away. But she should be used to this by now. This was just how life with her Mum worked.

She could hear the others going over the suspects once more, along with the soft patter of cards as Sirius dealt out fresh hands, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to work up the enthusiasm for another game. Defeated, she climbed to her feet and slumped back down onto the arm of the chair beside Remus. He gathered up the photographs, handing them silently over while taking in her glum expression.

“Not joining them for another game?”

She shook her head and brought a finger up to chew at one of her ragged nails.

“Perhaps I can tempt you to another butter beer then?” He asked, and she knew he was falling back into the old pattern of using sweet treats as an instant mood booster.

It did sound tempting, but instead she let out a long sigh. “I should probably get going myself. I’ve got a bit of shopping still to do,”

“Do you need some company? I’ll be a little slow, but perhaps stretching my legs might help,”

“No thanks, in fact you are expressly forbidden from coming,” she slipped back off the arm of the chair, stretching her arms wide as a yawn caught her, and then spotted the frown in Remus’ face. “Oh don’t look at me like that, its nothing to worry about. I just can’t have you tagging along while I’m buying birthday presents for you, can I?”

“You don’t need to get me anything—“

“Is what annoying old people say,” she rolled her eyes. “You’re not seriously getting that decrepit are you?”

“I’m only turning thirty five you cheeky git,” he grumbled, though his mouth was curling in a smile. He grabbed his walking stick and levered himself to his feet. “I’ll walk you down,”

She said her goodbyes to the others and then defended the steps to the tap room. The Three Broomsticks was much busier than it had been when she’d popped down to order lunch, every single table filled with students and teachers alike. Again, she couldn’t help but notice the eyes that turned her way. Sure, a few of them were friendly; Hagrid for example was sharing a glass of something with McGonagall and the pair waved a greeting to Remus when they spotted him, but judging by the heads going together and the outbreaks of laughter, not all of the attention was as innocent.

Two ash blonde heads in particular caught Anwyn’s eye. Signe and Anders, crowded in with a table of Ravenclaws. It seemed that the Durnstrang girl had not wasted time making knew friends, Anwyn thought bitterly, and as she watched they both looked her way. Anders elbowed his sister, dipping his head to say something that was lost below the noise of the inn. Signe snarled something back to him, the disgust clean on her face, and it made Anwyn’s stomach do a sickly little jolt.

“Well, I’ll leave you here,” Remus said quietly, and she looked up to find him following her gaze, his brow faintly lined. “Keep in touch,”

“Yeah. Yeah I will,” she replied, hovering nervously as she snuck another look across the room. Signe now seemed to be resolutely avoiding her eye, but Ander’s was staring brazingly, a smirk on his face.

“Remus how do you do it?” She blurted out in a hurried whisper, turning back to him. “How do you keep going when everyone’s being so…shit? How does it not bother you?”

His brow crinkled, his expression almost pained. “I won’t lie to you, it’s not always as easy as that. But I don’t like to give them the satisfaction of knowing their words or actions hurt. And I am…somewhat used to it by now,”

The sad smile he gave her broke her heart, and she realised with a stab of guilt that they’d spent so long talking about her issues that she’d never gotten the chance to ask how he was doing after Skeeter’s article. Being accused of madness was one thing, but he’d been directly cited as the cause of it, amongst other things. And it wasn’t exactly a new experience for him.

She briefly considered saying something, an apology perhaps, but it was too late now. It would feel far too much like an afterthought, something she’d dragged up because she felt she’d had to. Besides, in the packed tap room, surrounded by ex students and colleagues, how much could they really say?

Perhaps witnessing the warring emotions on her face , Remus placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Everything has its time Anwyn, everything comes to an end. And this particular rough patch is no exception. We’ll ride it out, you’ll see,”

Anwyn huffed out a sigh, before standing on her toes to peck him on the cheek, Signe be damned. “Tara then,” she said, attempting to at least smile before she left. “I hope your hip’s feeling better soon,”

“A few more days of rest and I’ll be right as rain. Keep your chin up cariad,”

With a final wave Anwyn turned and pushed her way through the crowd, determined to not look back for one final glance of Signe’s stormy expression.

———

If her behaviour in the Three Broomsticks hadn’t given it away, going back to school certainly did. Signe, it seemed, had finally gotten the message. When Anwyn turned up for Charms on Monday morning, the Durmstrang girl was sitting at the opposite side of the room, books open on her desk, slumped into her chair. She didn’t look Anwyn’s way once, and though the lack of attention was welcome after a week of trying to avoid her, it still somewhat stung. A silly reaction to have after everything that had been said between them, but she couldn’t help it, perhaps because it made the whole situation seem final. There was no going back.

Still, her teachers didn’t give her much of a chance to mull it over. Flitwick battered them with questions until her brain hurt, and in Ancient Runes they were subjected to a mock exam that made her feel like her brain was leaking out of her ears. History of Magic was no better, and by the time she finally made it to dinner, Signe was the furthest from her mind, her thoughts already on how exactly she would complete the mountain of homework she now had with both Remedial Transfiguration and her detention with Sprout that evening.

“Oh good,” She sighed as she plonked herself down at the Gryffindor table. “Macaroni cheese, I’m bloody starving and I’ve only got fifteen minutes. Binns forgot to dismiss the class again when the bell rang,”

“Busy day?” Harry asked with a note of amusement as she quickly filled her plate.

“Mental. I’m telling you, you think fourth year is bad, wait until it’s your OWLs—“ she cut herself off as she rammed a spoon of pasta into her mouth and swallowed it quickly. “I’m fairly certain the teachers are trialing a new form of torture by essay,”

“Really?” Hermione said. “Oh I do hope not, they’re already setting us so much homework right now, and— oh for heavens sake!”

Her spoon clattered to the table, a splatter of hot soup patterning the wood, and it was then that Anwyn noticed the thick bandages wrapped around her hands, restricting their movement.

“What happened to your hands Hermione?” She asked, picking up the spoon that was evading the poor girl’s clumsy fingers and handing it to her.

“Oh its nothing, just— just a little bit of bobotuber puss,”

Anwyn winced. “Oh that’s nasty stuff. How did it happen? Herbology accident?”

“She got a load of letters this morning about that article Skeeter wrote,” Ron said from the opposite side of the table. “From some absolute nut jobs apparently cause one was laced with the stuff,”

“You’re kidding?!” The next spoon of pasta paused halfway to Anwyn’s mouth as she stared between them.

“I wish we were,” Harry said grimly. “Hagrid apparently had a load too after Skeeter’s article about him, so keep an eye out for any weird letters,”

“Oh great, something else to look forward to!” She moaned.

As it turned out, her letters were only a few days behind Hermione’s. The first one landed in her cereal at the breakfast table on Tuesday, splashing milk across the wood. At first she had thought it was from her Mum, but the writing was unfamiliar, and two more swiftly joined it, the owls swooping down over their heads. Hermione’s bandaged hands in mind, she carefully peeled back the flap of the envelope and drew out the letter. No strange excretions appeared.

“What the hell?” She muttered, skimming the first few lines.

“What is it?” Sarah asked.

“Listen to this. Dear Miss Blackthorn, I am writing to provide my services as a hypnotist of some renown. It is my belief that a session under my spell will cure you of the malady of the mind in which you suffer—“

“Malady of the mind?” Russell scoffed. “What are they on about?”

He picked up one of the letters, passing the other to Sarah, and they tore open the envelopes.

“Careful, Hermiones been getting booby trapped ones,” Anwyn warned them, still rereading the hypnotists correspondence. Did she have a malady of the mind? Was it curable?

“Absolute psychos,” Russell said. “Look at this one!”

He spun the parchment around to show an odd assortment of letters. It had been made with a collage of newspaper clippings and comprised of just a few sentences, but they were enough to make chest tight.

H4lfbReedS are sCUm. U aNd yoUr viLe UNcle sHouLd haVe dRowNed in tHat lAke. STaY aWay fRom HArRy PoTter.

It felt almost like the author had gotten their wish, her lungs suddenly breathless and her body cold as if she’d plunged into freezing water. She crumpled up the letter from the hypnotist in her hands, chucking the balled up parchment down onto the table.

“Oh Anwyn, this one’s even worse,” Sarah shot her a pained look. “To Miss Anwyn Blackthorn, the Society of the Eradication of the Lycanthropic Menace would like to offer their condolences for the life that has been stolen from you. The Society upholds the values that we deem necessary for the protection of true wizarding culture, and would be interested in meeting with you to discuss an exchange of information pertaining to the known weaknesses displayed by the werewolf Remus Lupin—“

“I don’t want to hear any more,” she cut Sarah off with more bite than the girl deserved, certain that she might be sick into her bowl of cereal.

“What the hell is wrong with these people, don’t they have a life—“

Russell was interrupted by a fourth letter dropping from the claws of a great eagle owl. It bounced off the rim of her glass of pumpkin juice, knocking it over and splashing it down her legs, a distraction at least from how her hands had begun to shake. She was swearing under her breath and pulling out her wand to dry it when a faint hissing noise caught her attention.

“Aww Wyns, you’re in for it now!” Russell eyed the steaming red envelope. “Run!”

Too late. The howler unfurled and exploded into a furious tirade, scattering paper across the table in the process, the unmistakable crackle of her grandmothers voice filling the hall.

“I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO DISAPPOINTED IN MY LIFE. HOW DARE YOU DO THIS TO YOUR FAMILY, YOUR BLOOD! YOU DISGRACE THE BLACKTHORN NAME, AND YOU SHAME YOUR FATHER’S MEMORY. HE WOULD BE DISGUSTED TO SEE WHAT HIS DAUGHTER HAS BECOME, A HYSTERICAL IMBECILE WHO CANNOT HOLD HER TONGUE. I EXPECT A WRITTEN APOLOGY ON THE MORROW,”

The letter spat a great tongue of paper at her, and then promptly ripped itself to shreds, flakes scattering down into her cereal bowl.

“Fucking hell,” Russell muttered after a few seconds of stunned silence.

Anwyn didn’t reply. Her mouth had gone terribly dry, and her eyes were stinging, a reaction that was typical for her when her Grandmother started one of her rants, but usually only served to make the old woman more irate. Still, she thought numbly, at least Slyvestus wasn’t here to follow up with a stinging hex.

“Are you alright?” Sarah asked in a tiny voice.

“Y-yeah,” she force out, finding it mildly difficult to breath. “I have to— I’m going to go. I’ll see you in class,”

As she stood from the table she couldn’t help but have a furtive glance around the hall. The twins were in hysterics, Silas practically collapsing on the table while Sorrell spoke animatedly to the other girls beside her, all giggling while they watch Anwyn stand. Harry had half risen from the Gryffindor table too, but she quickly avoided his eye and hurried to the door.

She made it into the entrance hall before the tears had started properly, and it was there she took a big, gulping breath of air as she tried to calm herself. The shame was starting to sink in fully now. It seemed that there was no end in sight to her public embarrassment, despite Remus’ assurances, and as she rubbed a hand across her eyes a pair of Ravenclaws left the great hall and shot her odd looks. She turned to the wall, and took a deep inhale of air, shutting her eyes. Perhaps she should just go to class, take the time to calm down. What other choice did she have? She could hide out in the toilets, but missing class wasn’t an option, Sprout had made that clear. Resigned, and hurried off down the corridor before anyone else could appear.

The marble halls of the Defence Against the Dark Arts tower were quiet, with most of the students still eating breakfast and no doubt discussing the poor fool who’d just had a howler in front of the hall. She took the steps up to the second floor, where she found herself hovering outside of the classroom door. It was cracked open, completely empty inside from what she could see, and she stuck her head around the door.

No students, no sign of Moody. He wouldn’t be annoyed if she just sat and waited for class, right? With another anxious glance down the stairs, Anwyn stepped inside.

It was odd being in the classroom by herself again. Part of her half expected the door to the little office at the back to open, and for Remus to poke his head out and welcome her with a smile, but the strange dark instruments and lenses that littered the sides of the classroom reminded her that was now impossible, despite how much she needed his calm reassurance right now. She thought belatedly of the message book tucked in her trunk at the bottom of her bed. Perhaps she should have written to him instead of coming to class early, in fact that would have been the most sensible use of her time. Then again, she hadn’t really been thinking straight. With a groan, she folded her arms across her desk, and sunk her head down onto them.

“Awfully keen this morning Blackthorn,”

Anwyn rocketed upright to find Moody standing at the top of the stairs, electric blue eye darting rapidly around the room as if he was looking for other intruders. How the hell had he appeared so quietly with that wooden leg?

“Sorry Professor, I…just didn’t feel like breakfast,”

“I’m sure the howler had nothing to do with it,”

Her face lit up, cheeks burning as Moody stomped down the stairs, good eye still fixed on her.

“You heard it?”

“Half the school heard it Blackthorn. Hard to miss that banshee’s wailing. Don't tell me you’re letting it get to you?”

She scowled, mildly annoyed despite how intimidating her teacher was. “How can I not? Everyone things I’m mad, and they’re probably right,”

Moody made a noise of derision. “Let them. If people think you’re mad, they tend to write you off in my experience. Puts them on the back foot, gives you an advantage where they think you have none,”

Anwyn worried at her bottom lip, eyes dropping to her desk. This was a side of Moody she’d never seen before, oddly supportive in his own gruff way, and nothing like the crazy old man she’d considered him to be. But then that was exactly the point he was trying to make, wasn’t it?

“You’ve got a decision to make girl,” he said, stopping in front of her desk. “Your uncle’s condition isn’t going away, so you best learn to live with the consequences—“

Her head shot back up again. “That’s—“

“No, don’t look at me like that, you know it’s true,” he interrupted her. “You want me to coddle you, tell you everything will be alright? Because it won’t. Doesn’t matter how many minds you change on the subject, there will always be some that think they’re better than him, better than you. Your father’s family being a prime example,” the distaste was clear in his voice. “So why bother listening to their opinion?”

Anwyn realised her mouth was hanging open, agog, and she floundered for an answer. “Because— she said my dad—“

“Left his family behind to start a new one. Says it all really about the type of cowards and imbeciles he was born into eh?”

“What do you mean? Did you know him?”

Moody’s eye spun in its socket, and he drew his mouth into a thin line. “Not well. But it’s not hard to guess what sort of family the Blackthorns were,” he turned on the spot and began clumping back down the classroom towards his desk. “My point is Blackthorn, you can wallow and feel sorry for yourself, and go about proving that you are exactly the kind of useless wretch they think you are. Or you can apply yourself. Put the work in. Make something of yourself that your father would have been proud of. Doesn’t that sound preferable?”

“Yeah,” she said reluctantly. “I guess so,”

He stood behind his desk and it was hard to tell against the gnarled scars on his face but she could have sworn that he had a satisfied smile on his face.

“Good. Then you can start by helping me demonstrate proper shield integrity—“

“What— but sir—“

“No arguments girl. I heard about your duel last week, your shield work is strong but sloppy. We’ll put a stop to that, mark my words,”

Anwyn didn’t doubt he would. The question was, would she still be breathing by the end of the lesson.

———

The little writing desk had seemed useful when they’d first arrived at the Three Broomsticks, but surrounded by books and parchment as he was now, Remus was beginning to miss the sheer size of his teacher’s desk back in his Hogwarts office. He shifted the heavy volume that was splayed open in front of him, trying to keep the parchment fully in the surface, and scribbled a few notes. Still, he didn’t have much hope in his findings. Whatever had ailed Sebastian Blackthorn truly was a mystery.

He caught a flash out of the corner of his eye and looked up to find the gates on the front of his message book lit up, and he checked his watch. A little after twelve thirty, lunch time for the students, so not completely out of the ordinary. Still, with everything that had been going on lately it was with some trepidation that he flipped the book open.

Got my first howler today after all.

What?? He wrote hurriedly. From who??

Grandmother. About the article. She says I’ve brought shame on the family and that Dad would be disgusted to have me as a daughter.

It took him a second to realise that if he didn’t stop gripping his quill so tightly he’d likely snap it. Even then, it took a few longer seconds still of controlled breathing before he felt confident that he wasn’t going to spew a torrent of anger across the page when he put ink to it. What a disgusting woman. Who seriously thought that way, never mind said it to a child? And many times had Anwyn listened to such vitriol while in her presence?

Complete and utter rubbish Anwyn. Do not take an ounce of her opinion on board. I mean it. I’ll be writing to her this afternoon, this is completely unacceptable.

You don’t think she’s right? About Dad I mean?

Certainly not. Any sane man would cherish a daughter like you.

There was a pause for a minute, one in which he tortured himself imagining what sort of state she might be in on the other side, but then she was writing again.

She’s not the only one that wrote. I’ve got letters from healers, one from some anti-werewolf lobbyist and a particular nasty one made from newspaper clippings.

He could guess the contents of the last. His own had directed him to the many ways in which they’d prefer he removed himself from the world, a depressing little letter that had triggered the same emotionless calm wall in his mind that he was used to building when faced with such diatribe. To think that Anwyn, only fifteen years old and already battling with her own self destructive thoughts had received similar made him feel a little bit nauseated.

I’ve had a few myself. I’m not opening any mail for unfamiliar owls, I suggest you do the same until this all blows over.

Unless it’s a howler. Not much I can do there.

“I’m popping out for a bit, got a few errands to run,”

He turned to find Sirius unhooking his jacket from the back of the door, hair secured in a haphazard bun by his wand, a look that seemed to peel the years from him.

“Let me just finish up here and I’ll grab my coat—“

“No need,” Sirius stopped him. “I think it’s best I go alone for this one. It’s uhh…top secret,”

“Oh,” Remus tried to keep his face neutral, forcing a genial smile. “Alright. Well, I’ll see you at dinner then,”

He turned back to the desk, having completely forgotten what he was supposed to have been writing. It had been a while since he’d felt that churning unease in his gut, a little niggling voice taunting him at the back of his mind. At one point in time, it had seemed that there would be no end to the arguments, the mistrust that seemed to dog their every move. But the war was over, there were no missions to keep quiet, no Order secrets to withhold from potential traitors. That fact, however, brought him little comfort.

Perhaps he wasn’t so good at hiding his feelings, because Sirius paused briefly when he spotted his face, leather jacket half shrugged onto his shoulders. He finished pulling it on, adjusted his collar before stepping forward to drape his arms lazily around Remus shoulders from behind, cheeks pressing together.

“You’ll find out where I’ve been by the end of the week, if all goes well. It’ll be worth the wait, I promise,” he placed a hap hazard kiss against Remus’ cheek bone.

“I don’t like secrets,” Remus muttered. “We’ve got too many of them to keep track of already,”

“The end of the week,” Sirius repeated. “Then no more secrets between us. Besides, it’s more of a…surprise really,” he leaned over Remus’ shoulder further, skimming the book in front of him. “News from Wyn?”

“Mmm,” Remus gave a noise of confirmation. “She’s been receiving the same hate mail as we have. So has Hermione by the sounds of it,”

“Bastards,” Sirius spat, pushing back off Remus shoulders. “Another thing to raise with Dumbledore when I meet him. The school’s got who knows how many magical wards around it, you think the least they could do is stop the kids getting letters from hateful strangers,”

“One of them was unfortunately a known entity. A howler from the Blackthorns,”

“Your sister really married into a weird bunch, didn’t she? Tell Anwyn about our old tricks for when dearest Mother used to write,” the amount of venom in his voice suggested how he truly felt about the woman. “That’ll make short work of any future howlers,”

“Good idea,” Remus nodded, scribbling a response down. Imobulus and Incendio, a howler’s worst enemies.

“And tell her I’ll happily send a howler back to the old hag if she wants,”

“Not such a good idea,”

“Well the offer’s on the table,” Sirius swung the door open, and Remus turned in time to receive a lop sided grin. “Think about it, eh? I’d be happy to. It would cathartic. Therapeutic even,”

“I will see you at dinner,” Remus repeated, though he failed to keep the smile from his face as the door swung shut behind the other man.

———

The words on the page made a sentence, yes, but that sentence didn’t make much sense at all. She had read it over and over, about five times now, but nothing was going in. They were just words.

To be fair, Russell and Duncan were being particularly loud, the game of gob-stones having devolved into a good natured argument. Two of the first years was practicing for the toad choir in the opposite corner, though the jury was out on whether or not they should be allowed to perform, and two of the sixth years had charmed one of the watering cans to play musical notes anytime the water hit a leaf. It was a wonder she hadn’t lost her mind entirely.

“No, I saw you hit the wrong stone, it’s not my fault it spat in your eye—“

“I didn’t, it bounced off yours!”

“Are they still fighting over that last game?” Anwyn asked, tilting her head back to look at Sarah, whose arm was providing a makeshift pillow to lean against.

“Course they are,” she replied, still staring down at the novel in her own hands. “And they probably will be for the rest of the night. How’s your book?”

“S’alright. Hard to concentrate though with all this noise,”

“Another fantasy?”

“Yeah. How’s yours?”

There was no answer for a second, and Anwyn sat up completely. “Sarah?”

“Shh I’m at a good bit!” The girl whined, and brought the book closer to her face.

Anwyn gave a snort of laughter, and then stretched, a yawn escaping as she watched the flickering flames in the fireplace. In truth, the noisy common room wasn’t the only thing stopping her from relaxing. Her letters, both from strangers and family were playing on her mind, little flashes of them coming to her despite the warmth and comfort of her place in front of the fire. And it didn’t stop there. Something Moody had said kept playing over and over in her head.

Says it all really about the type of cowards and imbeciles he was born into eh?

What had he meant? Was it really just a man assumption based on what little he knew about the family? Or something more.

There was one way she could find out.

“I’m going to turn in early,” she said, springing suddenly to her feet.

“Hmm? Sure,” Sarah replied, still not looking up, a little furrow in her brow as she read.

It took Anwyn five minutes of working up the courage to touch quill to paper before she started writing, telling herself that if it didn’t feel right she could just rip it up and burn it. But as she read over the letter once, twice, and then a third time, she was satisfied that she’d channelled enough of the old timey books she’d read into it to sufficiently please her grandmother.

Dear Grandmother,

I am writing to offer my most sincere apologies for the behavior I have been displaying recently. There are no excuses for my attitude, and I ensure you that I am working hard to rectify the damage it has done to the families legacy.

You are correct, Father would be disappointed, but I only wish I had known him for longer so I could have truly learnt how to make him proud. His absence has left a void in my life that I fear I have filled with reckless behaviour, and it is an affront to his memory.

If it is not too much trouble, could you write to me with some of your memories of him in his youth? Perhaps I can, in time, come to emulate his admirable character.

Your loving Granddaughter,
Anwyn

“Fuck it,” she muttered, finishing one final read through. “Let’s play it your way you old bat,”

Notes:

Again, this chapter contains a very short amount of dialogue from GOF but I’m trying to keep it to a minimum, so hopefully it’s not too repetitive.

And if it’s not clear, “Tara” is just a common way of saying bye in Wales :)

Thanks for reading!

Chapter 32: A Troubling Encounter

Remus Lupin opened his eyes on the 10th of March to find that he had made it through another year. His thirty fifth to be precise, which was exactly fourteen years more than he’d ever thought to see on this earth. Every single birthday since that Halloween night had come as a shock. Some, a rancid, bitter reminder that he was alive despite how little he deserved to be, others, filled with more warmth and hope than he’d thought possible during his darker moments. But today was shaping up to be the strangest yet.

It started in the earlier hours of the morning when he awoke to the feeling of arms around his waist, a forehead pressed against the nape of his neck. Gentle breaths skimmed his shoulder blades, soft, slow, and he lay still for a few seconds, determined not to wake Sirius while he managed to catch some precious sleep. After a few moments however, he became incredibly aware of how numb the arm underneath him was, and he had to shift. Sirius let out a long exhale of air, tightening his grip and pulling himself closer.

“Happy Birthday,” Sirius murmured into his spine.

“Thanks,” he croaked back, voice still thick from sleep, and he felt Sirius press his forehead to his back.

They lay there for a hazy amount of minutes before Sirius made a frustrated noise and rolled away from him. “Ugh I forgot that you ran hotter than Merlin’s left arsecheek after the moon, you are roasting,”

“You know, I think I’ve changed my mind,” Remus replied, deadpan as he rolled onto his back.

“Yeah? About what?”

“I don’t want you around my goddaughter, you’re a bad influence. Her language is fowl enough as it is,”

Sirius gave a huff of laughter. “Well she must have picked it up from someone,”

“Not from me,” Remus said innocently. “I’m reformed,”

Sirius propped himself up on one arm, hair wild. His eyes were still half lidded with sleep, but he raised an eyebrow at Remus.

“Really?” he asked, incredulous. “Really?! You called me wanker last night when I beat you at chess! And I quite clearly heard you call the coffee table a— what was it— ah yes, a ‘fucking arsehole’ when you stubbed your big toe on it last week,”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Remus smirked, and then swung his legs out of bed.

A long, hot shower was just the thing be needed to chase away the last of the stiffness from his limbs after the moon. The pain in his hip had receded, as had the other odd aches that faded away as background noise. His stomach was grumbling, but that was perhaps the only discomfort he felt, which was practically a gift in itself. All in all, the day had started off better than most birthdays he could remember.

He was towelling his hair dry when Sirius appeared in the doorway, looking mildly confused.“There’s an owl through here that’s just dropped off a parcel, and he doesn’t seem to want to leave again,”

“I think I know who that might be,” Remus chuckled, running a hand through his unruly damp hair in an attempt to tame it. “Let me see…yes, just who I thought. Hello Gwyn,”

The barn owl gave a hoot of recognition, and hopped along the back of the couch, wings extended to help him balance. He gave Remus a pointed look. Breakfast had been delivered while he showered, and he grabbed a slice of toast, ripping the crust off it and offering it to the bird.

“Are you waiting for this?”

Sure enough, Gwyn grabbed it from his fingers before fluttering to the window and launching himself out of it.

Remus turned his attention to the package the owl had left on the table. At closer inspection, it was comprised of three parcels bound together with twine. He selected the largest, a spongy feeling lump, and tore the paper off. It was a thick, knitted jumper in a dark teal, a scattering of grey wool sprinkled throughout, and from its folds fell a small, hand written note.

To replace your missing grey jumper, which I definitely didn’t knick.

“So that’s where it went,” he muttered to himself, chuckling. He pulled the jumper on over his shirt, and picked up the long thin box next.

Inside the wrapping was a selection of Honeydukes bars, each one a different flavour, and again a handwritten note.

To replace the half box that I definitely didn’t eat at Christmas.

He absently sniffed the chocolate, stomach grumbling at the smell, and sat it to the side. The last box was the smallest, a small cube lined with tissue paper and containing a little glass jar. He held it up, inspecting the label to find that it read Healer Hecatia’s Miracle Sleep Balm. An easy sleep without the taste of potions.

The finely note sat in the tissue underneith the jar.

To replace the sleep that you may have lost, which I definitely had nothing to do with.

(Seriously though, Sarah says her Mum swears by this, puts you right to sleep without the side effects of having a sleeping potion. I thought it might help those pre-moon jitters)

He unscrewed the top of the jar, inhaling perhaps a little too deeply. The balm inside was a pale lilac, its scent a heady lavender that immediately had his eyelids growing heavy despite the nights rest he’d just had. Seeing the look on his face, Sirius laughed, holding out his hand for the jar.

“Phew that’s strong stuff,” he said, his own deep sniff immediately producing a yawn. “All from Anwyn?”

Remus nodded, cracking open one of the chocolate bars, it was his birthday, he could eat what he wanted for breakfast after all, and he checked his watch. “Remind me to message her tonight. She’ll be in class now,”

“Nothing from Bethan?” Sirius asked, grabbing a bacon roll from the breakfast tray and perching on the arm of the sofa.

“Oh it’ll turn up eventually. Punctuality isn’t her strong suit,”

“And your Dad?”

Remus paused, another line of chocolate half way to his mouth. “We haven’t ah— we haven’t really spoken the last few years,”

Sirius gave a sympathetic wince, but didn’t press the subject further. “So Wyn’s at school. Bethan is who knows where. Is there anything you wanted to do today? How would you usually celebrate?”

“Well, if things are going well for me I’d probably be work. If Bethan was home we might have a pub lunch, otherwise I’d probably just…have a normal day,”

“How incredibly, horrifically boring,”

He let out a snort of laughter. “Welcome to your thirties. Sometimes a day of peace is considered a rare treat,”

“Well you’re not getting that gift this year I’m afraid. I have grand plans,” Sirius crossed one leg leisurely over the other. “First breakfast of course. Then a trip to Edinburgh where I’ve heard they have a particular good range of antique book shops to peruse,”

Remus gave a small smile. “I must admit, that does sound quite tempting,”

“I thought you might say that,” Sirius grinned. “But let’s start closer to home,”

He reached down to the back of the cushion beside him and produced a small, neatly wrapped parcel. It was fairly obvious what it was from the shape of it, but Remus was still surprised when he pulled the paper off to discover Ghost Island, the very same book he’d been looking at the last time they were in Diagon Alley.

Sirius was watching him turn it over. “I saw you put it back in Flourish and Blotts. Grabbed it on my way to the queue,”

“Very sneaky,” he replied with a small smile. “Thank you. I’m looking forward to cracking it open with some of these chocolates,”

“Perhaps you should crack it open…now,” Sirius leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“Alright…” Remus raised an eyebrow at the cryptic tone, and fanned the book open from back to front with his thumb, bringing it to his face. “I love that new book smell—“

The pages fell open. In the centre sat a small metal key on leather strap, simple, unadorned. There was no engraving, no label, no clue to its use. He lifted it be the strap, and shot Sirius a confused look.

“What’s this for?”

“It’s your real birthday present. But it’s not quite ready yet, so you’ll have to wait and find out,”

He flicked through the book again, half expecting to see a keyhole in the pages somewhere, but nothing appeared, and Sirius gave a chuckle.

“It’s not a trick, honest. No wind ups. You just need to be patient,”

“Well that’s not maddening at all,” replied ruefully, but he lifted up the key by its metal thong regardless, slipping it over his head and tucking it into his collar. The metal was cool against his skin.

“I promise you it’ll be worth the wait,” Sirius told him, grinning, but there was a slight nervous air to him.

“You’ve been plotting something haven’t you?” Remus said wryly. “I can tell. Come on, out with it,”

“You’ll have to try harder than that to get it out of me,” Sirius’ grin grew even wider. “But tell you what, I’ll give you a hint. Remember that day I went off on a secret errand?”

“Yes…”

Sirius nodded towards the key. “I was picking that up…amongst other things that I can’t tell you yet, or it’ll ruin the surprise,”

There was a long, drawn out pause and Remus tried to figure out what exactly Sirius was eluding to, and then he gave an amused snort. “Well that’s no help at all. That was supposed to be a clue?”

“Yes! Not my fault if you can’t work it out,” He shoved the final bite of his bacon sandwich into his mouth, and then stood, grabbing a second. “Now get your shoes on. You’re about to have the best birthday of your life to date,”

As grand as Sirius’ statement was, it wasn’t far from the truth. By the time they returned to the Three Broomsticks that evening, full of fine food and feet weary, the mystery of the key was the furthest thing from Remus’ mind.

———

And so March surrendered to April with little fanfare, taking the last cold blusters of winter with it. A final flurry of snow had coated the hillside in the last week of the month, before retreating completely in sudden, shockingly bright sunlight during the days running up to the end of term. Anwyn tried to take it as an omen, a sign of brighter days to come, and it was at least somewhat true that the warmer weather did cheer her. There was only so much of the wild Scottish winter one could take before it started to become an annoyance in itself.

Perhaps it wasn’t just the weather that brightened her spirits however. The flurry of letters she’d been receiving daily had lessoned to a trickle as the month went on, and had finally slowed completely until she was only finding a strange owl at her table once a week. They letters she didn’t recognise she burnt immediately, Hermione’s bandaged wrapped hands still in the back of her mind.

But the one letter she was actually waiting on didn’t arrive. There was no correspondence from her Grandmother, howler or otherwise. Perhaps she didn’t deem Anwyn’s reply genuine enough. Or perhaps she didn’t care. Either way, it was looking increasingly unlikely that she’d get the answers she was looking for. Another dead end in her Father’s mystery.

Still, Spring brought with it something to look forward to, a break from classes and even better, a break from her classmates, and before she knew it discussion had turned to how they would all be spending the holidays.

“It’s that time of year again Hufflepuffs, Easter Holiday sign up,” Sprouts booming voice echoed down the table towards them. Anwyn was lazily scraping raspberry jam on her toast when she reached the trio, clipboard in hand. “What about you three, staying or going?”

“Staying Professor,” Sarah replied immediately, and Russell nodded beside her.

“Same here,”

“Two for staying. Blackthorn?”

“Going home,” she replied, taking a bite out of her toast. A glob of jam splatted onto her tie and she tutted, busying herself with trying to wipe it off. It took her a second to realise that her year head was still at the other side of the table. “Uh…that’s okay…right Professor?”

Sprout drew her mouth into a thin line. “You’ll be missing the OWL study groups we’re putting on,”

“I’ll be studying at home,” she replied defensively.

“Yes but you won’t have access to your teachers at home. Perhaps you’d be better staying?”

Anwyn wipes the jam from her mouth, painfully aware now of the sticky residue it had left. “But…I always go home,” she replied, weaker this time, sounding far more like a child than she would have liked.

“Think on it,” Sprout said briskly. “And let me know by the end of the week alright?” She scribbled something on the list before onto the next group of Hufflepuffs.

“You two are staying?” Anwyn asked as their teacher moved off. “I thought we’d all be going home like usual?”

“Mum’s working so I may as well,” Sarah replied with a shrug. “And Sprout has a point, we’re going to have so much studying to do anyway,”

“Yeah, I’m going to stay too,” Russell said. “Mum and Dad have been asking if I want to go to Centerparcs with them but I think most fifth years will be staying here,”

“Centerparcs?”

Russell screwed up his face as he tried to think of a way to describe it. “It’s like a muggle holiday park. In the woods. Lots of cabins and caravans and bike trails and stuff,”

“Sounds better than spending two weeks in the study hall,” Anwyn grumbled.

”If you disappear for two weeks you’ll miss all of the practice sessions that the teachers are putting on,” Sarah said. “Plus, do you even know if your Mum will be home? Like where will you go if she’s not?”

“She said she was coming back in her last letter,” Anwyn replied, though she wasn’t entirely convinced herself. Just because she was in the country didn’t mean she’d be home. Sarah’s sympathetic look in return told her that her friend didn’t quite believe her either. “And if she’s not…I dunno, maybe Remus will stay in London for a bit,”

But would he want to? He had a fantastic little place to stay in Hogsmeade, a new (ish) relationship to develop. Perhaps he wouldn’t want to go back to his sisters house for two weeks.

The internal debate raged in her for the next few days. She felt like she was being split in two, her heart dragging her home to London but her head sticking her in place at Hogwarts. Her friends were quietly confident about their decisions, and that in turn made her feel even more like a child than was desperate to run home to her mother.

It seemed, however, that there were two students in her year who were planning on going home. Unfortunately those two students were her cousins.

“Of course we’re heading home for a few weeks,” Silas drawled one morning as they were waiting outside the potions classroom in the dungeons. “Grandmother is just desperate to see us, and I’m not worried about falling behind. Father will be paying for a private tutor. They’ll probably be far better than any of the teachers at Hogwarts anyway, we only hire the best,”

Sorrell nodded along beside him. “Grandmother is just so doting, she really does care for us. I’d be just horrified to find out we’d disappointed her in anyway, imagine the shame?” She gave a dramatic sigh. “Imagine not being welcome at home with open arms? Father will be taking the time off work to spend with us, but I can’t imagine what it would be like if he put his work before us. Or even worse, can you imagine if he brought a new woman home and lavished her with attention instead? It must be positively ghastly to be replaced with a new family like that, I think I’d just die of embarrassment,”

“I think I’d just throw myself in the lake,” Silas replied with a wide smile, looking Anwyn directly in the eye as he did so.

How was it that they always knew how to twist the knife it, how to play on the exact worries that plagued her? If she didn’t know any better, she’d think they were mind readers, but that wasn’t possible. The Twins were far too thick for that. But still, their jibes did not help, and she found herself nearing the end of the week having still not told Sprout her decision.

She had to face reality though. Her decision was this; either disappoint herself, or disappoint everyone else. She knew which one she could stomach, despite how miserable it made her. She’d have to tell Sprout she was staying.

But it could wait until tomorrow.

———

Anwyn’s mounting tension came to a head in the little ring of seats that nestled under the astronomy tower. They were due for a class later that night, but homework didn’t wait for late night lessons, so Anwyn and Sarah had brought their current attempts at McGonagall’s latest essay with them to try and make some progress while they waited. Sarah had managed another foot of writing. Anwyn had barely managed an inch.

It had started with growling, punctuated by odd giggling afterwards. She’d known immediately it was for her; this kind of taunt was old news by now. She’d kept her head down until they’d progressed to barks and howls, and then when these didn’t seem to get her attention either, the students fell back to classic methods of irritation. A good old fashioned wad of balled up parchment.

The first bounced off the back of her head, and she grit her teeth, sharing an annoyed glance with Sarah, who had pursed her lips and glared over Anwyn’s shoulder at whoever had chucked it. The second spilt her ink well, and she finally turned around to stare down the snickering group; two third year Slytherins and a Ravenclaw boy.

“Ooh scary, you’re in for it now,” the Ravenclaw smirked.

“Careful, I’ve heard she bites,” said one of the other boys. ”

“I don’t even know who you are,” Anwyn replied, deadpan. “Like don’t you have a hobby or something? This is just a bit sad,”

She turned back to her work, putting her head down, and tried to figure out what she’d been writing.

“Eww she speaks,”

“She must fancy you Si,”

“She is going to hex you in a second if you don’t fuck off!” Anwyn bit back without turning around.

Her only reply was another burst of laughter.

“Just ignore them Anwyn,” Sarah said primly. “There’s no point rising to it,”

“Easy for you to say, they’re not pinging shit off your head!” She hissed back, attempting to banish the ink that had spread across the table. It had seeped into the corner of her essay. Great, just great.

“They’re just bored, they’ve got nothing better to do,”

“Clearly—“ a larger balled up bit of parchment whacked her on the back of her head once more, and she spun in her seat. “Oh fuck off already!”

Another chorus of laughter broke out, louder this time, the aforementioned “Si” swinging back on his chair, face creased with amusement.

“Anwyn,” Sarah said disapprovingly. “I said leave it, if you get caught picking fights again—“

“Why is it me picking fights? They’re the ones being complete arseholes!”

“Then let them arseholes!” She raised her voice, a firm, professional quality taking over. “I’m a prefect, I can go to their year head. They’ll have points taken off,”

“Yeah, cause that’s really fixed it in the past,” Anwyn muttered in reply. The faux noises of terror coming from the group confirmed as much.

“Look, sometimes you have to take the high ground,” Sarah lectured, and again Anwyn had the sense that the new title of Prefect had given her the impression that she was now a wise sage.

“Fine,” Anwyn shut her essay inside her textbook, and jammed the lid on her ink. “I’ll go back to the common room and hide. How’s that for taking the high ground,”

“Anwyn don’t be like that—“

“I’ll see you in class, alright?”

She swung her bag over her shoulder, and climbed to her feet. The laughter from the other tables grew, and she shot a dirty look over at the boys, hoping that stupid Si’s stupid chair would slip out from under him.

Well, technically it could.

Anwyn slid her wand from her sleeve, hiding it at her side as she passed, and gave a slight flick, muttering the spell under her breath. There was an almighty crash, and she turned just as Si’s chair flew out from underneath him. He’d clawed out for the table, and it toppled too, a high pitched shriek emitting from his throat.

“Miss Blackthorn!” A sharp voice called from the other side of the room.

The grin that had spread across Anwyn’s face slipped, and she turned to find her Astronomy Professor glaring sharply from the door of her office.

“A word, if you please,”

Shit.

———

Sprout, as it happened, was not particularly happy to hear that Anwyn had been caught flinging spells at another student. In fact she was so displeased that during detention the next evening she informed Anwyn that her time in the greenhouse would not be coming to an end at Easter.

“It seems my warning has not yet been heeded,” she told Anwyn firmly, passing her an armful of trowels to be scrubbed and scraped by hand. “Perhaps another month in detention will hammer it home,”

Anwyn had nodded glumly, unwilling to meet her eye now that the gleeful satisfaction of watching the boy fall had worn off and been replaced with shame, and Sprout had given a tired sigh.

“Perhaps spending some time at home for the holidays might do you some good after all. But you can’t run away from your problems forever Blackthorn. One day you’ll need to face them head on, and in an appropriate manner. Knock back jinxes only get you so far,”

Perhaps Sprout was right. Perhaps she running home like a little scared child. But it would be nice, fantastic in fact, just to spend a few weeks somewhere that didn’t involve constant jabs, hate mail or stares.

And so on the first day of the holidays she found herself in a carriage coming to a bouncing halt, wheels shuddering through the muddy potholes. The first years Anwyn shared the carriage with were already on their feet, chatting excitedly about the piles of chocolate they planned to eat when they got home. She waited until they’d dismounted before moving, hopping down and immediately splashing herself with mud as she stumbled into a puddle. Fantastic.

The other students were slowly moving towards the gate into Hogsmeade station, but she hung back with her trunk, scanning the crowd for a familiar face. Sure enough Remus was waiting exactly where he said he would be, standing by the path that would take them into Hogsmeade proper, despite the fact that the full moon had set only hours before.

“Hey,” she gave him a wan smile. “You didn’t have to meet me, you must be shattered,”

“And let you sit on a train for eight hours when you could floo to London? I think not,”

Despite his assurances he did indeed look tired, the skin under his eyes a little sallow, his hair lank. They made slow progress back up the hill into the village, and Remus had to stop a few times to catch his breath, but it let Anwyn’s trunk, which he’d charmed to float behind them, catch up.

“You have everything you need?” Remus asked during one such pause as he watched the trunk mindlessly bounce against the back of Anwyn’s legs.

She gave it an irritated shove. “I’ve got half the library with me,”

“All approved books I hope?” He said with a smile.

She rolled her eyes. “Very funny,”

Hogsmeade at first was surprisingly quiet, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on why. It wasn’t until she noticed the distinct lack of students that it dawned on her; she was used to the streets being taken over by half of Hogwarts. It was far easier to browse in the shop windows on the way past, and Remus could use his cane without hitting any stray ankles or tripping anyone up. She could get used to this. The Three Broomsticks was in sight when the sweet smell of chocolate had her stomach rumbling.

“Do you mind if I nip into Honeydukes? I want to get Mum something,”

“I’m sure your motivation is purely altruistic and your not thinking of your own holiday stash,” he smiled. “In you go, I’ll wait out here. It’s a bit too narrow in there for the cane, I always think I’m going to knock something over. And I doubt Mrs Flume would appreciate your trunk crashing against her displays,”

The wall of smells hit her the moment she stepped in, and she inhaled deeply, already mentally creating a list of everything she was going to buy. There was a stack of little wicker shopping baskets by the door, and she grabbed one, ready to empty the shelves. For her Mum she selected a chocolate egg full of Fizzing Whizbee pieces, and she added another with a centre of runny caramel for Remus. Once the gifts were out of the way, she turned her attention to the pick and mix shelves, filling a bag with an assortment of truffles and chocolates that she could munch on while she studied.

There was only a short queue which made a nice change from her Hogsmeade weekends, and she fell into line behind an old with in bright Magenta robes who was chatting to Mrs Flume, the shop owner, about her daughters new job. Bored, she turned to look out the window beside the till, spotting her uncle standing in the square talking to someone, a gentleman in a brimmed hat with large, bushy sideburns. An old friend or new acquaintance perhaps.

She didn’t think much more of it until she’d paid, and was stepping outside. From there she could see that the man’s face didn’t look quite so friendly as she’d first thought, his hand grasping at the arm of Remus coat. Her uncle tugged himself out of the man’s grip, and then turned to walk away, and she finally caught a glimpse of his expression; oddly detached, almost like he was somewhere else entirely.

Remus’ limp was pronounced today. She watched as he favoured his good leg, and so, evidently, did the man, because the next thing she knew he had lashed out, slamming his foot into Remus’ knee. He went down, fast, walking stick flying out of his grip and across the cobblestones. Anwyn dropped the paper bag in her arms, the contents bouncing and tumbling out onto the ground as she barrelled out of the doorway, and into the street just in time to see the man spit on Remus’ back.

“Hey!” She shouted, storming towards them. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?! Get the fuck away from him! ”

“Mind your own business girl—“

She ignored him, crouching down beside Remus who had managed to push himself onto his side. His face was sickly pale, drawn, the pain written plainly across his features as he clutched at his bad leg.

“Are you alright?” She whispered, shaken by the look on his face. “Can you stand?”

“Give— give me a second,”

He shut his eyes, jaw tight, and tried to push himself upright, but she could see his arms shaking with the effort. She watched him for a second, at a complete loss as to what she should do next, and then rounded on his attacker.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” She hissed up at the man.

“Excuse me?!”

“You heard me—“

“Don’t Wyn—“ Remus put his hand in her arm, and then made pained noise as he tried desperately to push himself up again.

His voice was thin, his movement slow, laboured. Anwyn lifted his arm, ducking under it, and wrapped her own around his back. She glanced quickly around the square, looking for someone, anyone willing to help get him up, but the other shoppers seemed both fascinated and repulsed in equal measure, goggling at the scene until she’d meet their eyes, and they’d look away. They were on their own.

“Put your weight on me,” she told him, hearing the tremor in her own voice. “That’s it,”

He grunted as they clambered to their feet, and she could feel her own leg muscles protesting at the sudden strain, but her desperation to get him up made her fight through the discomfort. He swayed a little as they got upright, and her stomach gave a sick, churning roll, mind immediately turning to that morning at the foot of the Womping Willow. But she couldn’t afford to freak out just yet. The danger had not yet passed. She went to step to the side, and muttonchops moved to block her. She stole a glance at her uncle, expecting a sharp rebuttal from him, but he was silent, face downturned to the ground but his eyes elsewhere entirely. She’d have to speak for both of them.

“Get out of my way,” she ground out, trying to ignore how her heart was fluttering away like a panicked bird in her chest.

“Can’t do that,” the man shook his head, a smile of some sort of sick satisfaction on his face. “His kind isn’t welcome here. They’re all the same, they think they can hobble around, get sympathy, scrounge for handouts, and get welcomed into the village with open arms, and yet we all know why someone like him would be in a town like this,”

“As opposed to someone like you who’s apparently here to attack innocent people?”

“He’s not innocent and you know it. Hogsmeade is a safe village, it’s not for monsters like him—“

“Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t realise admittance to Hogsmeade was for complete morons only,”

“How dare you—“

“How dare I what? Have an opinion? You certainly have enough of them that you like to spout, regardless of how much of a fucking idiot you sound when you do,”

“Anwyn—“ Remus warned tightly, and he gave a weak tug at her shoulder, attempting to turn them around. “Drop it, please”

“You watch that mouth girl—“

“Get out of the fucking way then! Move—“

“Anwyn!” There was a sharper edge to Remus’ voice this time, one that had her shooting a disbelieving look at him. “That’s quite enough!”

“At least the halfbreed knows his place. You better muzzle that wolf cub of yours before someone does it for you,”

Remus’ demeanour changed completely. There was a flash of something in his eyes, a dangerous glint that Anwyn had only seen once before; in the shrieking shack as he levelled his wand at Pettigrew. His gaze, which had been fixed at a point somewhere in the ground this entire time, raised to stare levelly at his attacker, and then he pulled himself from Anwyn’s grip, somehow staying on his feet against all odds.

“I certainly hope that was a simple slip of the tongue,” he said, voice low. “Or am I correct in thinking that you just threatened my Goddaughter?”

He took a step towards the man, his gait unsteady, but his back upright.

Muttonchop’s voice was still full of bravado, but he took a step back despite this. “What if I did? I don’t see no moon out, what’s a wolf like you with no teeth and a bum leg going to do about it?”

“Oh nothing,” Remus replied calmly. “I wouldn’t dream of attacking another fellow resident. But I’m sure Professor Dumbledore would be exceedingly disappointed to hear that one of his students was threatened in the village. Disappointed enough to endure the culprit didn’t set foot there again, wouldn’t you say? What is it you do for work?”

“I’m a land owner,” he muttered, shifting his feet uncomfortably. “One of the farms in Upper Hogsmeade. Hard work, not that you’d know anything of it,”

“Ahh, one of the locals who supplies the castle then,” Remus gave a knowing nod. “Yes, that would be a terrible loss of income, wouldn’t it, if Dumbledore were to stop that agreement,”

“Dumbledore wouldn’t listen to you,”

“Perhaps,” Remus inclined his head, as if conceding the point. “But perhaps it would be best for all involved if we just go out separate ways, wouldn’t you say?”

There was a tense pause in which the man narrowed his eyes, but Anwyn could almost see the cogs working in his head as he considered the point, and then finally gave in.

“Fine. Hide behind Dumbledore. He can’t protect you forever,” he said darkly. He took a few backwards steps, as if worried Remus would take advantage if he turned his back to him, and then sauntered off, disappearing down the nearest side street without even a backwards glance.

Anwyn exhaled heavily, her head spinning. She watched the alleyway for a second, half expecting him to appear with a crowd of angry villagers with pitchforks, but none came.

“Anwyn,” Remus’ sudden weak voice made her jump, and she turned to find him swaying dangerously. “Your arm please, quick as you can,”

She shot forward, grabbing him before he could collapse back onto the ground. This time he seemed to be barely holding up his own weight, and she grit her teeth, staggering under the strain.

Now that the danger was over, Anwyn was aware of a low, slow buzz of panic. She pushed it down, looking about them for somewhere more comfortable for him than the wet cobblestone, hoping that if she at least focused on the issue at hand she could keep the nerves at bay for now. There was a low wood seat under a drooping tree just across the square, only a few metres away.

“Do you think you can make it to that bench?” She asked, nodding towards it.

“I’m fine, let’s just get you home,”

“But you’re leg—“

“I’m fine Anwyn, stop fussing!” He tried to take a step forward, and then let out a hiss, leg nearly collapsing from under him again.

She clamped her teeth together. “You’re clearly not fine,” she ground out. “Stop being a stubborn git and sit down for a second,”

“Oh, I’m the stubborn git am I?” He retorted, though he allowed her to guide him over to the bench. “What part of drop it did you not understand? What were you thinking?”

“He assaulted you!” She said, not quite believing what she was hearing. “Spat at you! What do you think I was going to do? Stand back and pretend nothing was happening?”

“That’s precisely what I’d want you to do!” He replied firmly.

They’d finally reached their destination, and he sunk into the bench with a grimace, stretching his leg out in front of him. Anwyn remained standing, crossing her arms tightly against her chest.

“Are you seriously more annoyed at me than you are at him?”

“Of course I am! He was some disgruntled nobody, you on the other hand were not raised to pick fights in the street!”

“I was defending you, all I ever seem to do is defend you, despite how much shit I get for doing so!”

“I’ve never asked you to—“

“You don’t have to! We’re family, we’re supposed to look out for each other!” Anwyn huffed out a little disbelieving breath, shaking her head. “Just… sit there and don’t move,” she muttered, turning to leave.

Remus head shot up, his tone accusatory. “Where are you going now?”

“To get your bloody cane, is that alright?” She asked sarcastically. “Or would you prefer that I just left that alone too?”

She stalked off across the square before he could answer, and stooped to pick up the walking stick. Her head spun as she stood upright, the same sick roiling returning in her gut again. Feeling the panic begin to tighten her chest, she pushed it down and busied herself with the abandoned shopping that she’d unceremoniously thrown across the cobblestones. She wouldn’t allow herself to unravel. Instead, she’d focus on just how infuriating Remus’ reaction was.

What the hell was wrong with him? She couldn’t lie to herself, his rejection stung. She turned back to the bench, watching as he leaned forward, head in his hands as he ran them through his hair, and felt a stab of remorse. He was shaken. That much was clear. And perhaps just as scared as she’d been. The thought tempered her anger somewhat.

“Well your egg is thoroughly smashed,” she said sullenly as she slumped down into the bench beside him.

“You bought me an egg?”

“A caramel one. It’s a sticky mess now, so I guess I’m adding another disappointment to the list today,” she looked down at his leg. His trousers were covered in mud. “You should ice that as soon as possible. And some murlap salve might help with any swelling,”

“You’ve been paying attention in potions I see,”

“I always pay attention in potions,”

”Ahh, so you do know how to listen,” Remus grumbled, before he shut his eyes, and let out a long, tired breath. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for,”

Anwyn didn’t reply, instead picking absently at a knot of wood on the bench. She was worried that if she opened her mouth, it would only be to shoot an equally bitter response back.

“It’s not that I’m not grateful. I truly am. But Anwyn…you scared me half to death barrelling in like that with no thought for the consequences,”

“I was far more worried about what would happen if I didn’t . I mean what was he going to next?”

“Nothing— probably nothing. These thing usually peter out—“

“These things? Like this isn’t new to you?” She asked.

He grimaced. “I will admit that it doesn’t usually get this physical. I’m used to sharp words but this took me by surprise,”

“Is that why you let him get away with it? You’re one of the best wizards I know, outside of maybe Dumbledore, why not defend yourself?”

Remus’ reply was infuriatingly calm. “It’s not about letting them get away with it. Let’s pretend for a second that I react to them, that I respond with the same level of aggression they showed me. What do you suppose the public reaction would be?”

“It—“ she blinked a few times, the question having thrown her completely. “I…I don’t know,”

“I think you do. You read Skeeter’s article after all. I cannot afford to lose my temper Anwyn,” he said quietly. “The minute I fly off the handle at these people, I immediately become the violent monster that they think I am—“

“But you’re not—“ she began to protest, but he held up a hand to stop her.

“They don’t know that. They’re not interested in learning it either,”

He was right. It infuriated her, but she knew he was right. Perhaps she had made things worse after all, but had it been so wrong of her to stand up to the man? Something told her that he would have been just as unpleasant regardless of her intervention.

“That thing he said…the cub thing? Why did that get you so angry? It wasn’t any worse than anything else he was saying,”

Remus shot her a sideways look, shifting uncomfortably. “Wolf cub, as a term has…connotations,” he said reluctantly.

“Connotations? Like suggesting I have lycanthropy too?”

“More than that. It’s a derogatory term used to describe a werewolf’s younger victims. Intentional victims,”

“Oh,” she replied dumbly, a little lost for words.

“And in the sort of circles that use it, it’s a common pattern of thought that such a child should be…disposed of. While they’re still ‘weak’. That was, as far as I could tell, his underlying threat,”

“Disposed of? As in killed?” She asked in a strangled voice. “They want to kill children who’ve been bitten? That’s…that’s sick. It’s not like it’s even their fault,”

“That doesn’t matter to people like them. They think their making the world safer,”

She gave a humourless scoff. “By actively spreading more violence,”

“Yes, the irony is not lost on me,”

They lapsed into silence for a second while Remus flexed his bad leg, massaging absently at the knee. She watched the street for a second, thoughts far off, unable to forget what he’d just told her, and the questions it raised.

Remus had been transforming when he was at school, she knew that much from the nightmare that had been the end of last year. But if he was transforming at school, that meant he already had Lycanthropy when he’d started first year, which begged the question; just how long had he been dealing with it before then?

She shot him a careful look out of the corner of her eye. He didn’t usually talk about this kind of thing, but her curiosity was eating away at her, despite her dread at what the answer may be.

“Remus how old were you?” She asked carefully. “When you…you know…got…bitten?”

He was quiet for a long moment, long enough in fact that she thought he wouldn’t answer at all, but when he did she nearly missed it.

“I was four,”

Anwyn stared at him, wide eyed. He met her gaze for a second before looking away, as if ashamed, and she finally realised just how tired he was, just how broken.

Four years old. He must have been terrified beyond words. And then he’d spend the next thirty years being ripped apart every full moon.

She inhaled deeply, pressing her lips together to hide the dangerous wobble, and looked down at her knees. She couldn’t quite find the words to voice just how horrified, how sorry she was for him, at least not without fear of seeming condescending, so she reached over and sought out his hand instead. The gesture seemed to take him by surprise, and she saw him glance back towards her out of the corner of her eye before he gave her hand a gentle squeeze in return.

They sat in silence for another few moments, though it was far more comfortable now that it felt like the weighty tension between them had lifted. With Anwyn’s shopping gathered and his cane retrieved, the square had returned to its usual idilic state, almost as if nothing had happened. Almost.

Remus gave another long, tired sigh. “I suppose we better start making our way back. I fear if I don’t move soon, I’ll be sleeping on this bench tonight,”

“Do you want me to go find Sirius?”

He waved the suggestion away, palming his cane. “No, no. He’s spending the day flying with Harry, let’s not ruin that. No, we’ll have to manage between us,”

“You could sit on my trunk and I could float you back,” she half joked.

“I don’t think my levitation charm will be quite up that challenge,”

“Alright then,” Anwyn said, clambering to her feet. She helped lever Remus off the bench with a contained grunt, and resumed her place under his arm. “But if anyone else bothers us, I’m hexing them on the spot, I mean it,”

Remus shot her a disapproving look, but the corner of his mouth was curling. “Yes,” he said. “I quite believe you,”

———

It was mid afternoon before Anwyn stepped out of the fireplace in London, bone weary and mentally drained. She’d left Remus sleeping, dozed up on pain potions and hopefully resting enough to allow his leg to heal from whatever damage had been done. Homework was off the menu for the rest of the day; she deserved a break at least, and she was exceedingly relieved to be home where she could cede all responsibility over to an adult.

“Mum?” She called out. “I’m home. Sorry I’m late, we had an awful morning,”

No answer. She frowned, perhaps her Mum was in her study, head deep in letters again. Well she’d have to stop what she was doing. Their current situation was far more important.

“Mum?” She called out once more as she wandered down the hallway.

The kitchen was empty, as was the bathroom and bedrooms. Her door of her mother’s office at the end of hall stood ajar, and she pushed it open with a creak to find that she was, in fact, alone in the house. She returned to the sitting room, noting the lack of her mother’s coat hanging by the door on her way, and it was then that she finally spotted the note on the mantle above the fire.

Wynnie, Remus,

Had to nip out for work, won’t be back until late. Money under the clock for a takeaway.

See you soon, love Mum.

She could have cried. Merlin she wanted to, but she was so exhausted that she didn’t even have the energy for that. Instead she chucked the note in the fire and flopped down onto the sofa, watching as the paper curled and blackened in the flames.

She must have slipped into an uneasy doze, because they next thing she knew she was lying in a dark sitting room, fire a low glowing pile of embers. She sat up, disoriented, and looked around the room, blinking in an attempt to clear the sleep from her eyes. There was no sign of her Mum, no sounds from the rest of the house. Her stomach gave a grumble, complaining about the lack of food.

Waking up after an unintended nap always left her feeling not quite right. Like the world had moved on around her, but she’d stood still. She could hear the patter of rain against the window panes, the room had taken on a chill now the fire was burning low, and suddenly every shadow seemed larger than life, each one holding the potential to be a disgruntled land owner looking for a fight, or something much worse.

“Come on Anwyn, get a grip,” she told her self, speaking out loud to banish the silence. Her stomach gave another growl as if in response.

She could check the fridge, or take the money and nip out for chips, but the clock on the mantel suggested it was close to nine, and she didn’t fancy going out into rainy London at this hour. Perhaps the Three Broomsticks would still be serving food.

That was all it was, hunger. Nothing more. She wasn’t scared. She was fine. Totally fine.

She scribbled a quick note to her Mum just in case she returned to an empty house, and then grabbed a handful of floo powder, chucking it into the dying fire.

Anwyn stepped out of the flames on the other side into an empty sitting room, but this one was well lit and the warm. There were voices too, coming from the room she’d left Remus in, and she hesitated at the hearth , straining her ears.

“— you can’t tell me this isn’t a worrying escalation,” Sirius was saying.

“We already knew there were people in the village unhappy with my presence, this shouldn’t come as a shock,”

“Yes, but none of them have physically attacked you Remus! What next, hexes in the street? Torches and pitchforks? Next time—”

“There may not be a next time. We’re here for what, two more months? And then I’ll do what every unhappy resident wants me to do, and leave their village well alone,”

“It shouldn’t have to come to that,” Sirius replied. “You shouldn’t have to fear for your safety,”

“It’s not my safety I’m worried about. He knows what Anwyn looks like now, he knows she goes to the school. I can only hope that the threat of displeasing Dumbledore puts any rash ideas from his mind,”

Was it really that dire? Did this man, or people like him, really pose such a threat? Anwyn suppressed a shiver, mind wandering to those long, wooded paths on the road between Hogwarts and the village, and the shadowy figures that could hide in the gloom. Perhaps Remus was just being overly cautious, but it wouldn’t stop her jumping at shadows the next time she’d walk back to the castle.

“I told you bringing me along might not end well,“ Remus was saying now. “I would understand if you’d rather I left early, I don’t want to this distracting you from Harry,”

“And I told you I didn’t care about that,” Sirius replied. “Merlin himself couldn’t convince me to send you away,”

There was a tenderness to Sirius’ voice that she’d never heard before, and Anwyn was overcome by the sudden feeling that she was intruding on a private moment. It was odd bittersweet even, because as happy as she was that he’d found someone that cared, it felt awfully like the start of a massive shift, one that would leave her firmly on the outside.

Anwyn backed up to the fireplace, grabbing another fistful of floo powder, and muttered the address for London as quietly as she could. The flames roared green, and she quickly stepped inside, hoping that she would be back in the dark, empty London sitting room before either of them noticed that they’d had a visitor.

Notes:

I’ve been really struggling to figure out the order of the next few chapters because I needed the family to get together at some point, and then it hit me that Easter holidays are a thing, we just don’t see Harry talking about going home. In fact it’s not mentioned until book 7 I think, but they are a thing.

I toyed with a few versions of the incident in the street before settling on this one. Remus definitely gives me the vibe that he’d be too ashamed to stand up for himself in this instance, but the minute someone threatens a loved on instead he’s on the attack.

I know “cub” seems to be an affectionate term of endearment that Dad!Remus quite often uses in fanfic, but it’s never sat right with me. No offence intended if you like it, it’s just my personal taste, but if he’s so ashamed of his hairy little problem, the idea of specifically tying a child’s identity to that doesn’t seem like something he’d do to me. He’d want to keep Anwyn as far away from the association as possible in fact.

Chapter 33: Filed Away

Fat, laden raindrops hammered off the window, gathering in pools before the weight dragged them down to gather once more. Anwyn watched a particularly large one race a droplet half its size, tried to guess which one would win, and lost. She absently tickled the end of her quill against the tip of her nose, blowing a long breath out, cheeks puffed, and made the feather dance in the gust of air.

Typical of London to be drenched as soon as she arrived for her Easter holidays. No doubt it would dry up the moment she left again, the rain following her back to Scotland. Still, she liked the sound of it. It at least brought some level of noise to the silent, empty house. Her stay had so far been quiet, compromised of essays, homework and quizzes, and she’d already devoured the Easter chocolates that had awaited her, more out of sheer boredom than anything else.

Anwyn dragged her attention back to the last line she’d written on the parchment, and cracked a yawn. It would have to do, she couldn’t waste too much time on any one essay when there was still a pile to get through. Her stomach gave a little grumble, and she tilted her mug of tea towards her. Half empty and cold. Perhaps it was time for a break.

She listened at the door to her bedroom for a second before darting down the hall to the kitchen. The silent flat had her strangely on edge, and her brain kept suggesting the idea of dark figures stepping out from doorways every time she left her room.

“Stupid,” she muttered, opening the door to the chilled pantry cupboard. “You’re just being stupid,”

She grabbed the bottle of milk and sloshed a little too unevenly. Unscrewing the lid, she gave the milk a sniff, immediately recoiling, wrinkling her nose. Had it been that bad this morning? Had she drank that?

Okay, so tea was out. She should probably eat at least, she’d skipped breakfast out of sheer laziness and her stomach was beginning to remind her of that fact. She’d spotted a carton of eggs beside the bottle of milk, perhaps scrambled eggs on toast would do the job. She turned to the opposite counter and lifted the lid of the bread box to find…nothing. It was completely empty. Anwyn gave a frustrated groan, slamming the lid back down, and her stomach rumbled again in response.

Fuck it. She needed a break anyway, and the silence inside the house was beginning to get suffocating. Perhaps some fresh air would help.

It was still spitting with rain when she stepped out onto the street below, a cold wind driving it into her face. She pulled her hood up, stuffing her hands in her pockets, and put her head down into the wind, half to avoid the spray and half to avoid drawing attention to herself. A slight bit of paranoia perhaps; the part of London that they lived in wasn’t particularly rough as areas went, but the man in Hogsmeade still sat at the back of her mind. At least the nearest shop wasn’t too far, a short ten minute walk through deserted streets, the only passersby bent against the wind in a similar manner.

The shop was equally quiet, and she found the items she was looking for fairly quickly, grabbing a carton of milk, a loaf of bread, a few cans of soup and other quick meals, and a box of chocolatey looking muggle cereal for good measure. As she neared the till she eyed the wrack of chocolate bars, and quickly counted the cash in her pocket, thankful that being raised in a halfblood family had at least given her enough of a grasp of muggle currency that she didn’t stand out like a sore thumb. Satisfied that she had a few pounds left, she added a multipack of Mars bars to the small bundle in her basket.

There was an old lady in front of her counting out change one coin at a time. She shuffled her feet as she waited, peering out the fogged windows of the newsagents at the damp street outside, thoughts flitting back to the last time she’d waited to pay. If she hadn’t gone to Honeydukes, nothing would have gone wrong that last Saturday. She should have just gone home. In reality, the fact they’d even ran into that man had been her fault. Maybe that’s why she hadn’t heard from Remus in days. Maybe he’d worked that out too.

Her feet splashed through puddles on the way back, rainwater soaking into the bottom of her jeans. She chewed on her bottom lip, eyeing the old man that was stood at the bus stop at the end of her road. Was he familiar? No. There was no bogeyman waiting to jump out. The man from Hogsmeade didn’t know where she lived, despite the little worm of anxiety that whispered away in her head when her mind began to wander. It was the same old street, same old block of flats. She was fine.

Anwyn took the stairs back up to the top floor of the flat two at a time just in case.

When she finally closed the front door of the flat behind her with a soft click, she let out a long, slow breath, leaning against the door for a second as she listened to the empty space. Alone. There was no one there. She gave a small snort of amusement, internally berating herself for jumping at shadows, and then shuffled through to the kitchen dumping the bag of shopping on the counter.

The kettle was hissing steam and she was tossing a teabag into her mug when there was a rustling of wings at the window. She looked up to find a huge grey owl balancing on the sill outside and glaring through the glass at her. It seemed oddly familiar, though she couldn’t place where she’d seen it before. It hopped inside the moment she opened the window.

Anwyn had never heard what an angry owl sounded like, but she was pretty sure that the giant bird was giving a pretty accurate example. It was a massive thing, twice the size of her barn owl, and with its feathers fluffed up around its neck it seemed even bigger. There was a letter in its talons, but anytime she moved to take it, the beast fluffed itself up further.

“Listen—“ she told it. “— I’m just as eager for you to leave as you are, so maybe just give me the letter—“

She took a step forward and the demon, for that’s what she’d decided it must be, gave an irate, screech that sounded eerily like a growl. Did owls growl? Well this one seemed to anyway.

She inched forward again. The owl didn’t back down, but it also didn’t seem to get any angrier, so she took that as a good sign and wrapped her fingers around the envelope.

It was at that point that the owl lunged. Its beak nipped once hard at her forearm, savage enough that she felt it through the sleeve of her hoody. Her arm was the least of her worries however, because as she jerked the letter out of its grasp, it ducked its head again, this time giving her a savage nip on the back of her hand.

“Dickhead, what was that for?!” she shouted at him, waving him towards the window. “Go on, get out of here! Shoo!”

The owl on the counter gave a self satisfied squawk, spreading his wings before hopping back onto the window sill and launching himself out into the rain.

She watched him go, swearing under her breath before checking the state of her hand. A large puncture hole sat just below the knuckle of her forefinger. It was already beginning to ooze claret blood and she clamped her other hand around it, trying to stem the bleeding. The envelope in her hand had caught her attention though. She knew that green ink and the wax seal that closed it. If the grouchy owl wasn’t a big enough give away, these details confirmed it.

Her Grandmother had finally replied.

Pain forgotten, the letter shook in her grip as she ripped it open, the blood on her fingers leaving little red scuffs across the parchment. It was short, and was written in the same emerald green script as the envelope. The kettle was beginning to whine, but she ignored it, flattening the letter out on the counter before leaning forward on her elbows to read it. Her heart sunk the minute she read the first line.

Granddaughter,

Your arrogance astounds me. That you think a simple apology could make up for the months of hurt you have perpetrated against this family is quite frankly laughable.

You always were a squealing little rat, quick to antagonise your cousins and even quicker still to come crying about their imagined slights. The fact that you would sacrifice the relationship with your cousins, your true family, for the approval of that halfbreed sickens me. There is no place in society for the likes of him, nor for those who would sympathise with such monsters, as I am sure you will come to realise. Your father, rest his soul, would be disgusted if he were here today. You would be his greatest disappointment, a dark mark on the name of Blackthorn.

Until you can truly apologise and repent for your behaviour, this family will have nothing to do with you. Until you apologise, you deserve nothing of your father’s memory, for you do nothing to honour it.

Your Grandmother

Anwyn’s face felt red hot, her mouth dry. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, hard enough to make colours dance across her vision and took a shuddering breath. What had she expected? Help? Acceptance? No, she was lucky that all she’d ended up with was a sore hand.

“Bad morning?”

Anwyn rocketed upright, slamming her head on the underside of the open cupboard above. She hissed out a breath through her teeth, clutching a hand to the throbbing spot on her skull, blinking rapidly in an increasingly difficult effort to keep the tears from spilling over.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that!” She snapped, voice cracking as she slammed the cupboard door shut.

“I called out from the sitting room, but it’s no wonder you didn’t hear, your water’s about to boil over,” Remus moved over to the stove where the kettle was shrieking and lifted it off the heat. “I’m sorry, is your head alright? I didn’t mean to scare you,”

“I’m fine,” she grumbled, rubbing roughly at her scalp. “You just took me by surprise,”

Her assurances seemed to have the opposite effect however. She saw his eyes track her hand, and then widen.

“Good God Wyn, what have you done to your self?”

“What?” She paused, pressing a finger into her scalp, testing how tender it was. “I just smashed my head on the cupboard door, you saw it happen—“

“No, no— your hand, what have you done to your hand?”

“Oh,” she untangled her hand from her hair and glanced down at the puncture on her knuckle that had now smudged blood across the rest of her fingers. “It looks worse than it is, honest. I had a visit from a demonic owl,”

“Let me see,”

She blew out a long breath through her lips and reluctantly held out her hand, chewing the thumb nail on her other hand while he inspected it. His touch was gentle, but she still couldn’t help the small grunt escaping as when he gave the puffy skin around it a tentative poke.

“It’s quite deep,” he muttered sceptically, tilting her hand towards the grey light filtering through the window. “It might need some dittany,”

She pulled her hand from his grasp, already deciding that there was no way she was going to subject herself to that particular torture. “It’s fine. If it’s still sore later I’ll put some on,”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Remus didn’t look convinced, but he sighed, eyeing the bag of shopping on the counter, taking in the bare bones supplies that she’d picked up, and then looking down at her rain soaked hoodie and jeans. “Been out for a little wander have you?”

Anwyn backed up against the kitchen counter and pushed herself up to sit on it, feet scuffing against the door as the back of her hand burnt in complaint. She grabbed the pack of chocolate beside her, ripping it open and pulling a bar out.

“There was nothing in the house. I didn’t fancy waiting until Mum got back,”

Remus folded his arms against his chest, leaning back against the cabinets opposite her. “You went out on your own? Why, where’s your Mum?”

“She’s at work. And I’m sixteen—“

“Fifteen, you have a few months yet—“

“I’m nearly sixteen, I can go to the shop if I want to,” her irritation was beginning to build, and she took an angry bite out of the chocolate bar in her hand, chewing and swallowing furiously. “And anyway where have you been? I’ve barely heard from you in days”

Remus, whose mouth had been open to argue back, seemed completely thrown by that question. He floundered for a second, frowning. “I— I was in St Mungo’s. They kept me in overnight and I didn’t have my message book with me. I told your Mum to let you know. She didn’t say?”

Anwyn slowly lowered the chocolate bar, suddenly feeling very foolish. “No. No she didn’t. I’ve barely seen her all week, she’s been off out early and home late. And then she left for Caithness yesterday morning. I guess she was just too busy and forgot,”

He gave a disbelieving shake of the head, before rubbing at the stubble on his chin. “So you spent the night here? On your own?”

“Yeah, but I was fine,” she said again, though this time with much less feeling. She’d barely slept a wink last night listening to the house creak and groan as it settled, imaging all sorts of intruders. “That’s not important though, what do you mean you were in St Mungo’s? Are you alright? How worried should I be?”

“Not worried at all,” he soothed. “I’m fine, I just grew tired of Sirius badgering me and went to have someone take a look at this knee,” he gave his leg a demonstrative flex. “It’s feeling better than it has in months,”

And he wasn’t lying. Now that he’d mentioned it, he did look better, a little less drawn, his face a little less lined, as if some of the constant pain had receded. In fact despite his injury less than a week ago, he didn’t even have his cane with him.

“Good,” she said, and she really meant it, the weight around her shoulders lifting ever so slightly. “That’s really good. So it’s fixed then?”

“As much as it can be. Our friend in Hogsmeade certainly didn’t help, but the lycanthropy complicates things a little,”

“Complicates things how?”

“Well…” he leaned past her and began to take the shopping out of the bag, moving around the kitchen to put everything in its place. “I suppose it’s a little like my scars. The ones you can see. The wounds caused by and during my transformations have healed over, but they’ll never disappear fully. That’s the very nature of a magical injury,”

She watched him for a second, chewing on her lip as she mulled it over. “So what did they use on it then? Dragon’s Blood heals werewolf bites right? So could they use that in treatment of the other issues,”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been reading up on it I see?”

“The uses of Dragons Blood are on the potions revision list,” she gave a small smile. “And it’s far more interesting than studying the statute of secrecy,”

“Well I’m afraid I have no idea what was in the potions they gave me, but I can tell you they tasted awful,” he pulled a disgusted face. “In fact I think I’ll be tasting them for weeks,”

She huffed out an amused breath and took another bite of chocolate, idly swinging her legs against the cabinet doors below her. They lulled into silence for a few moments as Remus stacked the last few cans inside of the cupboard, and Anwyn chewed away, thoughts drifted back to the letter.

Her Father’s greatest disappointment. Was that true? It seemed terribly unfair given the fact that it had been her cousins who’d started the whole sorry affair last year. But then again he had left. Perhaps he just hadn’t wanted to be around her anymore. Maybe he could already tell that she wasn’t turning out to be the daughter he’d wanted. Or maybe she hadn’t even been wanted at all.

The uncomfortable tight feeling was back in her chest. It was like a strange, vice like grip, a feeling of impending doom, and she had to fight against it to remind herself that everything was fine. She watched Remus take a second mug from the cupboard, whistling some odd tune as he fished another tea bag out of the caddy. Was he disappointed too? Was that why he had barely spoken in days? Perhaps her antics in Hogsmeade had gone too far. No, that wasn’t right, he’d been in St Mungo’s. That was it, that was the only reason he’d not visited, that was—“

“Remus?” She blurted out, no longer able to contain the building panic.

“Yes, cariad?” He asked, not turning around as he poured steaming water into the two mugs.

”Are we…are we good? After what happened on Saturday?”

Remus turned to her frowning. “Of course we are. Why wouldn’t we be?”

“I just thought you might still be mad,” she replied, voice strangled. “Or— or disappointed. And I hate the thought that you’d be disappointed in me but I’d understand why because I’ve been a massive pain in the arse lately and— and I’ve been making stupid, stupid decisions— “

“Disappointed? Why would I be disappointed? Anwyn where this coming from?”

Anwyn looked about the counter around her, searching for the letter and finding it half crumpled under one of her legs. She leaned to the side and pulled it out with a sharp tug, not caring if it was damaged in the process.

“So uh…you know how I said I was thinking about writing to Grandmother?”

He frowned. “Yes. Though that was before the howler,”

”Well I did it,” she held the letter out to him. “I guess I thought that maybe if I grovelled a bit she’d tell me what was wrong with Dad,”

“Grovelled? Anwyn you don’t need to grovel to anyone—”

She shook the letter. “Just— just read it,”

Remus sighed, giving her one last worried look, and then took the letter and began to read. His expression started off neutral, and then grew gradually darker, frown growing, jaw tightening, until he reached the end of the text and promptly ripped the parchment in half with one sharp, decisive motion.

He balled the pieces up into a fist, dropping the scrunched parchment on the counter and propped his hands on his hips, one foot tapping away at the wooden floor while he stared off at a indistinct point on the wall. He gave a shake of the head, and then turned back to the tea. Anwyn couldn’t help but notice that he had started mashing the teabags with a little more force than was really necessary.

She fiddled with the toggles of her hoody. His silence continued as poured two large haphazard splashes of milk into the mugs and slammed the milk carton back down onto the counter.

“Are you angry?” Anwyn asked in a small voice, unable to stand the silence any longer.

He let out a long, slow breath through his nose. “I’m bloody furious,” he muttered, staring once more at a far off point, this time on the counter.

“I’m sorry. I just thought…well I thought if I was polite…oh I dunno,” she finished miserably, rubbing at her eyes.

Remus finally looked up at, frown still creasing his brow.

“Why are you apologising? I’m not angry at you, you’ve done nothing wrong. Your Grandmother however…well to talk to a grandchild like that? I’m quite frankly lost for words,” he shook his head again. “The absolute gall of that woman, especially after your cousins behaviour last year. It’s maddening! Completely and utterly maddening,”

“If I hadn’t written to her though—“

“It was a perfectly natural decision, what child should be afraid to talk to a Grandparent? No, you’ve done nothing wrong. The fault lies with her,”

She gave a shallow nod, chin dropping to her chest as she fidgeted again with her hoodie toggle, feet swinging until they started to tap repetitive beat on the cabinet door.

Remus watched for a second and then visibly deflated, running a hand through his hair until it flopped in front of his eyes. He grabbed the mugs, pushing one of them into her hands and then leaned against the cabinets beside where she perched.

“You don’t pay her any attention, Wyn. Do you hear me? None at all. She doesn’t deserve an ounce of your time,”

“Yeah. Yeah I know. She’s a cow,” she sniffed and then took a sip of the hot tea, immediately screwing up her face. “Ugh— it’s full of tea leaves, you must have ripped the tea bag,”

Sure enough, when she looked there was a layer of black specks floating on the top, bitter and dark.

Remus took the mug back off her, glancing into it, and gave a guilty smile. “Yes, I think I might have gotten a little carried away,” He pushed off the counter and sat the mugs back down. “Tell you what, go change into something dry and get your shoes back on,”

“Why?” She asked, brightening slightly. “Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you out for lunch. Forget about the weekend, today is officially the first day of your holidays,”

“The leaky cauldron?” She tried to keep the unease out of her voice. Spending lunch being stared at didn’t seem particularly inviting.

But Remus gave a her an knowing smile, as if reading her mind. “Maybe not today. I was thinking somewhere a little different,”

Anwyn slid down off the counter, taking one last look at the balled up letter. Something different sounded exactly like what she needed.

———

The little cafe they ended up truly was the furthest thing from a wizarding pub. It was a family run independent, popular it seemed, with an entire range of London’s residents, from business men and young families to students and old ladies with blue rinsed curls. The smell of coffee had hit her the moment she pushed the door open, and smooth piano music tinkled behind the buzz of conversation. She hovered nervously in the doorway, waiting for Remus to finish shaking out the umbrella that had kept her far dryer than her last outing, and scanned the room.

She hadn’t quite realised how used to the staring she’d become. Had they been walking into the Three Broomsticks they would have drawn multiple eyes, which would have lingered along with scowls and whispered mutterings. But here no one seemed to take note, save for a toddler that waved his red car in Anwyn’s direction as she passed him.

They took a table in the corner by the window, a cosy little spot with two mismatching cloth armchairs where they could talk without being overheard by the muggles. Anwyn’s sagged as she sunk into it, a sign that it had been well used, but it was comfortable enough that she risked snoozing if they stayed too long.

“Right, what are you having?” Remus asked, taking his sodden coat off and draping it over the back of his own chair.

“Umm…” she fidgeted in her seat, stealing a glance at the menu above the counter. The prices all seemed a little steep, and she mentally calculated how much a drink and something to eat would be. Too much. “Just a mocha please. If that’s okay?”

“Coming right up,” he replied with a smile. “Anything to eat?”

“I’m not really hungry. Thanks,”

He gave a nod, before heading over to the counter and getting into the short queue that had formed there.

Anwyn took the opportunity to scope the place out a little more thoroughly. It really did seem that no one had really noted their presence, an odd feeling for once but one that made her relax a little. There was a family of four on one side of them, the kids picking blueberries out of their muffins by hand, and a teenage boy around her age sitting sullenly with a man Anwyn assumed was his Dad, but he paid her little attention. The muggle world truly was somewhere they could pass noticed. Perhaps getting out had been a good idea after all. Being cooped up in Hogwarts with no escape from curious eyes certainly was tiring.

“Here we are,” Remus reappeared with two steaming mugs, whipped cream and chocolate dusting the top. “Just as you like it. Now why don’t you tell me how your homework’s coming along? You said you had a good deal to get through?”

“Oh. Yeah. I’ve got a few essays to do, and then I need to start studying. I’m not too worried about Potions or Herbology but you know how I struggle with those History dates,”

Remus nodded, taking a sip of his drink, a thin line of chocolate smearing his upper lip, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I think Remedial Transfiguration is helping somewhat, and the Charms theory is easy enough but the practical might be a problem. Sometimes it’s just so hard to concentrate,” she shrugged, looking off out the window for a second before turning back to him. “And if you have time, I was wondering if you’d quiz me on Defence questions?”

“I’d be delighted to help,” he smiled.

“Two toasties?”

A woman had appeared over Remus’ shoulder with a second tray, and he thanked her as she placed two plates down on the table, each with a toastie oozing melted cheese. The smell hit Anwyn and her stomach have an involuntary grumble.

“You didn’t have to get me anything, I’m not that hungry,” she said, but Remus ignored her, pushing a plate towards her.

“I’m guessing you’ve not had anything but that chocolate bar today, I’d like to see you eat something,”

She reluctantly picked up a triangular half of the toastie, biting into it to find a salty mix of ham and cheese. It was admittedly pretty good, but she still felt a twinge on unease.

“Do you want some money for this? I have some cash—“

“Keep your money Wyn. I said lunch was on me, didn’t I?”

“Yeah I guess…thanks,”

“And it’s something of a peace offering,” he conceded. “And an apology, and a thank you rolled into one. I know Saturday wouldn’t have been easy for you,”

“It was worse for you,”

“My experience doesn’t invalidate yours. So please. Eat,”

The toastie, she conceded, was already paid for, and she wasn’t about to waste Remus’ money, so she tucked in, nearly scalding herself in the hot cheese. By the time she’d finished the second half she was already feeling better, and silently admitted to herself that perhaps she had been hungry after all, though she didn’t say as much to her uncle. He watched her polish off the last crust with a raised eyebrow and a small smile that suggested he’d surmised her thoughts anyway.

“Is that my jumper?” He asked out of the blue, and she nearly choked on the sip of coffee she was taking, cream sticking to her nose in the process.

She carefully wiped it off, glancing down at the grey knit she’d thrown on without thinking. “Uhh…maybe. I’m not sure,”

“Mmm,” he made a noise that sounded like he wasn’t convinced, though he was still smiling so she knew she wasn’t in trouble. “Well thank you for the new one regardless. I was needing a replacement,”

“No worries,” she chirped, happy he was dropping the issue. “Have you finished your chocolates?”

Remus scoffed. “They were gone by the end of the week,”

Anwyn frowned. “Wasn’t your birthday a Friday?”

“Like I said, they were gone by the end of the week,”

With her toastie polished off, she sunk back into the armchair with a satisfied sigh, mug cradled in one hand. She turned back to the window, watching a muggle family outside hurrying through the rain. The child was a small girl around five years old with dimples and a bright red raincoat, her laughter loud and infectious as her parents swung her between them over a massive puddle on the road. Again Anwyn’s eyes prickled and she looked back to her cup of coffee. Had she ever been like that? Enveloped in the love of both her Mother and Father? It seemed like such an impossible concept.

”Anwyn,” Remus cleared his throat, and she looked up to find him watching her carefully. “What your Grandmother said about your father…it’s not true. You know that, don’t you?”

“How can I?” She replied bitterly, taking a sip of coffee. “I never got to know him, maybe he would be disappointed in me,”

“Impossible,” Remus shook his head, fixing her with sad eyes. “He’d have been intensely proud of you I’d wager, or he’d have been a fool,”

She found her cheeks heating, eyes stinging, and she cleared her throat. “Well, it doesn’t matter, it’s not like I’ll ever find out. Not from Grandmother anyway, not after how she spoke about you. No information she can provided makes up for that,”

Remus rested his elbows on the table, balancing his chin on steepled fingers and fixed her with a thoughtful look.

“I’m sorry this hasn’t produced the results you were looking for,” he said. “I hope you’re not too disappointed,”

“It’s fine. You did warn me after all, I was just hoping…ahh it’s pointless. I don’t think I’m ever working out what was wrong with him. Not until Mum finally relents at least,”

“Perhaps it’s for the best for now. You can focus on your studies, and then we can worry about it,”

“Yeah, maybe,” she replied glumly.

Remus watched her pick at the crumbs on her plate for a few more seconds, and then reached down to grab at the pocket of his coat.

“Here,” he said, pulling out a handful of loose muggle change. “There are some particularly good looking chocolate muffins at the counter. Why don’t you go grab us two?”

As he pushed around the coins in the palm of his hand, counting out the correct amount, Anwyn noted a key sitting amongst them. It looked fairly old, but non descript , looped onto a thin strip of metal.

“What’s that for?”

“Hmm? Oh the key? It’s a bit of a mystery really. It was part of my Birthday from Sirius. He won’t tell me what it’s for, only that I’ll need it soon,”

“Odd,” Anwyn frowned. “Can I see it?”

“Certainly. Perhaps you’ll figure it out,”

He passed it over, and she turned it over a few times in her hands. There were no identifying marks, no engravings. It was just a normal, average key from what she could tell.

“I’ve no idea,” she said. “Maybe for a trunk or a shed or something? Or maybe it’s like the map, did you check it for spells?”

“That was the first thing I did, but it’s clean. I suppose we’ll find out eventually. He seems incredibly proud of himself about it, whatever it is,”

“Well your guess is as good as mine. Tell me when you find out. I like a good mystery,” she said, handing the key back.

Not that she would be much help anyway, she thought as she joined the queue at the counter. Even with all the clues in the world, she was beginning to think she wasn’t particularly good at solving puzzles at all.

———

The rain did not let up for the rest of the week, the sky happy to dump a constant downpour on London that kept Anwyn inside in the warm. Not that she had much time to enjoy the city, between her homework and her studies, she spent most of her time at the little desk in her room, head bent of parchment, hand aching from clutching her quill for hours on end. Her hard work was worth it though, because by the time Friday evening came her homework assignments were almost complete and she’d managed to make headway on a number of revision topics with Remus’ help, though whether or not she’d remember them come exam time was a different matter.

“Right, that’s Charms, Transfiguration, Potions and History of Magic all done,” Anwyn said, ticking them off the list she’d jotted down to help her keep track. “I’ve got a few gaps to fill for Ancient Runes, and Care of Magical Creatures just needs a labelled diagram of a Skrewt, that won’t take long at all, there’s basically only two parts to them,”

“A what?” Remus asked, looking up from the essay he was reading at her desk.

“A skrewt. Horrible shelled exploding things? Kind of like a giant angry slug?”

“Can’t say it rings a bell,” He shook his head, returning his attention to the page in front of him.

“I’m fairly certain Hagrid invented them so that’s probably not a surprise,” she said, rummaging in the bag of fudge bites that sat in the duvet beside her. She unwrapped the foil from one and popped it in her mouth, voice becoming thick as she spoke around it. “But it can wait until tomorrow. I think I’m going blurry eyed from looking at these textbooks,”

“You’re going to ruin your appetite,” Remus muttered, not looking up from the essay.

“I’ve always got room for fudge. Want one?”

A pause. “Go on then,”

She plunged a hand back into the bag, pulling out another fudge and launched it across the bedroom to her uncle. It missed completely, but he gave a lazy flick of his wand and it shot into his waiting hand.

“Well you can add Defence Against the Dark Arts to your list. This is a solid attempt Anwyn, I’d be tempted to give an Exceeds Expectations for this. Though it’s worth noting that Reducto destroys an object, but it doesn’t make it disappear. Professor Moody will inevitably pull you up on that,” he said, before popping the sweet in his mouth.

“Surely not. If he marks me down you’ll challenge him to that dual you’ve been threatening since the Unforgivables class,”

Remus’ eyes widened slightly as he coughed, thumping himself on the chest in an attempt to dislodge the fudge now in windpipe. “I don’t recall ever saying I’d dual him,” he wheezed.

She propped her chin on her hands, balancing her elbows on her crossed knees and feigned a ridiculous pout. “Not even to get me a passing mark on my OWL?”

He did not rise to the bait. “That you’ll have to do yourself,”

“What if I give you more fudge?”

“Hmm. Tempting. But I won’t be so easily corrupted. Now grab a quill, you can fix this in two minutes and then call it a night,”

Anwyn gave a comically dramatic sigh and untangled her crossed legs, slipping off the bed. She grabbed the discarded quill and another fudge, attempting to unwrap it one handed with the aid of her teeth.

“Righ’,” she said through the foil, though it came out faintly garbled. “‘At ‘m ‘iting,”

“I didn’t understand a word of that,”

She plucked the half unwrapped fudge from her mouth. “I said what am I writing?”

“You tell me,” Remus said, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms. “What would you use to make an item disappear?”

She tapped the quill against her chin for a second, wracking his brain, and then gave him an uncertain look. “Evanesco?”

“Precisely,” he replied with a smile, plucking the fudge from her hand, unwrapping it and popping it in his mouth despite her splutter of protest. “See, you do know it. Have a bit more confidence in yourself,”

“Let’s hold off on that until I pass the exam,” she grumbled as she leaned over the desk and pressed the quill to parchment. There was a dull snap and the tip broke off, a blot of ink seeping languidly onto the page.

“Damn it,” she fumbling with the quill and attempting to grab a scrap of paper to blot the ink and stop it from spreading further.

“Give it here, I’ll fix it,” Remus held out his hand.

“Don’t bother, that’s the third time it’s broken, I don’t think it’s long for this world. I’ll nick one from Mum’s office, she’ll have loads,”

The door at the end of the hallway was always unlocked. For as long as Anwyn could remember her Mum had let her flit in and out of the office as needed on the proviso that she didn’t muck about with the organised chaos that was the haphazard filing system on the desk. Today was no different, she could barely see the surface of the wood for the layer of paper and folders scattered across it; letters and note scraps, old newspaper clippings and half torn envelopes. It was a startling contrast to the drawers that lined one of the walls, each one carefully labelled alphabetically and no doubt stuffed with even more files.

She scanned the back of the desk where a cluster of items sat; a framed photo of Anwyn when she was young and gap toothed, a brass clock with three sets of hands that she’d never quite worked out the purpose for, a perch for the many owls that seemed to visit night and day, currently empty, and a wooden pot, also disappointingly empty. There was no sign of quill or ink in the mess, and after a half hearted attempt to peer under the stack of paper she turned her attention to the drawers.

The thin one running along the length of the desk wouldn’t open. Scowling, she gave the handle a good tug but it didn’t budge. There was a second set of drawers running down the rightmost leg, so she turned her attention to the one at the top. This one slid open with ease, and to her relief two ragged looking quills sat on the top of a pile of assorted rubbish. She went to grab them, but one slipped down the side of a stack of letters, so she scooped the whole pile out, giving them a casual, curious glance.

The writing on the top most letter was very familiar, and sure enough it was signed with her own name. She shuffle through the letters below it, finding the year rewinding in her hands; her plans for Easter, Skeeter’s article, her first week back after Christmas, all the way back to the summer holidays, carefully stacked one on top of each other. The realisation that her Mum had kept all of these letters made her feel…weird. Yes that was the best way to put it. Kind of touched, kind of guilty, perhaps a little resentful that despite this apparent care, her Mum had still barely been home all week. Unnerved, she went to put the letters back into the drawer, and stopped.

At the bottom, below countless torn envelopes, bits of quill feather, blotting pads and wax stamps, was a folder. It was plain, a pale brown cardboard with metal reinforcing the corners, and a label scrawled on the top most corner.

Blackthorn.

She slipped a hand under the cardboard, carefully easing it a few inches from the detritus. Voices echoed down the hallway, a greeting from somewhere near the door as it banged shut, footsteps scuffing on the floorboards. Anwyn shoved the folder back to the bottom, dropped the letters back in and slammed the drawer shut, heart pounding away in her throat. She hurried over to the door, slipping quietly out into the hallway.

“— McNair this time, and I could have put money in the result. I don’t fault Arthur for trying but it’s only sending them deeper into hiding. The investigation is going nowhere,” Her mother was saying as she kicked off her shoe beside its discarded partner.

“He must have his suspicions if he’s still driving these raids,” Remus replied. He had emerged from her room, and was leaning with his arms crossed against the wall of the hall, all joviality gone from his tone.

“Oh we all do. You know there’s a number of families that escaped Azkaban by the skin of their teeth last time. They’re all top of the list, but—“ she stopped mid sentence, a smile plaster on her face, voice taking on a sweeter note. “Oh hello sweetheart, busy day?”

Anwyn fought the urge to scowl, sure that she’d changed the subject on purpose the moment she’d spotted her. “Just lots of homework. The usual. Are you home for the night?”

“I am. Annnnddd—“ her Mum turned and scooped the stack of boxes from the side table by the door. “I brought pizza. Are you staying for dinner Remus?”

He checked his watch. “Oh go on then. I won’t say no to a slice,”

“Good,” her Mum started down the hall towards the office door, shoving the boxes into Remus’ arms as she went. “You can grab some plates while I dump my notes,”

She passed Anwyn, giving her a kiss on the top of her head on the way, and then stopped, turning back as she finally noted where her daughter had appeared from.

“Have you been in my office?”

Anwyn quickly held up the quills. “Just borrowing these. Mine snapped,”

Her Mum pursed her lips slightly, the smallest hints of disapproval and then the smile was back. “I hope you didn’t mess up my system,”

“Mess up your mess you mean?”

“No, my system. I’ve not had a chance to file away my latest notes yet,”

Anwyn forced herself to appear non-chalant, rolling her eyes. “It’s fine, I didn’t touch anything. Just the quills,”

“Hmm,” her Mum sounded unsure, but was already breezing towards the end of the hall again. “Go wash up for dinner, I won’t be long,”

The office door clicked shut behind her, and Anwyn let out a steadying breath. It appeared that she’d gotten away with it, which was for the best. Because the minute her Mum next left her house, she was going to be raiding that desk.

———

An opportunity presented itself three days later. Anwyn had just dragged herself out of bed at what she thought was the respectable time of 11:13am when her Mum had appeared in the sitting room, coat over one arm and bag in the other.

“Ahh Sleeping Beauty awakes,” she observed. “I see you’ve finally decided to get while you can still call it morning,”

“I’m on holiday,” Anwyn grumbled. “It’s allowed,”

“Yes well don’t spend the day rotting away. You’ve got studying to do,”

“I know,”

“And you still need to eat breakfast,”

“Mum, I know,”

“And do remember to get dressed, we’re having dinner with Remus tonight at the Three Broomsticks. If I’m not home before five just meet me there,”

“You’re going to be out all day?” Anwyn asked in what she hoped was an innocent sounding question.

“I’m afraid so. But like I said, I’ll be back for dinner,” she leaned over the side of the sofa, and gave Anwyn a kiss on the top of her head. “Be good, I’ll see you later,”

Anwyn waited an hour. She thought that was quite impressive, given how desperate she was to sneak into her Mum’s office the minute she’d left the house, but the risk of her returning for some forgotten notepad or quill was too high. So she busied herself with breakfast and a shower, and then finally pushed open the door at the end of the hall.

The mess on the desk was a little better than the last time she’d seen it. There still a spray of notes across the surface but most of the pages had been tidied into stacks, and there was a small pile of familiar cardboard folders sat one of top of each other. She tried not to get too excited. Surely it wouldn’t be that easy? She lifted them top one off , inspecting the neat label.

Q - Quidditch World Cup - July 1994

The file behind it was similarly numbered.

T - Triwizard Tournament - October 1994

This was her most recent work, Anwyn released, not yet filed away. She was tempted to flick through the folders but the thought of her Mum returning early had her sitting them back down on the desk and pulling open the top drawer.

The contents were much the same as before, old quills, empty ink pots, ripped parchment and her stack of letters. She dug down to the bottom, feeing for the stiff cardboard of the folder, and then frowned. Odd. She couldn’t feel it.

Anwyn lifted out the letters, bent over the drawer as she searched for any sign of it. Her fingers scraped bare wood at the bottom. The file was gone.

The wall to her left was lined with filing cabinets which seemed like a good place to start. They slid open without any issues, which she said silent thanks for, grateful that her Mum didn’t find the need to lock them; the house was already warded after all. The contents of the first drawer were once again alphabetically labelled, and then ordered by date. She flicked through a few;

D - Drumchaple Cursed Teapot - February 1990,
D - Dublin Hippogriff Incident - October 1986,
D - Dublin Hippogriff Incident No2 - January 1987
D - DYLAN, Brian - Correspondence - 1993

All useless. Where would her father be? She may as well start at B for Blackthorn.

She tried three more drawers before finding the letter B, and another before narrowing it down to the right section, flicking past ‘BARR, Peter’, and a particularly thick ‘BLACK, Sirius’ before finally landing on a separator reading ‘BLACKTHORN’. Heart pounding, she pulled the files apart.

There was no file in the Blackthorn section.

This couldn’t be a coincidence. There was no way that her mother had simple misplaced the file relating to her father’s family just days after she’d found it in the desk. It was suddenly clear to her that her Mum’s reaction hadn’t been normal. She’d been worried that Anwyn had stumbled across that file, and therefore she must have hidden it.

On the off chance that any letters had been filed elsewhere, Anwyn opened the drawers for S, checking both Sebastian and Sylvestus. The files were clearly sorted by surname however, so her attempts were fruitless. Feeling a rising panic at how long she was taking, she turned her attention back to the desk. Perhaps she was missing something, surely her Mum would keep the most important files close at hand.

She tried every unlocked drawer, top to bottom, and then back up again, but there was no Blackthorn file, no sign that anything relating to her father had been here at all. She was about to give up completely when she spotted a small glint of something metal sticking out of the top of the thin, locked drawer that ran across the width of the table. She pressed a finger to the edge, feeling cold metal. Just like the metal protectors that each folder wore on the corner.

Had her Mum, anxious to hide whatever the contents of this folder were, moved the Blackthorn file to the locked drawer that night? There was only one way to find out.

She started her search of the drawers again, this time looking for a key. She tried every nook and cranny, lifted out years of discarded notes. As her panic rose, she found herself no longer caring how disturbed the desk looked, flipping pages and pulling old notepads out from the drawers. Still no key appeared.

Her Mum’s bedroom was her next target. She tried the little jewellery box on the top of the dresser, filled with old family rings and necklaces. The bedside table drawers were just as useless, as were the wardrobe, and the boxes of discarded shoes, scarves and old hats under the bed. No, despite how hard she looked, Anwyn couldn’t find the key to the desk.

Defeated, she returned to the office and flopped down into the chair behind the desk, staring at the keyhole as if that alone would open it. She was close. So, so close, she could feel it. There were too many coincidences. Her Mum had definitely tried to hide this file from her, and that was confirmation enough that it contained something vital. She had to get into the drawer.

She could break the lock with something, but damaging the desk would only make certain that her Mum would know what she’d done and she’d no doubt be pissed. Magic might open it though. It was a possibility. And the trace wouldn’t pick up one the fact she’d cast a spell, it mainly only existed to ensure magical children weren’t hexing muggles. Spells performed in a magical household would just merge into the background noise. No one would have to know.

If they did find out though she’d probably be in more trouble than she’d ever been in her life. Grounded until she was fifty at least. The thought of disappointing her family to that degree had her stomach squirming in knots.

But she would finally have her answers.

Before she could change her mind, she climbed to her feet and ran through to her room, grabbing her wand from where she’d left it on the desk.

She aimed the wand at the lock, uttering a silent prayer that this would work, that her Mum hadn’t protected the drawer with more magical means, that an owl wouldn’t appear with an expulsion letter.

“Alohamora,” she whispered.

The drawer popped open. It was no deeper than the desktop itself, stuffed to the brim with paper, and inside on the top of the pile sat the Blackthorn folder, along with a paper envelope that was faded and well handled. Its contents were bursting out, and as she pulled out the stack of parchment, spotting the signature at the bottom of the top letter, her heart nearly exploded out of her chest. Feeling her knees turn a little weak, she sunk into the chair and began to read.

Notes:

Is this chapter 50% fluff? Yes and I won’t apologise. I will apologise for my absence though life has been hectic and this chapter has hammered me with writers block. We’re over the worst of it though, lots of drama to come…the big reveal is up next.

I’m fairly certain that Anwyn’s usage of magic in this chapter still follows the rules, everything I’ve read about the trace suggests it’s basically useless in a wizarding household. It’s really only a problem when the kids are in public, around muggles, or trying to avoid being seen by the ministry at all after the war starts. Hopefully that makes sense.

Thanks for sticking with it, and welcome if you’re new. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 34: Blood Will Out

March 11th 1983

There is someone knocking at his door. Remus ignores it. He’s not sure he could move if he wanted to, his limbs leaden and weighed down, his body nothing but an empty shell. But despite his mental pleading for silence, the knocking continues.

He checks his watch. Just past 2am. Who on earth is knocking at this time? It can’t be the landlord, he barely exists other than to collect the rent, and the neighbours keep to themselves. Remus shuts his eyes, leaning his head back on the lumpy armchair, and listens to the echoing knocks.

There’s a child’s voice. This has him cracking an eye open. Then a woman shushes them and the knocking comes again, this time more insistent than before. The voice beyond is speaking in a low tone, soothing the child perhaps, but there’s a panicked quality to it even though he can’t hear the words. Something about it makes Remus lever himself off the chair.

He cracks the door open, peering bleary eyed into the hallway. The face that looks back at him is shockingly familiar. It’s been years since he last wondered if she’d ever appear again, longer still since he last saw her.

“Bethan,” he utters, blinking heavily as if to clear an illusion.

“Can we come in?” She asks in a hushed tone, and he finally looks down to the tiny human clutching at his sisters hand.

Soft, brown doe eyes, bloodshot with exhaustion. A thumb stuck in her mouth. And a mass of tangled sandy curls. It was like looking at a photograph of his sister from her youth.

Remus looks quickly between the girl and his sister, mouth flapping as he tries to figure out what he should say, but Bethan was already looking at him imploringly, shooting wary looks back towards the stairs.

“Remus, please,”

“O-of course,”

He opens the door further, and Bethan pushes the girl through the gap in front of her. The one room bed-sit is a mess. He is suddenly, horribly aware of that, the piles of dirty plates in the sink, the empty food packets, the overflowing bin. If his sister notices any of this, she doesn’t comment, turning to him instead, hands still on the shoulders of the little girl.

“You have wards up?”

“I— yes, yes I have wards— Bethan where have you been, what—“

“You need to take Anwyn. Just for a little while,”

He blinks heavily, again at a complete loss for words. His gaze shifts to the child at their feet, who is still sucking on her thumb, looking around the room with far more interest than her mother. She finally looks up at him, rubbing at her tired eyes, and shuffles shyly at her mother’s side.

Bethan’s request finally sets in. “Take— Bethan, I can’t—“ he looks down at the child who is watching their conversation, and steps in closer to his sister, lowering his voice. “Bethan, I can’t look after a child,”

“Why not?”

He gives a disbelieving scoff. “You know exactly why! It’s completely insane, it’s dangerous, it’s—“

“She’s your niece, she needs her family,”

He flounders, running a hand through his hair as he shoots the girl another look. She’s leaning into her mother’s side, eyes drooping, utterly exhausted and utterly adorable.

“Yes I— I gathered but— but that doesn’t make it any safer for her to be here. I’m not— I’m not good for her Bethan. And I’m not in a place where I can—“

“She’s your goddaughter too,” Bethan interrupts again, this time her voice quiet.

His breath catches slightly in his throat. Him, a godfather. It wasn’t a title he ever thought he’d receive. Even after Sirius— after Harry, he hadn’t even considered that someone would trust him to such a degree. It’s misplaced. He swallows hard.

“Why would you— why me?”

“Because you’re the only person I can trust,” Bethan replies quietly, drawing the little girl in front of her. “The only one,”

He looks down at the child again. She’s staring back at him, curiosity evident despite her exhaustion, the kind of open look that only someone so young can manage, still yet to learn about the things that go bump in the night, about the monsters of the world, about people like him. A small, shy smile tweaks at the corner of her lips as she catches his eye. Remus can’t control the one that curls at his mouth in response.

He catches himself, giving a sudden shake of the head. “I can’t. You can stay the night, and then we’ll work something out in the morning, maybe Dad—“

“Dad won’t understand, you know it,” Bethan hisses back. “You know exactly what he’s like,”

She’s unfortunately correct. “Even so—“

“I need to go. I need to leave now . I don’t have time to parade her around every relative and long lost friend, and quite frankly, I don’t want to. I named you godfather for a reason. She doesn’t just need someone who can keep her safe, she needs someone she can feel safe with. Please Remus, she deserves that much—,”

For the first time since she’s arrived at his door, his sister’s voice breaks, and she breaks the intense eye contact to look away. He’s filled with the urge to hug her, to give the sort of human comfort he’s been desperately in need of for the past year. But something holds him back, as if he doesn’t even have the energy for such small of a gesture, or can’t remember how to do it. Shit, he really is broken, isn’t he?

“Look…” he starts, wetting his lips as he tries to formulate the words without sounding ungrateful. “I’m honoured Bethan, I really am. In another time, maybe you’d be right but…I am not— after the past few years I’m—“ his own voice gives an embarrassing crack, but he momentarily shuts his eyes and pushes through. “I’m not the boy you once knew,”

She doesn’t reply immediately, and when he opens his eyes she’s looking at him with an odd, melancholic expression, not quite pity, not quite guilt, something else.

“Maybe not,” she says slowly. “But I think he’s still inside there somewhere. And we need him,” she stoops suddenly, crouching down in front of the girl. “Anwyn, this is your Uncle Remus, you’re going to stay with him for a little bit while Mummy goes to work, alright?”

“Oh come on—“ Remus starts with a disbelieving groan.

The child removes her thumb out of her mouth with an audible pop. “You’re going…away?”

Bethan nods, the small smile on face not reaching her eyes, which look terribly, terribly sad. “Just for a little while. I’ll be back, I promise. You be good for your Uncle,”

She showers the girl in kisses, all over the forehead and cheeks until she lets out a shriek of joyful giggles, laughing until she’s breathless, and then stands, holding out the little pink backpack that Remus hadn’t noticed on her shoulder to him.

“If anyone asks, I wasn’t here. Do not let Anwyn leave with anyone but me. And if I do appear, ask me what shape Mum’s biscuit jar was,”

This last one really sends a thrill of fear through him. It’s a technique he knows well, one they made use of during the war to guard against imposters. For Bethan to be using it now, the danger must be real, not to mention close.

“Bethan—“

But she’s off, striding towards the door. She swings it open, ignoring his protests, and pauses on the threshold, fixing him with one final anxious look. Her eyes sweep to her daughter, and she blows her a kiss.

“Love you, my darling. Be good,”

The door slams behind her. Remus is left in stunned silence for a few seconds before her warnings sink in, and he rushes over to lock it behind her. Not that muggle locks could stop the sort of enemies that he knows are out there, but it makes him feel safer regardless.

When Remus looks back on this moment in the years to come, he’ll be struck with a sickening shame. Because his initial thought is one of panic, of fear. He can’t take care of a child, he can barely take care of himself, the entire idea would be laughable if he weren’t so terrified. Even the simplest of tasks seem like mountains. How can he feed her when he can’t afford decent food? How can he keep her safe when he’s just as dangerous as whatever lies beyond that door? How can he ensure she feels loved when he’s beginning to forget what that even feels like himself?

He slowly turns back to the sitting room to find that the girl is standing watching him, thumb back in her mouth, brown eyes huge and watery. How old is she? Two, three? How do you even talk to a child that age? How does he explain what’s happening?

Remus realises that they’ve been standing in awkward silence staring at each other for far too long, and he is supposed to be the responsible adult here, despite how little that makes sense, so he forces himself to smile in what he hopes is a kindly manner, pushing down his nerves.

“Uh…don’t worry Anwyn. It is Anwyn, isn’t it? Yes. Yes, it’s uh— alright. Your Mum will be back soon, I promise,”

She sniffles, mouth curving into an almost comical frown, her eyes screwing shut.

And to his horror, she begins to cry.

———

Anwyn and always known that her mother took her job incredibly seriously. If her constant disappearances hadn’t been proof enough, her dedication to documenting every little detail of her findings sealed the deal. When Anwyn had been younger she’d always wondered what each of the drawers in her mother’s study contained, and when she’d finally been tall enough to slide one open and peak inside, she’d been incredibly disappointed to find that it didn’t hide a secret chocolate stash. The endless files of paper and card seemed pretty pointless in comparison.

As she’d gotten older she’d realised that perhaps the files were useful, if a little dry. They gave her Mum an advantage against the cutthroat competition, years and years of data she could call upon if needed, and it truly did seem to help. Or at least, as far as Anwyn could tell it did; the rent kept being paid, food kept appearing in the cupboards. And on the odd occasion her Mum was incredibly helpful when it came to crossword puzzles. The system worked

That being said, Bethan Blackthorn’s need to keep every single piece of communication made for a frustrating read.

The letters seemed to start from a completely random point in her parents communication, and what triggered her Mum’s need to collect them, Anwyn couldn’t tell. The contents seemed completely innocent, anecdotes about Sebastian’s day at work, queries about when Bethan would be next available to meet, and at first Anwyn was breathless as she read them despite the mundane nature of writing.

This was her father. Living, working, breathing. Talking about dinner, and annoying work mates and whether the weather would hold. He was real.

Mundane as it was, she inhaled the first few sheets, trying to imagine in her head how his voice would have sounded if he’d narrated his words. Would he have had the same stiff accent as her Grandmother and Uncle? Would the mirth have been evident in his tone as he voiced a dry account of his day spent filing legal appeals?

She read on. Every small fact about his life was like a drop of water after a drought. She tried to pace herself, tried not to skim read the letters in her excitement, but it was difficult. She wanted to know it all, and at the back of the head there was still an insistent thought reminding her that she hadn’t solved the mystery, and that the clock was ticking.

…Father is keen for me to progress here. It’s dull work, mostly pandering to the wealthy wizards who aren’t taking too kindly to the new intensity of the raids. I can’t say whether or not they deserve it, but some certainly seem to have something to hide, and plenty of money to hide it with.…

…had a letter from Slughorn last week insisting I change my mind, if only I could listen to the old devil….

So he’d worked at the ministry? Not studied potions like she’d expected? Slughorn had been the potions professor when her parents were at school, she knew that much. What was he trying to persuade her Father to do?

…frightfully sorry to hear about your mother again, it must be hard seeing her ill so often. Muggles really do seem far more resilient than Father led me to believe…

What year was this? How long had it been since her parents had met?

…have you heard back about the little flat in Camden? It did sound promising, and I would welcome a friendly face in London. Everyone’s so closed off with these latest rumours…

He sounded lonely. Was he already cursed?

…allow me to be the first to congratulate you. Dinner on Friday? I really do insist Bee…

Bee. He called her mother Bee. It seemed to instantly suit her, what other animal could flit about as tirelessly as her mother after all, or had as sharp a sting when agitated.

Anwyn caught herself smiling, though there was a certain amount of pain behind it that had her fighting back tears at the same time. He sounded so…normal. What would life have been like if he’d stayed? What little nickname would he have given her? Would she have been on the lookout for his owl at the breakfast table, receiving letters of her own?

She rubbed the back of her hand against her eyes, and pulled the next letter from the pile, trying to collect herself. The sudden mess of scribbles had her freezing, hand still pressed to her cheekbone.

Bethan

I’ve done something terrible. Merlin help, me I had no choice, I know not what I could have done to prevent it, not when Father has his claws in me as he does. But I cannot break my oath to this family, despite how I long to.

It was Father’s doing. All of his favours this past six months, all of his sickening attention has been with one purpose. I should have known. I should not have trusted him. I should have left while I could.

I did not want to do this. Please Bethan, believe me, I am not like them, I do not want this. Meet me? Let me talk this through, if I don’t confide in someone I fear I might explode. You’re the only person I can trust, the only one that might understand. Please. I need you now more than ever.

Yours,
Sebastian.

She read the letter twice, and then a third time, an odd sick sort of feeling in her throat as she did so. This was it, surely? Something had happened, something that had shaken Sebastian Blackthorn so thoroughly that his neat, formal letter writing style had been replaced by a shaky scrawl. The pet name had gone, the witty remarks had vanished, and there was something in his tone that could only be described as fear.

Had her mother done what he’d asked? She must have, because this certainly wasn’t the end to their relationship, Anwyn herself had arrived not long after this exchange after all. But what had been so dangerous that Sebastian had refused to write it down?

Feeling increasingly sick, Anwyn shifted the letter to the back of the pile, expecting a follow up that might shed some light on the matter, but she was sorely disappointed. The last sheet lay in front of her, not a page of writing but a photograph. Their correspondence had stopped after that night. There was nothing else to read.

She swore under her breath, slumping back into the office chair. Another pointless search that had only turned up more questions than answers. Perhaps the folder had more information in it, or maybe she’d missed something in the letters.

Absently, she lifted the photo from the stack and gave it a cursory glance. It was her parents, young, before she was born by the looks of it. Her mother had her back to her father’s chest, his arms wrapped around her, and she was grinning ear to ear, leaning her head back to rest on his shoulder. Sebastian too was smiling, laughing even, an image that seemed off to Anwyn though she couldn’t put her finger on why until it struck her suddenly; she’d never seen a picture of her father looking so happy. He kept leaning down to say something in her mother’s ear, eliciting further laughter from his wife, who would lean forward with a sudden burst of mirth before returning to her previous position.

It was during one of these cycles that she first noticed it. A glimpse of something peaking out from under his rolled up shirt sleeve, something dark, exactly where the burn mark should be. She watched again, squinting ever so slightly to try and pull it into focus, and caught a curved outline, a leering mouth, dark eyes.

It couldn’t be. Surely not?

Anwyn brought the photograph up to her face until it was nearly touching her nose, her fingers grasping it so tightly that it left crinkles in the shining surface.

It was. Shit, it was.

She wasn’t imagining it. There, on her father’s arm, was a sickeningly familiar image. One that she’d seen in the sky at the Quidditch World Cup.

A screaming skull with a snake writhing from its mouth.

“No. No no no—“

She dropped the photograph onto the table as if burnt, and scrambled from the chair, eyes fixed on her Father’s smile. Had it always been that sinister?

“This isn’t happening,” she said aloud to the room. “It can’t be, it— shit,”

A death eater. A murderer. Her father.

She turned on the spot. The room swayed around her, edges of her vision beginning to tunnel in a horribly familiar way. Her chest tightened.

No she’d imagined it. She had to have imagined it. Anwyn grabbed the photograph back off the desk, but Sebastian had shifted again, sleeve covering his arm.

“Roll up your damn sleeve!” She ground out between clenched teeth.

Sebastian didn’t move, instead smiling and kissing his wife on the cheek in a display of affection that should have been heart warming. Now the only effect it had on Anwyn was to make her stomach roll.

“Show me your arm!”

As if he had heard her, Sebastian tightened his grip, shirt sleeve riding up to his elbow.

And Anwyn’s world disintegrated.

———

The press of bodies at the bar was thick enough that Remus found himself squashed up painfully against the wooden countertop, his shin knocking against it any time he moved . They hadn’t been lucky enough to grab one of the little stools, and he had to stand at an odd angle just to avoid elbowing the wizard beside him in the stomach.

He scanned the specials chalked on the board behind the bar, mentally noted the sticky toffee pudding for later, and turned his attention to the glass bottles stacked on the shelves below it.

“What will it be? Merlot?”

Bethan, who was rummaging in her bag, produced her glasses case and unfolded the spectacles within, nearly poking herself in the ear as she put them on with clumsy hands.

“Bethan?” Remus asked, a smile quirking at the corner of his mouth.

“Hmm?” His sister turned towards him, pushing the glasses further up her nose. “Oh, yes sorry. Yes. Merlot is fine,”

Remus nodded, leaning past the old man beside him to flag the innkeeper down. He placed an order for the wine, a pint of the first blonde ale he could spot on tap, and then turned back to his sister.

“Butterbeer for Wyn?”

“A safe bet,” she strained her neck, glancing around the room. “Where is she anyway? We’ll be lucky to get a table at this rate,”

At his sisters observation, Remus turned to survey the room. It was a typical Saturday night, packed to the walls with locals and visitors alike, and true enough, there weren’t a lot of tables going spare. He glanced at Bethan, taking in the slump of her shoulders, the way her work satchel hung heavy at her side, and leaned in across the bar towards the inn keeper.

“On second thoughts Rosmerta, can we take those drinks to the room? And some food if it’s not too much trouble?”

“Not a problem,” the inn keeper told him with a smile, grabbing two menus from below the bar and placing them in front of him. “I’ll give you a few minutes, and then you can just order and head up. We’ll send the food when it’s ready,”

He flashed her an appreciative smile, and turned back to hand menu to his sister. She was frowning.

“What?”

“You shouldn’t have to change your plans on her account, I told her not to be late,”

“It’s fine,” he gave her a dismissive wave, glancing down at the menu. “She’s been working very hard this week, she’s probably just finishing something off. Besides, you look half knackered yourself,”

“Or she’s got her nose in a book and has completely lost track of time,” Bethan grumbled, but then let out a sigh, poking a finger behind her glasses and massaging at one of her eyes, smudging her mascara in the process. “But you’re not wrong. I could do with quiet one,”

“Long day?”

She nodded, flashing Rosmerta a tired smile as she place their drinks down on the bar in front of them.

“Just non stop. A meeting with the Editor at the Prophet. An interview in Scarborough, another in Nairn that didn’t show up. Forty five minutes looking at dirigible plums in Lovegood’s garden when I just wanted to chase up his invoice,”

Remus gave an amused snort, but didn’t look up from his menu. “Quite the interesting family. I must say, I did enjoy marking his daughter’s essays. They almost always caught me by surprise,”

“I bet they did,” she said ruefully. “Her father has some…eccentric ideas. But that’s not the worst of my problems, Frankie’s only gone and quit on me,”

Remus looked up, frowning. “You’re kidding? Who’s going to be doing your photography?”

“I have no idea, everyone I’ve spoken to wants twice what Frankie was asking. But apparently he’d rather take a pay cut and a comfy job photographing cakes for Witch Weekly than— what was it— freezing his arse chasing down dead ends,”

Remus pulled a face. “A little harsh don’t you think?”

“Mmm,” she drummed her knuckles absently in the bar, staring at some far off point by the door. “Perhaps he’s right. Can’t say I ever imagined I’d still be conducting interviews about illegally imported Pygmy Puffs at this point in my career and high profile cases are just going no— ah shit!”

Remus gave his sister a startled look before stretching his neck past the old man beside him to peer at the spot in the distance that his sister’s eyes were trained on, half expecting to spot a familiar blonde reporter coming through the door, or perhaps, even worse, an angry farmhand looking for revenge.

“What?” He asked, turning back when it was clear neither of his imagined threats were bearing down on them. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing,” she waved a hand before rubbing once again at one of her eyes, the mascara smudging even further. “Just remembered that I agreed to meet with an ex-Auror contact the day after tomorrow. He’s got…” she tailed off, looking briefly around the crowded bar. “Well let’s just say experience with one of our suspects,”

“And that’s a problem why?”

“Because he lives in bloody Bali now!”

Remus, who had picked his ale up for an initial sip found himself nearly snorting it. After a moment of spluttering, he managed to clear his throat. “Bali eh? Blimey…”

“He says the sun helps his scars, I think he just likes to be as far away from the folks he put in Azkaban as possible,”

“Well it’s certainly…warmer than usual. Frankie would have been ecstatic. But won’t that be…what? Two portkeys?”

“Three, if I don’t want to break the bank,” she replied grimly. “London to Mumbai to Sydney to Bali. Probably the cheapest way,”

He swore under his breath, taking a more measured sip of his drink as he considered how to broach the next subject.

“I know what you’re going to say,” Bethan beat him to it. “I’ll miss the rest of the school holidays, I know,”

“I just…well I have to ask. You couldn’t rearrange?“

She was already shaking her head. “It’s taken four months to get him to even agree to meet me Remus, I don’t have time to rearrange it,”

She took a deep swig of her wine, swilling it around, and sat the glass back down a little more violently than was necessary.

Remus drummed his fingers on the bar, unsure what else he could even say. This was a common argument. Bethan wouldn’t budge. Anwyn would be sullenly disappointed, secretly heartbroken. He’d be left patching the fragile peace between them, and struggling with the fact that they both had legitimate arguments. Anwyn deserved to spend time with her Mum. Bethan needed to pay the bills, and this time she had the added benefit of potentially helping Harry out. There was no right answer.

He was saved from further awkward conversation on the matter by the reappearance of the ever cheery proprietor.

“Know what you’re having?”

“Ahh…the lasagna please Rosmerta,” Bethan said sounded even more tired than she had before. She slid the menu back across the bar.

“Certainly,” the innkeep smiled, turning to Remus. “And for you?”

Remus, realising that he’d been utterly distracted, made a split second decision. “Steak pie and chips please,” he said, setting the menu down before looking up and around the room once more. “In fact make that two. I’m sure Anwyn won’t complain,”

“That comes with broccoli on the side,” Bethan pointed out as Rosmerta collected the menus and bustled off.

“Your point being…”

“Well Wynnie doesn’t like broccoli does she? She won’t touch her veg,”

Remus frowned. “She didn’t like broccoli. She does now. Devours it in fact,”

Bethan looked unconvinced, raising an eyebrow. “Since when?”

“Since she came home from Hogwarts in her first year ranting about how good the food there is,”

His sister pursed her lips, a small line appearing between her brows. He recognised that look, it was unfortunately a familiar one, somewhere half between hurt and guilt. She covered it well though, and turned back to her drink, sounding bored.

“I don’t believe you, you’re making it up,”

He gave a faux dramatic splutter. “I am not, how dare you—“

“No, it’s lies, the lot of it, just like when you told Mum I’d broken the ear off the biscuit jar—“

“You did break the ear off the biscuit jar—“

“Slander—“

Her argument died on her lips as she slid off the stool, shouldering her bag, and pressed back into the crowd, heading towards the staircase. It took a good few minutes to navigate the room, ducking past rowdy tables and answering friendly greetings from those that recognised them on the way past, and Remus found himself quietly thankful that they’d chosen to eat upstairs when they finally reached the staircase and he could hear himself think again.

“Where is Sirius tonight?” Bethan asked as they neared the end of climb their climb. “It’s very quiet when he’s not around, makes me think he’s up to something,”

“He’s walking Harry back to the castle, he’ll probably join us. As long as the kitchen is still cooking he’ll be happy,“

“He can always finish the broccoli Anwyn inevitably leaves,”

“I’m beginning to think I should have put money on this,” he said as he turned the doorknob to the top floor suite.

“Oh yeah? How much are you willing to—“

Remus didn’t hear the end of her sentence, because as they stepped inside, the fireplace flared a bright, glowing green, and a figure came rocketing out of the flames.

———

Anwyn’s haphazard, panicked flight through the floo network ended abruptly, with her arms splayed in front and her chin slamming into the floorboards. The impact rattled her teeth, and she must have nipped her tongue because for the next few seconds she lay dazed tasting metal.

Until she appeared.

“Merlin Wynnie, what are you playing at? Are you alright? What are you doing chucking yourself through the floo—“

Why was she here? This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, this wasn’t what she’d thought would happen. No, that wasn’t right, she hadn’t really thought about this at all, she’d just agonised over that damn photo, and spiralled, and then thrown herself through the fireplace for no reason other than the absolute unwavering surety that she needed her Godfather. Exactly what would have come next, what she would have said to him, hadn’t yet crossed her mind.

How could she tell him? Oh God, what would he say, how could she—

The dull thud of her Mum’s satchel hitting the floor came from beside the armchair in front of her, and a set of heeled feet clicked on the floorboards.

“Come on, up you get, you need to be more careful—“

“Stay away from me!”

Anwyn scrambled onto her side, pushing herself away from her mother’s helping hand. Her hair, wild, spilled in front of her face, and she found herself half inhaling it in her haste to be away from her. She grabbed for the bookcase by the fire, using it to haul herself to her feet, but once standing she found that her legs felt like they were about to give out at any moment.

Probably the lack of air. Shit, why was it so hard to breathe in here? Why couldn’t she fill her lungs?

“You stay the hell away!” She repeated, this time her voice breaking with the effort.

Her mother’s mouth moved silently for a second, and then she shook her head, spluttering.“Excuse me?!”

“Anwyn, are you quite alright? Has something happened? Are you hurt?”

She snapped her head around to find Remus carefully placing to full pint glasses down on the table, watching her with a quite frankly ridiculous amount of concern in his eyes. His questions were far more gentle than her mother’s, and that nearly had her wilting on the spot, desperate just to give in and succumb to the panic. He was here. He could fix it. He was here, but her Mum wasn’t supposed to be, was she? Was it time already? She needed to tell him— but what would he say— and how could she tell him now— how could she word it— Merlin, her thoughts were so muddled.

”I’m— I’m— it’s—“ she said, reaching a hand up to claw at her throat, giving a little shaky whine. “Shit, I can’t breath, I—“

“I think you might be having another panic attack,” he said, taking a careful step forward. “But we can work through it, why don’t you come and sit down—“

“A panic attack?” Her Mum interrupted, looking between them, eyes wide. “A panic attack about what? You’ve been at home studying, what’s there to panic about? You were fine this morning—“

This morning— Anwyn had been a completely different person this morning. This morning she’d simply been Sebastian’s daughter. Now? Now she was— oh god she was— she—

She was going to be sick.

Anwyn pressed the slick palm of her hand against her lips, willing herself to hold the nausea back, and found herself fluttering her eyes, the encroaching black around her vision growing once more.

Her mother was still rambling in the background, a deluge of suggestions laced with faux positivity that only seemed to make the sick feeling in Anwyn’s stomach worse.

“Water, would water help? Or maybe something to eat? There’s food on the way, we’ve got you a steak pie, doesn’t that sound nice? If you don’t like it blame Remus, he chose it, but he did get you a butterbeer, maybe you just need something sweet. Oh do sit down Wynnie, you look awfully pale—“

“I think perhaps we should give her some space Bethan,” Remus tried, still sounding impossibly calm.

“Yes, yes, it course, but if you just tell us what you need Wynnie we can help—“

“I need you to tell me the truth about Dad,” Anwyn ground out, forcing herself to open her eyes and look at her mother. “I need to hear it from you,”

Her Mum stared back at her, mouth dropping open for a second before she seemed to catch herself.

“I really don’t think it’s a good time to be dwelling on that do you? Why don’t we just all relax a little, have a nice quiet evening, surely you’ll feel better after that?”

“No amount of butterbeer is going to make me feel better, nothing is going to make me feel better after everything you’ve been hiding!”

“Oh come now, it’s not all that bad, I think perhaps you’ve gotten yourself worked up into a state, and—“

“Worked up— I’ve not gotten myself worked up!” She spat back, taking an uneven step forward away from the wall, fists clenching at her sides. “I am entitled to be upset, my entire life is a fucking lie!”

“Anwyn—“ Remus’ warned. “That’s not an appropriate—“

“Ask her!“ she shouted, rounding on him, desperation leaking into her voice. “Ask her why they were in Europe when I was born!”

Her mother’s voice grew louder, more insistent. “I don’t want to hear any more of this Wynnie, this is your last warning—“

“Ask her why she’s never told us how Dad died!”

“Really, I know you’re upset but this behaviour is completely unacceptable—“ her Mum continued to talk over her.

“You said you’d help, you said you’d listen—“ she begged him, voice beginning to crack, eyes stinging, ignoring how her mother was now nearly shouting over her. “Please Remus, I need you on my side! You said if I found anything you’d help, you said—“

Remus, clearly conflicted, looked between the two of them. “Of course I—“

“He said what?” Her Mum exclaimed, shooting daggers at him, before giving a frustrated shake of her head, screwing her eyes shut. “Actually it doesn’t matter, I don’t want to know— he doesn’t need to be on anyone’s side, there’s no side to take!”

“There obviously was when you ran off with Sebastian Blackthorn instead of staying with your family to fight!”

“I left with Sebastian because he needed me—“

“You left because he was a fucking Death Eater!”

The silence that followed was so heavy that it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. As Anwyn glared across the room at her Mum, chest heaving and heart pounding in her ears, she felt some sort of sick satisfaction at the sight of the blood draining from the woman’s face. That right there was proof alone. She’d done it.

Remus however, was the first to speak, and any fleeting sense of victory immediately left her as she was struck once again by dread. Last year he’d said he’d love her regardless. But what if that love had a limit?

“Bethan?” He asked quietly, giving nothing away. “Is it true?”

Her mum gave a nervous, tight laugh. “Of course not,”

If her Mum thought the laughter would assuage the soft bubbling anger in she was wrong. In fact it ignited it into a hot, burning fire that swiftly consumed her every thought. How dare she? How dare she not only lie, but laugh in her face?

“Stop LYING,” her voice was rising once more, uncontrolled. She jammed a hand into the front pocket of her hoodie, pulling out the crumpled sheets inside. The photo was on the top of the pile, and she held it up, brandishing it like some sort of sick trophy. “I saw the mark on his arm! A skull with a snake in its mouth. The same mark I saw in the sky at the World Cup, and You Know Who branded his followers, you said so yourself!”

She continued to rifle through the wedge of letters, her hands shaking so badly that stray parchment tumbled out of her grip, falling out onto the floor.

“He wrote to you, telling you he’d done something terrible—“ she held the letter up, parchment shaking in her hand. “He’d gone to him hadn’t he? He’d joined his followers—“

“Did you break into my desk?” Her Mum asked, tone suddenly sharp as she stepped closer. “You took my private letters—“

Anwyn let out a hysterical little laugh. “That’s what you’re worried about? That’s what you’re taking away from this? After you’ve lied for YEARS,”

“And you’re alright with this I suppose?” Bethan asked Remus, whose neutral expression was beginning to slip, worry lines etching into his brow. “You’re alright with your niece raking through my belongings as she pleases?”

“I did not say that,” he said quickly, and Anwyn’s stomach lurched as she recognised the firm edge to his voice. “How did you break into the desk Anwyn?“

That question alone had her hesitating. “It— it doesn’t matter—“

“Oh I rather think it does,” her Mum muttered bitterly. “There’s only one key, and I have it with me,

“I used a bit of magic alright, it was nothing major—“

Remus gave a shake of the head, shutting his eyes for a second. “Anwyn, you know better than this, you are better than this—“

“You’re lucky the ministry isn’t sending letters as we speak!” Her Mum added.

“You promised me you wouldn’t do anything rash, you promised me you’d come to me—”

“I know— I— I— didn’t have the time, and I was— was coming to find you now—“

No. No, she was losing him, losing any sway she might have over the conversation. With two against one she’d have no chance, her Mum would sweep it under the rug, send her home, lock up the evidence and forbid her from speaking of it again, and she couldn’t— she couldn’t live like this any longer, she was loosing her mind.

“It doesn’t matter! None of it does, not— not when he was— when he was— damn it, look—“ she hurried over to her uncle, pressing the letters and photo into his’ hands, hating how her own shook in the process. “Please, please just look— on his arm, it’s on his arm. You can see it right? The skull? When— when his sleeve moves you can see it, it’s right— right there,”

He watched her for a second, expression pained, and then raised the photograph tilting it so the light from the fire could fully illuminate it.

“It’s right where the burn was,” she pressed. “The exact same spot, it’s got to be it,”

Remus didn’t reply, his attention still on the photo. He brought it closer to his face and reached a slow hand up, rubbing at the stubble on chin.

Shit, why wasn’t he saying anything? Did he hate her? He probably hated her, it was completely reasonable given everything the Death Eaters had done, after everything they’d taken from him. Or maybe there was nothing there at all, maybe she imagined it and she truly was going mad.

“That’s— that’s— what it is, isn’t it?” She asked desperately.

His silence seemed to last an eternity. She stared at him with wide, pleading eyes, dreading the potential denial and acceptance equally.

“Yes,“ Remus said very softly, not looking up. “Yes, I think it is,”

Hearing it from him somehow made it more real, a punch in the gut that had her reeling once more, room spinning around her. She found herself taking short, quick breaths, her ears ringing, and she rounded on her mother once more.

“Tell me the truth,” she said through gritted teeth. “What else are you hiding?”

Her Mum, who had now turned a sickly shade of white herself, swallowed hard, blinking rapidly. “Nothing— it’s not— it’s not what you think—“

“Bullshit!” Anwyn’s voice was nearly breaking now with the force she was putting into it, her emotions so intense that it felt like her bones were rattling inside her body. “It’s clear as day, why won’t you tell me, just give up, I know what he was! Were you one too? Are you still a death eater—“

“Oh now you’re really just being ridiculous—“

“I am NOT, just TELL ME—“

“Stop shouting at me Anwyn, why are you so angry—“

God, she was, wasn’t she? Had she ever felt anger this raw before? It was all consuming. It was too big for her body. It wanted to burst from her skin, and tear and shred and burn everything she touched.

The tears had started to leak down his cheeks at some point, and she wiped aggressively at them, frustrated at herself for crying. It felt like it undermined the anger, and she wanted to embrace it, not dilute it.

“I’m allowed to be angry when my entire life is a fucking lie! What else haven’t you told me? Is he even dead?”

Her Mother flinched back from the question. “Of course he is, why would you say something like that—“

“Well how am I supposed to know what’s real when you’ve done nothing but lie to me?! You knew what he was and you covered it up! All this time I’ve thought he was some kind of hero, but I was wrong, he was one of them—”

“Don't speak about him like that, he was a good man! Remus, for God’s sake, tell her—“ her Mum looked over to where her uncle stood watching them, his face drawn.

“I think…I think she needs to know the truth Bethan,” he said. “Whatever that might be—“

“Oh thanks very much for the backup,” she spat back. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell her—”

“You didn’t tell me because he was the worst kind of person imaginable, the things they did the people they hurt—“

“I knew she wouldn’t understand—”

“What is there to understand, he was scum, he was Death Eater SCUM!”

“For heavens sake, will you just calm down—“

“Stop FUCKING telling me CALM DOWN!”

There was an odd, dull pop, like the sound in your ears when the air pressure changes, and then silence. Anwyn stood panting, staring at her mother’s stricken face, waiting for her to reply, no, needing her to, because while she still had a fight left in her she could stay upright.

Her mother’s mouth moved. An odd, low moan came from behind her closed lips, and then her eyes widened, another frantic noise rising from her throat.

“What— what are you doing?” Anwyn asked, unease creeping down her spine.

Another muffled cry. Her Mum’s hands reached up, working at her lips, pulling them this way and that, contorting them into odd shapes, but they remained firmly clasped together, as if sealed by an invisible force.

“What— what are you doing?” Anwyn asked, voice shaking. “Mum? Cut it— cut it out—“

Her Mum’s fingers began to tug at frantically at her mouth, red lines appearing where her nails had dug in. Still the mumbled cries continued, increasing in volume.

They were sealed. And Anwyn had been the one to do it.

“Good Lord—“ Remus brushed past her, dropping the letters onto the coffee table as he pulled his wand from his trouser pocket. “Try and stay calm Bethan, let me see— I know, I know, let me see—“

He began to pull her Mum’s hands from her mouth, wand pointed at her face.

“I didn’t mean…I didn’t mean to—“ Anwyn croaked, suddenly feeling dazed as she took a few, unsteady steps backwards. “It was an accident, I— I—“

She stumbled back again, her foot hitting the log pile by the fire and sending them tumbling to the ground with a thud.

Remus glanced over his shoulder at the sound, his wand half raised. “Just— just stay where you are Anwyn, it’s alright—“

Her Mum let out another gargling moan, hands clasping at Remus’ wrists. Whatever she was saying was lost behind the sealed lips, but the panic was rising in her tone, her cries turning close to whimpers.

“I’m sorry— I— I— oh shit—“

Anwyn brought a hand up to her tightening throat. She couldn’t breathe, as if it were her mouth that had been blocked, her lungs were seizing, vision swimming in black.

She was just as bad as him, as her father, it was in her blood. What sort of person did this to their mother, to their family? She was broken, she was evil.

“You need to let me help Bethan—“ Remus urged, the tremor in his own voice giving away just how close he was to loosing his cool. “Please, try to stay calm, let me see—“ he turned back to find Anwyn backing even further away. “Anwyn, for the love of God, stay where you are .

The bite in his tone, intended or not, was the final straw. Anwyn bolted, flinging the door open and throwing herself from the room.

Notes:

Hello everyone! Thanks so much for your patience on this one, it was probably the hardest chapter I’ve written so far and it’s been redone so many times. There are about four of five variants of how this went down, some taking place in London, some without Remus, some with Anwyn managing to tell him before her Mum, you name it. I even had her blowing up her Mum’s office at one point. It’s been a trip.

The scene at the start was actually written when I was working on the first fic and I’ve saved it until the right moment. At the time I’d written it, I’d chosen the date completely at random, and it wasn’t until I was editing that I realised that it’s the early hours of the morning the day after Remus’ birthday. Given what he tells Anwyn about that night, it felt pretty poignant so I decided to keep that detail.

Anyway, thank you all for waiting, I hope you enjoy it regardless! The next chapter is half written so hopefully it will follow much quicker!

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of You Might Belong In Hufflepuff