Chapter 1
Notes:
I predict a slightly less drama-filled year this year (emphasis on slightly), but first: a prologue that is unfortunately not that.
Chapter TW: Child abuse.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The room was in chaos. Magical gadgets and stationery and potions supplies scattered across the floor; textbooks teetering in precarious stacks; the bed all but buried under rumpled clothes as sixteen-year-old Sirius Black sorted through anything remotely important that he owned. His hands shook with adrenaline and fear, fumbling as he struggled to fit an entire life into a single bag. On top of it, he didn’t have much time: Regulus and his parents might have retired to their bedrooms, but who knew if or when Bella might return with more Death Eaters? He had to get to the fireplace connected to the Floo Network – down in the kitchen – and he had to get there immediately. His hands quickened, shoving only essentials into his drawstring bag, mostly school things. He could worry about anything else once he was safe.
As soon as the last pair of uniform trousers disappeared into the cloth, Sirius hastily slung his bag over a shoulder. He paused to survey the room, ensure he hadn’t forgotten anything. His little act of rebellion from the first day back from Hogwarts that summer – sprawling letters inked into the wall above his bed – made him exhale a half-hysterical laugh in spite of it all; it would look deliberate, once they discovered he’d gone. Would seem like he’d taken the time to leave a parting message:
STICKS AND STONES CAN BREAK MY BONES, BUT YOU CAN’T TAKE MY ROCK AND ROLL.
Merlin, the irony. Sirius felt something almost manic catch in his throat.
He’d had no idea it would come to this, when he’d scribbled those lyrics out for the heck of it last night. The second he and Regulus had arrived at their doorstep, he’d been whisked away by an eager Kreacher and brought before his mother. That was expected; he’d already braced for it. Punishment for sneaking out last summer, then more for making a joke out of Mother’s Howler in front of the entire school. He’d braced for it; even up to being shoved into his bedroom, wrists still stinging from the cane, and locked in without food and water – it was why he’d already stocked up from the trolley back on the Hogwarts Express.
He’d thought the most he’d have to contend with would be boredom again. Had idled away the time for a while, unpacking, snacking, even taking a nap. Had, at some point, vandalised the walls with those eerily prescient words; his Divination teacher Professor Rallis would’ve been proud, he thought wryly. He’d barely panicked when nobody turned up to let him out earlier this morning, which would have been bizarrely optimistic to hope for, anyway. Hadn’t mattered: he’d taken the opportunity to get a head-start on summer homework, called up James on the two-way mirror once the clock had chimed a more reasonable hour. To add to it, James had been at a Quidditch match, which was even better – like getting a free ticket.
And then evening had arrived, bringing with it the crack of someone Apparating in: Kreacher.
“What?” Sirius had demanded coolly. He’d hardly glanced up from the textbook he’d been reading.
“The mistress requires young master’s presence downstairs,” Kreacher had returned, equally as snide. Then he’d wrapped forceful claws around Sirius’s wrist (probably on purpose, the sadistic little demon, aware that the weals Mother had left behind would hurt to the touch), dragging Sirius off his bed and out of the room.
Sirius still hadn’t anticipated anything unusual. The most he could remember thinking about at that point was how glad he was that he’d iced his skin, so hadn’t given Kreacher the satisfaction of a hiss or a wince when the house-elf had grabbed him like that.
He’d been herded along the corridor, down the steps. Had already been able to hear voices coming from the drawing room before they’d even reached the landing: his father’s voice, oddly low for once, bordering on sycophantic.
“—Our allegiance has never been in question, my lord. Anything, whatever you require.”
The other voice he’d never heard before; a rasping, cold, unnervingly smooth thing. “Power requires resources, Orion. We are building an army, and armies cannot be sustained by ideals alone. Your wealth is vast… years of careful management, strategic marriages and alliances… you have amassed a fortune that rivals most in the wizarding world. It is only right that it should be used to further the vision – cleanse our world of the impure and restore it to its rightful order. Is it not?”
“Of course.” Father had sounded eager, fairly leapt to respond. “Our vaults are at your disposal. Whatever you need, the Black family will provide. We have always defended the old ways – we will not falter now.”
“There you have it, my lord,” and Sirius had recognised that half-simpering, half-maniacal cackle: Bellatrix. “As I swore to you. We are ever yours.”
Even presently, Sirius couldn’t say why he hadn’t put two and two together from that much. Maybe it was just the sort of thing that seemed so unlikely as to be impossible. Whatever the case, when they’d reached the bottom of the stairs, and Kreacher had pushed him into the drawing room, he’d recoiled in shock.
The space had been dimly lit, the heavy curtains drawn tightly shut. Bella had been sitting on one of the sofas, alright, with an air of palpable smugness. Beside her, a tall figure dressed in dark robes… a man… or something like one. His presence had seemed to suck the very air from the room, making it difficult to breathe. His skin had looked so waxy and slick he was like a corpse, and his eyes, when he’d turned his head at the intrusion, had been an unnatural red.
It had only taken the one look to have Sirius’s knees all but buckle. Everything inside of Sirius had screamed at him to run. The man had felt dangerous, more than. He’d exuded evil, as though his very aura was made of dark magic.
Voldemort, Sirius had thought. Had to be. Voldemort, there, in his house.
He’d frozen. It was one thing to say the name defiantly among his friends. To make all those brazen jokes. Faced with the actual monster, however, Sirius had hardly been able to move.
Kreacher had needed to shove him forward, then Disapparated. Sirius had stumbled, his heart pounding in his chest— and found himself standing beside his brother. There’d been tension visible in Regulus’s posture as well, the way his shoulders hunched slightly and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. But he’d been staring straight ahead, face expressionless, if pale.
It was testament to how overwhelming Voldemort’s presence was that Sirius had barely noticed his mother. Not until her skeletal fingers had curled around his arm with their usual vicelike grip. She’d dragged him closer to his brother as if she were showing off an expensive set of salt cellars and needed the matching pair. “My sons, my lord,” she’d said; hoarse, but high and quivering with obscene excitement for once. “Two pure-blood heirs, devoted and ready to serve your noble cause. I would be honoured to dedicate them to your service.”
Sirius had been able to feel the sharpness of her nails against the skin at the back of his neck, a silent but clear warning not to contradict her. His heart racing, he’d glanced at his father – who, in turn, had remained silent. Orion Black’s eyes had been dark with that familiar look he always turned on his wife: disapproval. Maybe even shame.
But it’d been too late to stop her latest mad impulse, even for him.
“Ah,” Voldemort had said, eerily soft. His gaze had flicked over Sirius and Regulus with interest. “The future of the house of Black. How fitting that they should be here to witness this alliance.”
Mother’s grip on Sirius had tightened. Her nails had dug into his flesh as she’d beamed. Still trembling with that unabashed, unrestrained emotion again, “It would be our greatest honour to have them serve you—”
“—One day, my lord,” Father had cut in immediately, with an expression that Sirius supposed might have been a tight smile, he’d never seen the man smile so couldn’t say for certain. “As soon as they’d have acquired the skill to be of use to you and your army.”
“Are they not of age?” Voldemort’s disconcerting eyes had lingered, on them both, appraising. It’d been suffocating; Sirius had heard the blood pounding in his ears, felt the thrum of panic build in his chest. Regulus had been perfectly still beside him.
Then… then Voldemort had risen, taken step after closer step, as fluid as a serpent slithering across the floor. His voice, when he’d spoken, had been deceptively gentle: “Pity,” he’d murmured. “Such potential.”
And he’d tilted his head slightly, so slightly it could’ve been mistaken for a flicker of curiosity. “Bow,” he’d said; commanding, but almost amused, like he was toying with them. “Show me this… devotion that your mother pledges you carry.”
There had been no hesitation from Regulus. Without a word, he’d dropped to one knee and bowed his head, as gracefully as if he had been practicing for this moment his entire life.
The room had seemed to hold its breath – watching, waiting.
But Sirius had stayed rooted to the spot, despite his mother’s grip burning into his neck. His heart had been hammering against his ribs, every instinct begging him to comply— but something he couldn’t rationalise had helped him stay upright.
He had felt Mother’s nails prick even deeper, stinging, her breath hot and furious against his ear— but he hadn’t moved.
The air between them had been crackling with tension, as if the entire world had paused to watch this singular moment, and see how it would unfold.
Bella’s eyebrows had lifted toward her hairline. “Don’t be rude, Sirius,” she’d gritted through a forced, toothy grin.
“Sirius,” Father had warned, as well.
Sirius had lifted his chin as defiantly as he dared. Swallowed down the trepidation. “I gather nobody’s told you,” he’d managed, even though he couldn’t stand to actually meet Voldemort’s eyes as he’d said it, “But I’m a Gryffindor. We don’t bow— especially not to the likes of you.”
He wished he could say that he’d been stony-faced, that he’d spat the words out. The reality was that his voice had been trembling as much as his body, and hardly louder than a whisper. He’d clenched his jaw, but that hadn’t stopped his breath from coming faster, his eyes from faltering with real terror.
It was that the fear hadn’t mattered. Nor Mother’s pinch. He’d finally looked at Voldemort anyway. Stood his ground anyway.
The room had fallen into a dead silence. Every eye had been fixed on Sirius, and he’d practically sensed the barely-concealed fury from his family – only Regulus, twisting his head up slightly to stare, had looked shocked.
For a heartbeat, even Voldemort hadn’t spoken. His slit-like eyes had narrowed as he’d appraised Sirius head to toe.
Sirius had stood as still as a statue. Refused to squirm under that gaze. Voldemort, smiling slowly, had said, “Blood traitors among one of our most ancient families? Surely not.”
“No! No, my lord, he does not speak for us,” Mother had lurched forward, fervent. Turning outraged eyes on Sirius: “You dare, you ungrateful— shameful little—”
“Dumbledore currently misleads the students at that school,” Father had agreed, “I-I assure you—”
“But why has Dumbledore been able to infect a scion of this great house?” Voldemort had questioned serenely. “It’s still… quite the disgrace.”
Bella had blanched. She’d looked crestfallen – embarrassed – until she’d turned to Sirius, at which point that had quickly been replaced by utter hatred.
“Forgive me, my lord!” Mother had dropped to her knees – the plea in her words had sounded uncomfortably close to a sob.
“I assure you, his insolence will be more than corrected,” Father had spat, glaring at Sirius.
It’d been easier to glower back at them, to straighten his spine.
Bella had stood off the sofa, too, lips pursed. She’d twirled her wand between her fingers as she’d purred, “Leave it to me, uncle. I’ll remind him of his manners.”
Sirius had known what was coming. It’d been no surprise to him and Regulus, when Bellatrix had developed a reputation as an expert in one specific Unforgiveable Curse. The sadistic things she would put the brothers through as children, in the name of “sport” – it was just inevitable.
Sirius had known… but that hadn’t helped anything. Not one bit.
“Crucio!”
The pain had hit him like a bolt of lightning, a searing, unbearable agony that’d ripped through his body, turning his muscles to fire and his bones to molten lead. It had been unlike anything he’d ever experienced – pure, undiluted torment that had obliterated every coherent thought in his mind. He’d dropped to his knees instantly, unable to stop the scream that tore from his throat. His entire body had convulsed under the force of the curse.
The room had started spinning around him, a blur of faces and voices that barely registered past the haze. He’d fought to hold on, to not give Bella the satisfaction of seeing him break, but this was nothing like the old “games.” The pain had consumed him entirely.
Through it all, he’d heard her laughter, high and mocking, as she’d hovered over where he was writhing on the floor. “Bow, Sirius,” she’d taunted. “Show your respect, cousin. That’s it.”
Sirius had gritted his teeth. Every fibre of his being had screeched in protest as he’d tried to fight back, to stay somewhat upright – on his knees, at least. But the pain had been too much – too intense. With a final, broken cry, he’d collapsed fully to the ground, trembling uncontrollably.
He’d heard Bella laugh harder as if from a distance. The sound had echoed long after the curse had finally lifted, leaving him lying there on the floor, gasping for breath, barely able to move.
And throughout— throughout all of that— Regulus had only watched. He’d remained on his knee, hadn’t said a word, raised a hand. Nothing.
Only watched.
Sirius’s eyes – already wet from the pain – had fixed on him in disbelief. Remember when I took more pins from her, when we were four and six? So you wouldn’t have to? he’d thought, half-delirious.
Voldemort’s voice had registered from a thousand miles away. “—More than enough, Bellatrix. Shame to kill him… so much pure blood has already been needlessly spilt because of the traitors.” Then footsteps, movement. Sirius’s vision had been too blurry to identify more than shapes and colours, by that point. “The loyalty of the rest of the house of Black has been noted. I trust you can manage your… unfortunate exception… among yourselves.”
“We swear it, my lord.” Father’s voice.
“—Young… misguided…” (Bellatrix’s.) “He’ll be made to remember his place…”
Sirius couldn’t recall much after that – he might have briefly lost consciousness, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that when he’d been aware of his surroundings once more, both Voldemort and Bella had gone. Regulus was on his feet; Father yelling at Mother.
Sirius, still on the floor.
“—You have disgraced this family tonight, Walburga! Summoning that here—” as if Sirius hadn’t even been worth the name, “—When you should have known he would not behave as you wish— what were you thinking!? If Bellatrix hadn’t been here, we’d have offended the Dark Lord beyond redemption! Do you want this house marked for traitors? And you—” At which point Sirius had felt his father’s rough hands grabbing him by the arm, forcing him upright— “You embarrassment upon the name of Black— don’t for a second think you’ve won something here. You will never get the chance to relay this to your blood traitor company – you will never set foot outside of this house again. Kreacher!”
The house-elf had materialised. Father had ordered, “Take this piece of filth back where he came from, and keep him there.” He’d leaned forward enough that Sirius could see the hatred in his eyes clearly: “I know how you think, you pest. But you won’t be taking this to the Aurors. You won’t even be going back to that infernal school.”
And Kreacher had marched him back up the stairs before Sirius had even found the time to regain his strength after that ordeal, let alone to wrap his head around what had just transpired.
He’d been shoved onto the carpet, the door locked behind him. Had hyperventilated briefly. Fumbled for his mirror, alerted James—
Now here he was, standing in the middle of a half-empty bedroom, everything feeling unreal… he’d never be seeing this again.
He turned— and knelt in front of the door. Slipped the penknife that James had given him for Christmas out of his pocket, easing the blade along the crack of the lock.
It opened easily.
He walked out.
Mr Potter’s instructions had been clear – they’d be waiting by the Floo, on their end, but they’d also sent Hit Wizards to the Apparition Point at the end of the street, the only spot it’d be possible for other wizards to lurk around Grimmauld Place at all. It would be difficult, near impossible, to prove anything related to Voldemort and Bellatrix, but all the same, if Sirius didn’t turn up at the Potters’ by their specified time, the Hit Wizards had been told to assume he’d been harmed, and to enter the building by force if they had to.
That wasn’t the ideal option, and Sirius knew it. The wizarding world had none of the abuse laws that the Muggle one did. Sirius knew the only reason the Ministry had complied was because the Potters held sway; even then, the most that the Hit Wizards would be able to do would be intervene if – and only if – Sirius was visibly under attack. Preferably with dark magic, at that.
It left too much to chance – he needed to Floo over. That was simply the better bet.
Every step felt like a test of willpower. His body was still weak and trembling from the aftermath of the Cruciatus Curse. The corridors of Grimmauld Place were as dark and oppressive as ever – but now they seemed to close in on him altogether, as if the walls themselves knew he was trying to flee, and were conspiring against it. Every creak of the floorboards set his heart racing, every shadow in the corners felt like an eye watching his every move.
Sirius moved quietly, the sound of his own heartbeat the only thing echoing in his ears. He tried to keep his mind focused despite the pain and exhaustion clouding his thoughts – Merlin, how did Moony manage this every single month? His body ached with every step, and yet he forced himself to keep going, knowing that stopping wasn’t an option.
He reached the top of the stairs, then paused. His hand rested on the banister as he glanced back down the corridor. Regulus’s door was closed – as it always was – but tonight, it felt more like a barrier than ever. Sirius stared at it, heart heavy with betrayal: how could his brother just stand by and watch while he suffered? Eyes hard – as if Sirius were some stranger? How could he kneel before that madman without a second thought— they were supposed to be blood, supposed to look out for one another, but Regulus had evidently chosen his side. The family’s side.
The realisation hit him like a physical blow. He tore his eyes away from that unyielding wooden frame.
There was nothing left for him here. Not anymore.
He continued toward the kitchen. Every step downward felt as if he was journeying deeper into some dangerous pit, but he forced himself on. He made it to the bottom of the staircase without making too much noise or being accosted. When he finally crossed the threshold into the kitchen, the familiar scent of damp stone and old wood hit him. The room, with its flickering hearth and worn countertops, had never felt like such a lifeline before.
But then he heard it: a noise behind him, like the rustle of fabric in the dark. He froze, heart leaping into his throat. Slowly, he turned—
And found himself staring into the furious eyes of his mother.
Her face was twisted with rage. Her sharp features looked even more severe in the dim light of the late hour. Her eyes – wild and unblinking as ever – bore into him, with a venomous intensity that made his skin crawl. She advanced on him with that predatory grace: “And where are you off to, wretch?” she hissed, pure malice in every word. “You dare defy orders after what you’ve done? After the shame you’ve brought upon me, upon this family?”
Sirius’s heart pounded in his chest. He instinctively backed away. His eyes darted to the fireplace where the tin of Floo powder sat on the mantel. He made a desperate lunge for it with a shaky hand— but Mother was quicker. Before he could react she leapt at him with a speed that belied her frail appearance. Bony fingers clamped down on his elbow like a vice. Sirius tried to struggle, but her grip was unyielding – her nails dug into his skin, sending sharp jolts of pain up his arm as she tried to drag him away from the fireplace. Her voice rose in shrill fury:
“You’re not going anywhere! Back to your room, or it’ll be the cellar for an entire—!”
Determination surged through Sirius like a tidal wave. There was nothing for it. With a wild, frantic motion, he made a flail with his free hand— knocking the tin of Floo powder from the mantel.
It clattered to the floor with a sharp noise. The lid popped off, spilling the sparkling dust out in a shimmering cloud.
The powder caught in the air— glittered in the low light— and, as soon as some of it touched the fireplace, green flames roared to life with an eager whoosh.
The sudden flare of heat and light stunned his mother for just an instant— enough of one that Sirius could seize it with every ounce of strength he had left.
With a forceful shove, he managed to shake her off. Sirius barely had time to leap into the flames: “Eldertree Dwelling!” he shouted.
But she was faster than he’d anticipated. Her hand shot out. Her fingers curled around the fabric of his robes as the flames engulfed them both. Sirius felt a sickening lurch as the world around him blurred and twisted, and even past the familiar whirlpool-sensation of travelling through the Floo Network, realisation struck – his mother was coming with him.
The next thing he knew, they were tumbling out of the fireplace in the Potters’ drawing room. Sirius hit the floor hard, and Mother’s grip remained, iron-tight on his robes.
Thank Merlin, Morgana, and all of the Founders that the Potters had been waiting as planned. Sirius barely had time to register the warmth of the room, or panic about his mother – James was there before he could do any of it, eyes wide behind his glasses. His grip was ironclad as he yanked Sirius to his feet and pulled him close – shielding him.
Behind them, Mother loomed like a dark wraith. The crackling fireplace still flared green behind her, casting an eerie flickering glow that made her silhouette seem even more menacing. The air felt suddenly colder, despite the fire, as if her presence had sucked the homeliness out of the atmosphere.
The Potters’ sharp gasps of “Sirius!” barely registered in his mind – drowned out by the sound of his own heartbeat thundering in his ears. His mother had drawn her wand, pointing it directly at his heart. Her eyes were blazing.
Before Sirius could even think to move, Mr and Mrs Potter were rushing forward, their own wands leaping into their hands with the speed of deep-seated instinct. They placed themselves firmly between the boys and Walburga Black with tense, battle-ready stances.
“Don’t you dare,” Mrs Potter warned. There was a deadly gravitas in it that Sirius had never heard from her before. She angled her wand upward slightly, as if to nudge at Mother’s chin.
Mr Potter, on the other hand, sounded deceptively calm. “Walburga.” Like he was simply acknowledging an unwelcome guest. “You’re in my home now. I’d advise you to step away.”
Mother didn’t seem to have heard, or else didn’t care. Her gaze stayed fixed on Sirius, her wand trembling with a deep fury in it that made her muscles quiver. The lines on her face pulled tight as she sneered: “You want to turn from us?” —Shrill and venomous.
She raised her wand higher. The tip began to glow with a sickly green light. “Very well. I should have done this a long time ago.”
Sirius could only stare. The world around him seemed to blur, the sounds of the room muffled as if he was underwater… he barely registered the sharp flick of Mr Potter’s wand as he instantly Disarmed her, instantly sent Mother’s flying from her grip… that light, the light from the half-cast spell, lingered in his vision, burnt into his mind.
It had all happened in less than a second, yet— in that fleeting moment— Sirius had seen it. The colour. The way her lips had started to form an obvious syllable: “Av—”
His mind reeled. Surely not— surely not, but— but yes. She had. His own mother had nearly—
It knocked the breath out of his lungs. His chest tightened. A wave of emotion surged through his body, so intense it threatened to unsteady him. He could still feel the coldness of her hands on his robes, the sharp sting where her nails had dug into his skin, but even they paled in comparison to the icy realisation of what she had been about to do.
Hadn’t she ever loved him once? Just once? She’d held him as a baby. Surely. Surely she must have done at least that.
And now… now she’d almost ended that life with nothing more than a flick of her wand. As if it was nothing. As if he was nothing.
“…Mum?” The word slipped from his lips in a broken whisper, trembling with disbelief. His eyes locked onto hers, searching her face, hoping, pleading for any trace of regret – any sign that she might not have meant it.
But all he found in her cold, dark eyes was the same old seething fury, a hatred so deep and consuming it cut through him like a knife.
There was no pain in her expression, no remorse. Not even the slightest glimmer of a woman who might have once cared for him, at least as a child, at least then.
Nothing but utter loathing, an icy void where a heart should have been.
His vision blurred. Tears welled in his eyes, stinging as he fought to hold them back. He wouldn’t— couldn’t— let her see how deeply this had shattered him, but, the hurt was too overwhelming, too intense to contain, and entirely beyond his will the words spilt out:
“I hate you!” Anguished; cracking under the weight of the emotion. “I hate you! Go away! Just get out! I don’t ever want to see you again!”
He only realised he’d tried to lunge forward when he felt James’s arms tighten around him, holding him at bay with a firm, protective grip.
Mother didn’t even flinch. She just stood there as stony as ever, no trace of humanity in her expression: the cold, unfeeling mask of a woman who had long since abandoned any semblance of love or maternal instinct.
Sirius could only untangle one emotion out of the chaos swirling inside of him: despair.
Mr Potter’s voice remained, somehow, even. “I think Sirius has made it quite clear what he wants, Walburga. Please do as he says.” Despite the steadiness of his tone, there was steely resolve in his eyes, and the tight grip he held on his wand left no doubt that he was prepared to back his words with action.
Mrs Potter had already picked up Mother’s discarded wand. She made the smart choice: tossing it into the flames that still roared behind Mother, and sending it back to Grimmauld Place without its owner.
“Leave now, or you’ll find out exactly how far we’d be willing to go to protect our children,” she warned, with an expression as hard as flint.
“He is mine,” Mother hissed. Not “my son,” but “mine,” as though Sirius were no better than property.
“And this house is mine,” Mr Potter countered smoothly. “It’s an old one, Walburga. Much older magic than you’d be aware of, I’m afraid. Sirius has always had an open invitation, whereas you do not. You’re trespassing.”
There was a palpable shift in the atmosphere – a crackle of magic that seemed to resonate from the very walls. Like the tree housing them itself had awakened, responding to the intruder with a silent, invisible warning.
The air felt heavier, charged with latent power – Sirius’s skin prickled with the awareness of it. Even Mother blanched. Her eyes widened slightly, as she appeared to sense the change, too. The realisation that she was in enemy territory, wandless, outnumbered, and with the very house itself turning against her, appeared to dawn at last. For a brief moment, Sirius thought she might try it anyway – curse him right there in the Potters’ drawing room, consequences be damned…
But something shifted in her expression, a flicker of doubt, or perhaps fear, as the enormity of her situation dawned on her. The cold, calculating side of her nature seemed to win out over the madness. She clearly understood she was beaten, at least for now.
“This isn’t over,” she spat venomously. Her eyes burnt with the promise of future retribution.
Then, with a sharp crack, she Disapparated, leaving behind only an echo of her rage, although it lingered in the air for a while after she’d gone.
The room fell silent. For a long moment, no one moved. James was the first to break it, finally relaxing his hold on Sirius. His words faltered, tentative, as he asked, “Are you okay?”
Sirius couldn’t answer immediately. His mind was still racing, the aftershock of the encounter leaving him numb and hollow. Everything felt distant, like he was watching it all from behind a thick pane of glass. Voldemort, Bellatrix, Regulus, the coldness of Mother’s eyes on him— all echoing in his head, refusing to fade.
It wasn’t until James set a steadying hand on his shoulder that Sirius managed a small, shaky nod, even if he wasn’t entirely sure that it was honest.
Mrs Potter moved, then, with a cautious urgency, stepping between Sirius and James. She pulled Sirius to her; wrapped an arm around his shoulders and guided him away from the fireplace.
“It’s over, dear,” she murmured. “She won’t— can’t— hurt you anymore.”
The words were a balm, but they also broke through the last of his defences. The dam that he’d been holding back for so long finally burst, and Sirius’s legs gave way. He collapsed against her as the full weight of everything he’d just endured came crashing down.
He couldn’t stop the sobs that wracked his body, each one tearing through him with a force that left him gasping for breath. Anger, grief, betrayal; all the pain he’d buried pouring out of him in a raw, unfiltered torrent.
Mrs Potter held him tighter. Her hand smoothed over his hair soothingly, and she murmured soft words of comfort that he couldn’t quite hear over the sound of his own hurt. James was beside them, too; Sirius felt the hand he placed on his shoulder, squeezing gently.
“We’ve got you now,” he said. “You’re safe.”
Safe.
The promise settled in Sirius’s heart, leaving him trembling – relief and exhaustion all at once.
Mr Potter, who’d been standing by the door, cleared his throat softly. The noise drew all eyes to him, and he gave Sirius a reassuring nod before speaking. “I need to step out and have another word with the Magical Law Enforcement Squad,” he said, business-like. “I’ve disconnected the Floo from Grimmauld Place, but all the same, try not to answer the door until I’ve returned, Effie. Lyall and Hope and Susan are on the way, so I’m sure the boys will be along, too – the more wands, the better.”
A spark of gladness flickered in Sirius’s heart, in response, despite it all; he wanted to see Moony. That was exactly what he needed.
“Stay alert,” said Mr Potter. “I won’t be long.”
With one final, reassuring pat on Sirius’s shoulder as he passed, he slipped out altogether. Mrs Potter tightened her hold, guiding Sirius gently toward the nearest armchair: “Come, now, let’s sit you down…”
Each step was an effort, but he allowed himself to be led. She and James eased him down onto soft cushions, then Mrs Potter called for tea. James never left Sirius’s side, eyes deeply sombre as he promised, “Never again. They’ll never get you again.”
It wrapped around him like a protective ward. The warmth of James’s hand on his shoulder, the solid presence of Mrs Potter close by, and the promise of seeing the rest of his loved ones soon – all of it began to seep into his bones at last, slowly but surely driving out the bewilderment, fear, and anguish that had been gripping him.
Sirius exhaled, for what felt like the first time in years. It was a risk, he knew, but he allowed himself to believe them.
Notes:
I can’t remember if it’s ever specified whether the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black was in Sirius’s bedroom specifically or just like, a bedroom at Grimmauld Place. If it was in Sirius’s let’s say it was moved there by Dumbledore during OotP-era so he could use it the way he did, and not that it had always been there; for the purposes of this story, LMAO. Can’t have Sirius being spied on while he’s plotting.
Chapter 2
Notes:
Thank you so much for the support! (You’re a gem as always, Leaflock!) I’ve given up on thinking of a bit to go in these sections, LMAO. Just plain thanks.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
27 July 1976
Dear Moony,
Or “Moony dear,” if you prefer. Hullo, you – thanks so, so much for the last letter and I’m very sorry it’s taken me this many weeks to respond. I promised you a nice long one I know, but the Potters are trying to cram a lifetime’s worth of holidaying into this singular summer for me, I swear – we’ve been all around the world, it feels like, though I know it isn’t true. I think what it is, is aunty wants to distract me from, you know. Prongs isn’t exactly complaining, so here we are.
Where even is “here,” you might ask? Well, Spain, at the moment. Prongs is writing you as well, so I’ll leave the details to him. We probably won’t be to yours at all, at this rate. Nor Wormtail’s either, in fairness, but I want to see youuu. Was September always eternities away? And I miss London too. Not that nightmare of a house! The city, I mean. There’s only so much unprompted politeness one can accept as guileless before one begins to wonder if every stranger they meet isn’t secretly hiding something sinister – “one” being me, in this scenario.
I’ll get that flat next year, I’ve got to. Everything here is odd. Wonderful, but odd. I keep letting on my upbringing by mistake. Did you know that the Potters eat together regardless of whether they’ve got guests over or not? Well, you must know. Your family’s normal. I thought they only did that when we were about. Accidentally made poor Priya scramble when I turned up for lunch all by myself. Do you see what I mean there?
Merlin, I must sound like the rudest, most ungrateful knob right now. Living with the Potters is heavenly, it really is. It also happens to be a change, is all… and taking quite some getting used to on my part.
But enough about all that – I hope you and yours are doing alright. I know you said so, but there was all that worry, as well. So sweet of you, by the way – I’m fine, I promise. Andromeda and Uncle Alphard have written to check on me too. She’s still reluctant about us actually meeting, which I reckon is smart anyway, they’ve got a brat now apparently. I do get not wanting to tempt Bellatrix with that. On the other hand he plans to – meet, that is, he said Hogsmeade after term starts. Should be safe enough, but I suppose we’ll see.
I’ve been obsessed with yet another Muggle band, they’re called Queen, I’m sure you’ve heard them all over the radio. I can’t pin them down, they’re like Sweet if Sweet was elevated? A more mature Slade with the grandeur of Zeppelin? Although I suppose ‘Good Company’ is more The Kinks. Those aren’t guitars they’ve got, I swear… they’re a cascade of magic. I think you’d agree, because if you liked ‘The Battle of Evermore’ (which I know you did) then you’re bound to like ‘My Fairy King,’ and ‘Seven Seas of Rhye,’ and all of it. It’s got narrative, Moony – you know you can’t resist the narrative.
I’m not going to bore you by waffling on about my latest fixations, don’t worry, that was only to explain why I’ve sent you a record with this letter. Not to keep, mind, I’ll have it back at school and thank-you-very-much, I just wanted you to have a listen. Especially to the track called ‘Now I’m Here.’ Do you still fancy me, Moony? (Send me a kiss if so → x, like that.) If not, pretend I never dedicated a song to you, and I’ll try very hard not to show how utterly embarrassed I’d be for having done it at all. As for me I still feel the same as I did in June, just to set the record – as it were – straight.
(Or rather, the opposite of straight, I suppose?)
And now I really am embarrassed. Don’t know what else to say… missing you! Missing you lots. If your mum and dad ask about the warning on the envelope – about you reading this in private, I mean – just pretend it’s to do with some Marauderly secret. A complicated prank we’re plotting.
Talking of your parents, do give them my best, and please thank them for being there after that fuss early on – I don’t think I remembered to. (I was rather shell-shocked at the time.) I really appreciated it, and your mum was right about the laws. I can’t wait to live among Muggles, they sound like they’ve got a lot worked out that we still haven’t – like basic bloody child safety.
It’s funny, I haven’t actually got anything left to write about, but I don’t want to stop “talking” to you, either.
Ah, how were your OWL results? Prongs and I have both got nine OWLs apiece, but guess what – he had a P in Divination! Ha! Please never let him live that one down. I’ve got more O’s as well but that isn’t worth taking the piss about, it’s all to do with my freakish memory and Prongs not even bothering on the subjects he wasn’t interested in, besides which that prat still managed E’s in those ones anyway, so it’d be pointless. My dud was Herbology, in case you’re wondering – an ‘A,’ oh the shame.
(Picking this up hours later—) There really isn’t more, damn. I’ll just be counting down the days until we see each other again.
With love (actually), your
Padfoot
30 July 1976
Dear Padfoot,
Hullo right back. That’s quite alright, about the delay, I’d guessed you and Prongs would be preoccupied. Judging by his letter you’ve been having a lot of fun. I’m glad. I’m not sure what you’re worried about missing out on here in the (pardon my French) arse end of nowhere compared to the places you’ve been, but rest assured mum says the two of you are more than welcome to visit over the winter holidays instead, if you’re that keen on it.
Drive up to Liverpool if you’re missing London so much – they’ve got the same evil, chaotic magic at their core. Did I say evil? Sorry, I meant “happening” in Sirius Black.
I think it’s perfectly understandable that you’re having trouble adjusting. It must be different. Not having to look over your shoulder, for once. You’re on my mind – you always are, but I mean especially in that regard. I wish I had the words to convey exactly how I feel there, but you’ll have to settle for a hug once we’re able to.
You don’t bore me and I retain a lot more of your musical rhapsodies (look, I even noticed the pun) than you think… however, I’m going to have to let you down on one of your points; the only reason I like ‘The Battle of Evermore’ is because of Tolkien, I’m afraid.
X
XXXXX and multiply it times infinity
Lovely song. You’re too generous about me. I’ve got one for you, ‘It’s Always You’ by Chet Baker, although you’ll have to find it on your own.
Every time I read this letter back I feel I sound at best dull and at worst curt. How did you manage to make yours so eloquent? You haven’t written a love letter before either. (I hope I can call it that. Bother, now I’m embarrassed too.) My old letters to you were a lot warmer than this, you’d think it’d be the other way round. Don’t take it to heart that my response to Prongs’s will be a bit longer, I can’t seem to remember how to tell you anything anymore, all of a sudden.
You’re just a natural at everything you pick up I suppose, and talking of which congratulations on the OWLs. I’ve got seven: three O’s and four E’s, and the E’s in mostly theory-heavy subjects; History, Muggle Studies, Runes (discount Herbology). Which doesn’t bode well for a teaching career, does it? And I won’t have a leg to stand on regarding making fun of Prongs, actually – I’ve got a D in Potions! Wormy was absolutely gutted about his results, but even he hasn’t got a single D. Will never be able to look Professor Slughorn in the eye again.
Have relayed your thanks to the parents; mum says you’re a sweetheart but shouldn’t feel the need to, dad used some very rude words about your relations (I hate to call them your ‘family’). I’ve never heard him swear before, it was hilarious. Cheers for that. I agree with mum, though. Can’t believe you’d forgotten to say anything to them at the time, it’s not as though you’d just barely survived two Unforgiveable Curses on the same evening.
Poor old Padfoot. You deserve a long rest.
Missing you more. Whatever shall we do when we’re around each other at school? (← Read that with the melodramatic delivery of a heroine right out of the pictures.) I’m warning you now, but I’m going to act very strangely, I know it. I’ve no idea how to proceed. But,
Until then, I am ever
Your weird little
Moony
As soon as Sirius spotted him – standing there on the bustling platform, enveloped by the steam of the scarlet engine behind him, about to board the waiting train – he leapt into Remus’s arms. The sharp whistle of the Hogwarts Express resonated through the air, mingled with the excited chatter of students and their parents’ last-minute goodbyes. Remus stumbled backward, startled, and more than a little self-conscious. His eyes flitted about, half-panicked, worried that people might stare.
Sirius disentangled himself in under a second, however, and the grin on his face shifted into an exaggerated circle as he gasped, indignantly, “You got taller!”
He was still gripping just beneath Remus’s wrists when he whirled around, calling to James – who was ambling up behind him by now, weaving around a gaggle of first-years dragging oversized trunks – “Prongs, he got taller!”
Remus, utterly stunned by the brazen contact – Sirius’s hands looped around his neck, the way they’d done an involuntary little twirl from the momentum of Sirius throwing himself forward like that, that barely perceptible noise of delight Sirius had made in his ear, perfect, perfect – couldn’t manage to find a response.
Fortunately, James rescued him, grinning as he gave Remus a brief hug, too – albeit sideways, and ending with a pat. At least that would have reduced the likelihood of passengers and parents interpreting Sirius’s embrace for more than brotherly.
“What do you mean by it, Lupin?” James was playing along now. “After everything we’ve done for you…”
“Sorry?” Remus laughed. The sound was barely audible over the insistent whistle of the train warning them to get on.
“You’d better be,” Sirius grinned, then picked up Remus’s luggage for him. The moon was about a week away, and Remus was admittedly starting to feel sluggish.
With parting waves at their own chaperones – no time left for verbal goodbyes – the three of them boarded together. They started through the crowd of other students, the sounds of the train station fading into the background. Sirius walked a few steps ahead, still grinning over his shoulder at Remus, while James followed a little behind, casually swinging his own things. The familiar, slightly chaotic atmosphere of the train greeted them: students bustling through the narrow corridors, calling out greetings, vying for the best compartments.
“Did you get a letter from Professor McGonagall, too, Moony? About a meeting with her?” James asked. “Because Pads and I did, but it didn’t sound like we were in trouble.”
“Yeah,” Remus answered, glancing back with half an attentive smile. “It’s to do with timetables, probably.”
“Merlin, yeah, I’ll bet you anything only Moony’s looks sensible, and we’ll have to do ours over.” Sirius huffed. “This is all your fault, Prongs, why’d you have to go and fail Divination?”
“Oi!” James protested, though his laughter betrayed him. “I did my best – I dunno what you want from me, mate. It’s essentially creative writing, the outcome’s hardly predictable. Ironically.”
“See, there’s your problem, you think that Divination is beneath you,” began Sirius; and he launched into a rant that had Remus shaking his head fondly.
He couldn’t help feeling a twinge of disappointment as they reached the end of the corridor. “I’ve got to head to the prefects’ carriage,” he said, reluctant to have to part ways.
James inched closer and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Here, I’ll drop you off.”
Sirius – who’d evidently been about to offer the same thing – paused mid-step. His eyes narrowed slightly as he glanced between them.
“I could—”
“—Save our compartment,” James cut in, as if finishing for him. His tone was casual, but the look he gave Sirius was pointed. “We’ll need it if Wormtail hasn’t turned up yet. Could still be some daft fresher who hasn’t twigged.”
Sirius hesitated, clearly picking up on some unspoken cue. Remus had an inkling of what was going on, and felt his cheeks warm as he rubbed at the back of his neck.
Eventually, Sirius sighed theatrically. “Fine, fine. I’ll take the luggage and secure our spot and all that. Been demoted to pack mule now, have I?”
“Never, princess,” James assured him with a broad smile. Remus couldn’t shake the feeling that something more was at play, but he smiled along anyway: “I’ll see you later.”
Shaking his head, Sirius hoisted the luggage and headed down the opposite corridor. As his footsteps faded, James turned to Remus. His grin faded slightly as a more serious expression settled on his face. It wasn’t combative, thank Merlin, but the way James squinted and folded his arms made Remus uneasy nonetheless.
“I want a word with you,” he said, hushed, “Padfoot hasn’t been at all subtle over the summer.”
“…Oh?” —was all Remus could manage. He’d pictured this scenario, it wasn’t in his nature not to have, pessimist that he was, but that didn’t mean he knew how to solve it. James surprised him however, throwing an arm across his shoulder as he steered them onward. The gesture seemed amiable enough.
“You cheeky tosser. So utterly beyond me I might as well be pining after a star. I’d be miffed if I weren’t so impressed you had the nerve to make a pun at me,” he huffed, shaking his head.
Remus gave a nervous laugh. “…You see why I didn’t want to tell you?”
“Not really,” James returned, bordering vehement. “It doesn’t bother me, or anything— I mean, alright, I might have been shocked for all of five minutes, but at the end of the day you’re you, aren’t you? Both of you.”
Bizarre how the sentence made perfect sense, even though it didn’t. Remus felt his shoulders relax, and released a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.
James’s hand on his shoulder patted him once, and when Remus looked, he found knowing, kind eyes on him. “Where the bloomin’ heck did you manage to get it into your head that he fancied me, anyway? And I stand by what I said then – I could’ve helped you. How long have you been, like, harbouring feelings for him or whatever?”
“…Too long,” Remus answered honestly, biting around a jittery smile.
James’s eyebrows raised. “How long has he been reciprocating them?”
“Not long enough,” Remus sighed. He ran both hands across his face: “Look, I know what you’re thinking, Prongs, and you’re right – he doesn’t know what he’s doing. His head’s all muddled up from all that mess over the summer, and then last year on top of it, and he’s just going along with whoever’s showing him the first scrap of kind—”
“Blimey, steady on, mate. Where’d you get any of that from?” James blinked, stopping altogether.
Remus stopped walking, too, and James physically turned him around by the shoulders, so they could face one another. He had to rise a little to manage it; Remus really had hit a growth spurt, he observed, absurdly.
“Moony, I was going to say that he seems really happy about it,” James insisted. “Not in the alarming sense, either. Just happy.”
Remus worried at his lip. “How has he been? Otherwise?”
“Dips and peaks.” James sighed. “The highs are really high and the lows are really low. You know how it gets. Should have seen him after the Ministry people interrogated him on that lot. If dad and ma weren’t there, I’d never have managed – I came close to Flooing for you.”
“You should have done,” said Remus, and James chuckled lowly.
“I wasn’t about to call you out so close to a moon because Padfoot couldn’t sleep, mate. But he lights up about you, swear he does. I mean, he always has, come to think of it.”
Remus nodded, eyes on his own hands. The fingers of one toyed with the thumb on the other. “I don’t know how long it’ll last. I keep thinking it won’t,” he confessed lowly. “But, but I promise, nothing’s going to change because of it. Even if he does wind up deciding this was a poorly-thought-out whim— we’re still friends first, we’ll always be, just, you know…”
“…You’re also allowed to snog now,” James finished for him, with an amused quirk of one eyebrow.
Remus exhaled a half-startled laugh.
“Yeah, I never doubted it.” James smiled. He turned; they continued along the corridor. “You’re that mature and all. Genuinely, if there was one person in the world I’d confidently say would be able to handle Sirius Black, of course it’d be you. Dunno why I didn’t see it sooner.” With an affable pat to the arm, “‘You go.’ In Moony terms.”
Remus chuckled. “Thanks, though, Prongs. For not being… you know.”
“Ah, none needed. Just take good care of each other.” James’s smile was sincere for all of five seconds; then it morphed into something teasing. “And don’t go leaving me out! I’ll force myself in on every little rendezvous of yours if you two start forgetting I exist, I swear I will.”
Remus laughed. “Oh, I wasn’t aware you wanted to be included. Adventurous of you.”
“I should always be included, thank you very much,” he feigned indignation. Then – eyes widening slightly, as if something had just occurred to him – he hissed, “And wanking rules apply to this arrangement too! Don’t you dare forget yer privacy charms when we’re in the dorm—”
“Prongs!” Remus shoved him, his entire face burning. “You demented—”
But he had to cut himself short. They were a few steps away from the door to the prefects’ carriage… and Lily Evans stood there, arms curled around her own elbows, her face rather red, not meeting either boys’ eyes. Remus blinked; James, meanwhile, had straightened so quickly he called to mind a soldier leaping to attention at a sergeant’s bark.
He ran a hand through his hair, visibly nervous. “Right, have a good one, Moony,” he blurted in one breath, then turned around and fairly sped away before Remus could even answer.
When Remus glanced at her again, he found Lily looking up at last, her expression flustered. “…Morning,” she nodded at him. “Shall we, er, head in together?”
“Yeah, sure,” said Remus, relieved – he’d thought she’d still be, justifiably, put out with him, after the last time they’d spoken.
He stepped closer. Now Lily looked halfway to miserable. “Remus, listen, I…” she faltered. “Last term… I-I mean, I’m not saying I was wrong, but I know you did what you could in the end, and I can’t possibly imagine what it’s like having to navigate a friendship that’s so rare, considering your, erm, you know, and other people being so unkind—”
“You read Hairy Snout, Human Heart, didn’t you,” Remus exhaled, amused.
Lily’s features scrunched up in something both apologetic and embarrassed all at once. “I read Hairy Snout, Human Heart,” she confessed, in a self-conscious hiss. She crossed over to him and looped her arm through his: “It was so gut-wrenching! I don’t know how the author could manage all that gallows humour at all. I cried.”
“I laughed,” Remus answered with a smile and a shrug. He slid open the door, and Lily led them through. Dropping his voice to a whisper, so no one else could listen: “I suppose at some point it all gets so absurd that there’s nothing left to do but.”
Lily sent him a pitying look in response. “Are hospital stays really that awful?” she whispered back.
Remus nodded, but added a noncommittal hum, too. “I’ve been lucky,” he assured her. “I’ve been really lucky.”
“Well, I was horrified,” she insisted. They’d found themselves seats by this point, the first berth opposite the door. “What I mean is, I sort of understand now why it might be scary. The idea of ruffling feathers when you’ve found people who aren’t intent on hurting you, in a world that very much is.”
Remus shook his head. “It wasn’t that. Well— not only that. We’d… managed to rebuild… a fragile sort of accord after, you know, all that with Snape, and I suppose I didn’t want to spoil that at the time. It doesn’t mean you were wrong – I should be apologising, really,” he said. “That’s the entire point of being in Gryffindor, isn’t it? Being brave enough to stand up for when it matters. In spite of the fear.” Like Sirius, he thought, heart clenching for his beloved.
Lily nodded somewhat distractedly. “Anyway, I suppose the blame lies squarely with James, rather than anyone else,” she sighed. “Honestly, I try to give him the benefit of the doubt, and what does he do? Turns right around and proves he’s still the same arrogant, attention-seeking idiot he’s always been – acting like a complete tosser, and thinking everyone’s too thick to see through it.”
Remus gave her a rueful smile. “…Lily, I understand the need to let off steam, but you do realise you’re slagging off my friend to my face, right?”
She blinked at him. “Sorry,” she said, not really sounding apologetic – more surprised. “I thought we were agreed about his behaviour.”
“We are,” said Remus, “Just— there’s a difference between criticising someone fairly and… well… shredding them apart. For what it’s worth, I wouldn’t sit around and let him talk about you like that, either.”
He could feel Lily giving the side of his face a long look, then she turned, speaking to the window. “I’ll bet he must have, after we, erm… had words and all.”
“No,” Remus answered without hesitation. “He hasn’t said a single thing about you.”
He heard her turn again. She didn’t say anything, for a while, then remarked, “And I suppose you aren’t the sort to lie to me about that, are you, Remus.” She shook her head. “You know, it is a bit perplexing – that you’re not blind to his faults, but you’re still so loyal to him.”
Remus smiled and shrugged. “James is the best friend anyone could ask for,” he said with conviction. “If you’d prefer to put it in terms of life debts, then I owe him several. We all do.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Not a trifling claim, that.”
“I’m not one for melodrama,” Remus returned.
She considered him, eyes flicking up and down, lips curving into a pensive frown.
“…Suppose I’ll believe it when I see it,” she said at last.
Remus exhaled a silent laugh. “Then I hope you’ll get the chance to. I sincerely do.”
Lily smiled crookedly. She gave a half-sardonic, half-amused breath of her own. But she also held out her hand, offering, “Truce?”
“Thank Merlin,” Remus exaggerated a sigh of relief, which made her laugh, and took it.
They settled in. There were a few other prefects inside the carriage already, no one Remus knew well, although Lily waved and said her hello’s to a couple. Snape wasn’t present, he realised at length, and couldn’t help wondering about it – he vaguely recalled something about Snape and Lily being from the same town, and thought surely that it would follow they’d have arrived around the same time.
Daring to venture a remark, he cleared his throat: “So, erm… you and Snape…”
“We’re not on speaking terms anymore, no.” Lily sighed, sounding world-weary. “And he’s had his badge revoked. Professor Slughorn wrote me personally.”
Remus’s eyebrows lifted. “Over… over the…?”
The look Lily gave him was comprehending. “I bet so, partly,” she confirmed, “But most of the school heard him call me what he called me, too, didn’t they. That’s Professor Slughorn’s reason, in any case. He apologised to me in his letter, said it was unacceptable behaviour for a prefect…” Wry laugh. “It’s unacceptable in general, but, ah. I suppose, just because Professor Slughorn usually means well, it wouldn’t mean he’d be completely without his biases, would it.”
“No.” Remus shook his head and curled a sympathetic arm around her shoulder, squeezing once. Still, he was a bit relieved to hear that Professor Dumbledore and ‘the incident’ last year hadn’t been the primary impetus behind it.
“I’ve been so worried about my family.” Lily frowned down at her lap. “I mean, we’ve just got to live with the knowledge that there’s a fledgling Death Eater down the street, now. And it’s hard to convince them to move house when they barely understand what that means to begin with.”
“Easier said than done, anyway,” Remus agreed, being somewhat of an expert on moving house, unfortunately.
Lily nodded. Then she pushed up higher against her seat and exhaled deeply. It was, at least ostensibly, all she needed to compose herself – manage a smile again.
“Oh, well. I wrote some friends for advice, and worked out a sort of ‘security system’ that wouldn’t violate the Trace – enchanted objects and potions and such, you know. Cost a fortune and a half, mind, but now’s not the time for skimping.”
“I’m glad,” Remus offered. The door opened then, and both of them turned, more reflexively than anything. Remus’s lips pulled into a thin line as he watched the pale, dark-haired boy entering the carriage, so many echoes of his brother on his face, yet so different at the same time: Regulus Black.
He couldn’t help but fix his eyes on Slytherin’s new fifth-year appointee until the boy had found himself a seat, although Regulus himself hadn’t noticed, or really acknowledged anyone at all.
“Shocking,” Lily whispered, beside him. “I’d thought they at least bothered to pretend they don’t endorse would-be Death Eaters.”
“Wouldn’t matter,” Remus answered darkly. “The Blacks are too prominent to snub like that. It’s not the Slytherin way.”
Lily turned slightly. “You think he is, too, then? You didn’t deny it…”
“He’s on the fence as far as I’m aware.” Which wasn’t a complete lie, if less true than it had been the year prior. “But the smarter ones never flaunt it, do they? Who’s to say, really.”
“Yeah, which is why I was really surprised to read about the investigation in the papers,” said Lily. “I mean, it’d been an open secret for so long, I was sure the Ministry and the Prophet were all either in on it or had their hands tied.”
Remus managed a noncommittal hum and a brief smile. He didn’t know how to tell her that, that brief snippet about the Blacks being looked into by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement that had appeared in the Daily Prophet over the summer was proof of exactly that. The little blurb hadn’t mentioned a thing beyond that much, not the causes (and every speculated one with a generous amount of “allegeds” thrown in anyway), not Voldemort or Bellatrix, or Mr and Mrs Black, and especially not Sirius and Regulus themselves.
As if having read his mind, Lily said, “How did Sirius cope with it? That can’t have been pleasant.”
“He wasn’t there,” Remus answered, something warm in his chest, like pride and admiration all at once. “He’d left by then. Moved to James’s.”
Lily’s eyes went round with surprise. “Good on him,” she remarked.
“Yeah.” Remus’s smile stretched so wide it hurt his cheeks. “It wasn’t easy, but he’s free of them now.”
“Well, he’s in our house and not another for a reason,” Lily smiled back, and gave him an amiable pat on the shoulder.
They were interrupted by the new Head Boy, a Ravenclaw, clearing his throat, so had to quiet down and listen as the meeting commenced.
By the time he returned to the compartment at the very back of the train – having finished patrolling the corridors with Lily – Remus found his friends had long changed into their school things.
“Alright, Moony?” Peter greeted first; they hadn’t met on the platform, so there was some sense of reunion.
He and Pete exchanged a grinning slide of palm against palm. James, next to Pete, offered a languid nod-and-smile; Remus thought he might ask about Lily, but he didn’t.
Sirius, meanwhile, was curled up on the opposite seat, napping. His head rested against the window, feet tucked underneath himself.
Remus took his place beside him. He looked utterly serene in his sleep, his long, dark lashes brushing against pale cheeks, typically sharp features softened in repose. The last burst of sunlight, streaming through the window, cast a gentle glow on his face, tracing the fine lines of his jaw and the curve of his lips. There was a rare peacefulness about him that made Remus’s heart swell with affection – for a moment, he forgot himself, forgot other people were present.
His hand moved on its own, thumb reaching out to draw a comma along one corner of Sirius’s lips: gentle, reverent, trying to commit the moment to memory. Still half-stunned he was allowed this at all now.
Sirius stirred. His eyes fluttered open to meet Remus’s, and a slow, lazy smile spread across his lovely face, filled with so much warmth it made Remus’s breath catch.
“You’re back,” Sirius murmured, still husky with sleep— then promptly shifted so his head could rest on Remus’s shoulder instead. He closed his eyes again like it’d all been perfectly natural.
Remus barely had time to react before Peter’s voice broke the quiet. “What was that?” he demanded, audibly shocked.
When Remus turned, he found that Pete had one incredulous finger pointed at them, although his wide eyes were on James, as if he wanted James to explain.
Remus’s stomach lurched, realising too late that he’d given too much away. He glanced at James, too, but James was only rolling his eyes with something both fond and longsuffering.
“Oh yeah, this lot are gonna be that insufferable from now on,” said James drily. “Gonna be all over each other. Forgetting about us.”
Peter gawked, and James clarified, with a note of impatience, “They’re an item, innit.”
“Honestly, Wormtail,” Sirius – evidently awake enough – exhaled a breath of amusement. “Keep up.”
Peter’s mouth opened and closed, clearly trying to digest this news. For a moment, Remus saw a flicker of something in his eyes – was it hurt? Perhaps the feeling of being the last to know, of being left out? …Or revulsion? His stomach twisted slightly in discomfort, but before he could say anything, James went on:
“I worked it out ’couple months ago.” Casually, almost lazily, and with an easy lean back against his seat. “Not that they made it hard, mind. You know, you two, if you don’t want anybody else catching on, you might consider being a bit less obvious.”
At that, Peter’s shoulders visibly relaxed. Some of the tension eased from his expression, though not entirely. It confirmed, at least, that he’d found some small comfort in knowing that Remus and Sirius hadn’t just been keeping it from him, specifically; so that was all his earlier uneasiness had been. Remus did remember what Sirius had said about wizarding attitudes toward same-sex relationships, but it was still hard to not doubt it.
As if to corroborate that, Peter obliged, with a half-begrudging noise, “Well, that makes sense. Lucky I’m not too quick on the uptake, eh.”
“Piss off. Like it’s fair that we’ll have to hide it,” Sirius grumbled. One of his hands found its way around Remus’s arm, and Remus fairly melted against his seat.
He felt, more than saw, Sirius nod at James. “When this one got to suck face with what’s-her-name, seventh-year, right in front of half the school last term?”
James’s grin was the definition of the cat that got the canary. “Are you expecting me to be sorry? I’m not sorry.”
Some “whey”-ing from Peter, and swatting from Sirius. James laughed, “Anyway, it’s not like Moony would be inclined to do that even if one of you were a girl, is it.”
Playing along, Remus arched his eyebrows. “I wasn’t aware you could speak for me.”
“Ooh, hear that, Padfoot? You’d better guard your virtue,” James teased, making Sirius laugh.
“Doesn’t really change much, though, does it?” Peter observed; it sounded genuinely contemplative. “I mean what, they’ll nick your Cloak and sneak off in the middle of the night? They’ve been doing that for years.”
“Actually, yeah,” James realised, vaguely indignant as he crossed his arms and squinted at them. “Maybe it isn’t that much of an accomplishment to have pieced it together so late.”
“Don’t look at me, I had no idea either,” Sirius chuckled. He tilted his head up at Remus, smiling fondly. “Mr Moony and his secrets.”
Charmed, Remus wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulled him close, and brushed his lips against the top of his head. Sirius wriggled in delight.
“By the way, Moony, who’s Head Girl and Boy?” asked James, at length.
“And do we care or not?” Sirius added.
Remus chuckled. “Oluyemi Adelakun from Hufflepuff and Gaspard Shingleton from Ravenclaw.”
“Is that the bloke with the green thumbs?” asked Peter, and James sent him a quizzical look: “How’s he supposed to know whether random strangers are any good at Herbology or not?”
“No, literal green thumbs,” Peter clarified with a sagely tilt of the chin. “Wears gloves to hide ’em and everything.”
“Nah, that’s Tilden Toots from Hufflepuff,” said Sirius. “Shingleton is the pompous one with the white hair. Say, d’you reckon he’s related to Madam Hooch?”
“So we don’t care, then.” James smirked. “Some puffed-up pillock and a Hufflepuff? They sound like a right pair of mugs.”
Remus shook his head, though he couldn’t quite bite back a smile, either. “What are you going to do if I wind up Head Boy next year?”
James’s eyes went wide with something faux-scandalised and teasing. “Woo, that ambitious already, are we, Lupin? Prefect’s badge gone to your head?”
“No!” Remus laughed, but it was too late – Peter and James pounced, so to speak, for a good ten minutes after, while Sirius quivered in mirth against him.
Eventually, Sirius asked, “Was my prat of a brother made prefect, then?”
“Yeah.” Remus gave him a sympathetic squeeze where he still had a hand curled around Sirius’s upper arm.
“Thought so. Little prick,” Sirius muttered darkly. “I want to get him back for summer. I swear. I want to make him regret it— thinks he’s so darling and important in that house, well. Let’s see how he feels at Hogwarts.”
James grinned at him. “Heard you loud and clear.”
That didn’t bode well, thought Remus, and he ventured, “Listen, maybe it’d be smarter to just—”
But the train was stopping, and they had to pause all conversation to disembark. In the flurry of lugging trunks and pushing past other students, the group wound up separated for a bit, Remus falling into step with Peter instead.
“So, erm, this thing…” Peter whispered, something like concern beneath the words, “Are you sure it’s a good idea, mate? After all that last year?”
“I’m sure,” Remus assured him with a smile – and he was, at least in that regard, anyway. “That’s behind us now.”
Peter nodded, contemplative eyes on the ground ahead of him. “Sorry, I don’t mean to doubt it. I’m just, you know, worried about you.”
“And I appreciate that, Wormy.” Remus draped an amiable arm around Pete’s neck, pulling him close in half a headlock that made him chuckle.
“It’s just…” Peter sighed. “Look, I’m happy you two sorted things out, I really am, but…” He made a frustrated noise as if struggling to find the right words. “D’you know, Pads never apologised to me? I mean, I’m not trying to take away from what he did to you, or make it about me, obviously, but… I said things to him too, and I meant most of them, and it’s like he didn’t even care. Bet he doesn’t even remember.”
Remus’s eyebrows furrowed as he considered this. Peter was inching out of his hold, now, frowning at his shoes. “If you want me to have a word with him about that, I can,” Remus offered.
Peter gave him a half-hearted smile, but shook his head. “Nah. It wouldn’t mean the same if he only did it because you asked him to – doesn’t really count if it’s not something he wanted to do on his own, does it? Whatever, it’s fine, mate. This is Padfoot we’re talking about, not one of them bullies you’d have had to give a talking-to back when we were first-years.”
“Are you sure?” Remus frowned. “Because if it bothers you, it bothers you, it’s no good pretending otherwise. Take it from me, yeah? You wind up hurting each other worse.”
Peter chuckled, although there was an insincere ring to it. “Come off it, Moony. I’m all grown up now, don’t need you looking after me anymore. You’ll be trying to tuck me in at night, next.”
Pitying him, Remus let him have his change of tone, giving Peter a gentle shove instead. “Alright, alright. But don’t say I didn’t offer.”
They’d caught up to Sirius and James, by that point. The two of them were waiting at the tail end of the row of carriages. It was almost a form of transfiguration in itself, the way the air about them changed when they weren’t just on their own; Marauders only, that is, Remus observed. For all that James and Sirius both dismissed other people’s opinions, or at least seemed to believe they did, it was evident that on some unconscious level they did wind up putting on new faces when they were around other people, regardless. James’s swagger for instance, or the way Sirius held himself at the moment: with that slightly haughty, effortless manner that was so uniquely his; eyes focused on something in the distance with an air of almost regal indifference.
But Merlin, he made it look good, Remus couldn’t deny. Alluring, and enigmatically so.
He tilted his head and smiled when Remus approached, even that less eager now, just an insouciant little quirk of one corner of his lips. In compensation, all the warmth seemed to have moved to his eyes instead. Remus smiled back, enchanted.
They bumped shoulders once they got close enough, meandering ahead together while Peter and James loitered a step behind. Sirius lifted a hand like he’d been about to curl it around Remus’s upper arm— seemed to catch himself, and ran it through his hair instead. Remus smiled: “Prongs might have a point about not making it quite so obvious.” Lowly, tenderly.
Sirius grinned back, a more crooked, insolent thing. “I’m not the one smirking like Alice’s Cheshire Cat at the minute, Remus.”
Remus laughed silently, hiding it behind a palm. James launched himself at them just then, forcing his head in between theirs, arms draped round each of their shoulders. “Hi, James Potter!” he declared loudly. “Not really a person that’s possible to ignore, thanks.”
“More’s the pity,” Remus ribbed, while Sirius and Pete (who’d caught up to them) laughed.
Sirius swivelled his head to the side, evidently having spotted someone of interest across the aisle of carriages. He called, “Excuse me, are you a teacher?”
Remus turned to look as well. The woman Sirius had been addressing did seem young enough to leave room for doubt, probably in her late twenties or early thirties. She had black hair that she wore quite short, and olive-green eyes. There was no surprise, as such, on her face when she turned to find who’d hailed her; that vaguely aristocratic, unimpressed look actually reminded him of Sirius himself.
She hardly paused in walking. A couple of house-elves were pushing her trolley for her. “I am,” she answered; it was accented. Spanish or Italian or something like that, Remus thought.
“Defence, then?” asked James.
Remus sighed and cut in, “What they mean is, welcome to Hogwarts, professor.”
There was finally a sliver of amusement in her expression, at that. “Well, thank you,” she said. (Definitely Italian.) “I will see you boys in class.”
And she rounded the next corner, leaving them to their own quest of finding a carriage. “Thought she might have been an Auror,” Sirius explained before anybody could ask, “That’d be the day we’d need to be on our toes, wouldn’t it. When the Ministry start coming into the school.”
“Oi, a free one.” Peter pointed at a carriage up ahead, and they quickened their paces, hoping to get it all to themselves.
Sirius urged them on with a, “Chal,” making James beam: “Hey, you got the ‘ch’ right, Pads!”
“I know, finally! Hearing aunty say it so much drilled it in.”
James was still grinning when they clambered into the carriage. “We’ll make a Potter out of you yet,” he declared.
Sirius affected a preening lift of one shoulder as soon as he sat down next to Remus, across from James. “And I can say the most useful one now.” With a mischievous tilt of the chin at James – “Chup.”
James gasped, and Remus and Peter roared with laughter.
They had barely set foot in the Entrance Hall, and hadn’t even caught so much of a glimpse of the Great Hall yet, when they bumped into Professor McGonagall, who was making her way down the staircase.
“Ah, boys.” She gave them a quick nod. “This is rather convenient. If you’re willing to miss the feast, you can come to my office now. It’ll save you the trouble of getting up early to sort things out before lessons tomorrow – but it’s entirely up to you.”
“Yeah, sure,” James answered for them, with a casual shrug. “We don’t mind, do we, lads?”
There were no objections, so McGonagall turned, and called to Filch: “Mr Filch, could you inform Professor Flitwick that I won’t be attending? Oh, and please let Professor Rallis know that I have Sirius Black with me – she’ll want a word.”
Sirius groaned. “Ugh, I knew it.” He shot James a disgruntled look.
Professor McGonagall, visibly amused, led them back up the stairs and down the corridor.
They followed her into her familiar office; took the seats that she indicated.
“Congratulations on passing your OWLs,” she began, closing the door behind her, “As you might have guessed, however, there’s quite some ironing out to be done with your NEWT subjects.”
“Are we not taking enough classes, professor?” asked James, in his most sycophantic tone. “Because I was only thinking about Quidditch, you see – that’s what all that free time is for, I mean, considering how we only just won the Cup last year by the skin of our teeth…”
He always did know how to use his shared interests with their Head of House to his advantage, thought Remus, half-amused and half-marvelling at James’s audacity.
Professor McGonagall sent him an unimpressed look over her half-moon spectacles, although a corner of her mouth twitched. “I’m getting to that,” she said. “As it happens, Mr Potter, the issue isn’t the… generous… amount of blank slots on your timetable. Rather, my concern is that your chosen subjects make absolutely no sense given your prospective careers.”
The boys exchanged glances. “Careers?” Peter squeaked – sounding, for some reason, a bit taken aback.
“Yes, careers,” McGonagall replied, with just a touch of impatience. “To be perfectly clear – there’s nothing explicitly against the rules in the choices you have made. If you wish to continue with the subjects you’ve selected, I cannot stop you. However, as your Head of House and as your teacher, it remains my duty to offer you guidance, whether you like it or not.”
She paused, her gaze sweeping over each of them. “I understand that the four of you have a rather… tight-knit… bond.” (They shifted, slightly, in their chairs.) “But I would strongly advise you not to base your choices solely on keeping each other company in lessons. You should choose the subjects that will serve you best, not because it might be more fun to sit together.”
“But, professor, that’s just incidental,” Sirius tried. “We’ve got our career plans sorted, honestly. I mean, James doesn’t need to think about it, and I’m planning on getting a Muggle job anyway – so it doesn’t hurt for us to take whatever Remus is taking.”
“Yes, well,” Professor McGonagall replied drily, “I’d like to offer my thoughts on that, too, Mr Black. But you’ve conveniently stumbled upon our first problem.” And she turned toward Peter, her eyebrows lifting. “Care to explain, Mr Pettigrew, or shall I?”
Remus, thrown off, turned to Peter too. Peter’s face was rapidly turning scarlet, and he chewed nervously at his lip. “…I’m sorry, Moony,” he mumbled. “I failed Defence.”
“What!?” Sirius blurted out before Remus could even react.
“How does anyone fail Defence?” James wrinkled his nose in genuine confusion. “And why didn’t you just tell us sooner?”
“W-Well, I-I thought, since we were going to get a new professor anyway, maybe… y’know… maybe they’d have… slightly laxer standards about who they let into the NEWT class, or…”
“I’m sorry, Mr Pettigrew,” McGonagall interrupted, though not unkindly. “But new professor or not, no one is going to allow anything less than an Acceptable at NEWT level.”
“It’s alright, Pete,” Remus finally got a word in, sending him a reassuring look. “Professor McGonagall’s not wrong, we don’t all have to take the same classes.”
“Unbelievable,” Sirius muttered. He folded his arms with a huff. “Go on then, what else did you fail?”
Peter squirmed in his seat. “…Erm… History…”
“Well, nobody cares about that,” Sirius scoffed, ignoring the disapproving look that McGonagall sent his way.
“…Muggle Studies…”
“Are you joking?” Sirius whirled around, scowling now. “My back-up plan’s to join the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office or the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee!”
Professor McGonagall folded her arms and fixed Sirius with a pointed look. “Mr Black, I would remind you that Mr Pettigrew – like any of you – may play to his strengths. There’s no rule stating that he must take Defence Against the Dark Arts or Muggle Studies or any other subject he isn’t suited for.”
Sirius opened his mouth, but McGonagall held up a hand. “And nothing is stopping you from continuing with Muggle Studies either, if it’s what you’re truly interested in. But this outburst of yours is doing a rather fine job of proving my point. You’re all picking subjects based on what everyone else is doing rather than what will actually benefit you.”
Sirius looked a bit sheepish, though he still grumbled under his breath, “I just thought—”
McGonagall cut him off, gently but firmly. “What you aren’t thinking is long-term. I understand your desire to stick together, but this is about setting yourselves up for the future— for instance, Mr Lupin, I appreciate your willingness to consider things from my perspective currently, but I also have to wonder where this discernment was when you chose your third-year electives. If you were always aiming for research-level expertise in Defence, why did you not take Care of Magical Creatures? Dark creatures are covered in the syllabus.”
Remus coloured. It’d been because Peter was deathly afraid of approaching some of them in real life – he didn’t need to say it to know that Professor McGonagall had caught on.
“…I rest my case.” She sighed. “In fairness, it isn’t your fault that careers advice is held so late. But what I’m getting at is that it isn’t too late to course-correct, either. For you in particular, Mr Lupin, as an educator myself I can confidently advise that you choose theory-heavy subjects such as—”
There was a knock on the door, interrupting her, and when she called, “Enter,” Professor Rallis did. Professor Rallis was a stout woman, with very curly hair and a perpetually bored expression; people said she had Moroccan heritage, which showed in her olive skin and dark eyes and thick eyebrows. “Good afternoon, Pythia,” McGonagall greeted. “Perfectly timed – I was about to talk to Mr Black and Mr Potter about how they seem to have neglected signing up for the subjects that they actually performed well in and would benefit their aspirations. Would you like to join?”
“Afternoon, Minerva,” Professor Rallis returned, then crossed her arms, and turned her attention toward Sirius. “What’s this I hear about you dropping Divination, Mr Black? If I’m not mistaken, you got an Outstanding in your OWLs.”
“I did, professor,” Sirius confirmed morosely. “It’s just… well… I mean, Professor McGonagall’s already had a go at us about it, so you don’t have to, alright? It’s just that James didn’t pass.”
“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Rallis said, blunt and monotonous as ever. She turned to James: “I’m pleased that you managed to avoid a Dreadful on the strength of your theoretical understanding alone, Mr Potter. However, you’re currently too disconnected from your own intuition to put it into practice – and frankly, I must say you’ve never shown much interest in developing it, either. The Sight is a gift that is either inherent or not, yes, but the intuition can and must be honed.”
James widened his eyes at the desk ahead of him like he’d meant to roll them but had stopped himself. Remus observed, in amusement, that Professor McGonagall was echoing the look at her own papers, behind Professor Rallis’s back.
“Sorry, professor,” James drawled, not sounding apologetic in the least.
“Not at all. That’s entirely your prerogative.” Rallis shrugged, as blasé as usual. “Neither I nor fate care whether people are sceptical or not, it does not require your belief to operate. But I only accept students with an Exceeds Expectations and higher into my NEWT class for a reason. You, Mr Black, possess sharper intuition than most people I’ve encountered, short of being born with the Sight. Why not continue on to NEWT-level, child?”
“I don’t know,” Sirius admitted, with an almost sulky expression. “D’you reckon it’d help, professor?”
“Certainly.” Professor Rallis nodded. “As I’ve said, you have developed a strong intuition – however, I’m of the opinion that you still need to learn how to express it. It won’t help you to have all the insight in the world if you don’t know how and when to act on that. At best, you’ll end up a Cassandra; at worst, you may unconsciously set self-fulfilling prophecies into motion. Orchestrate your own, or other people’s, downfalls by saying or doing the wrong things, spurred by instincts you can’t explain.”
Remus wouldn’t class himself as having strong opinions either way about the efficacy of Divination, but even he thought this sounded like a lot of nonsense.
Evidently Sirius didn’t feel the same, for he hummed contemplatively. “I’m not planning on becoming a Reader or a Seer, though, professor…”
“Regardless.” Rallis tilted her head. “You never know what fate might have in store for you, or for the people around you. How high the stakes could be.”
“Forgive me, but I thought that was the point of Divination?” Professor McGonagall arched an eyebrow.
Sirius answered for Rallis. “Not really, professor. Telling fortunes is a very tiny part of it, and anyway not a guaranteed process at all, ’cause time and the future don’t actually exist, and fate is more like a choose-your-own-adventure book than anything. Divination is about seeing into the things you can’t, you know, like— like the subconscious, and all that, or maybe what other people might be thinking. Seeing into what’s hidden, in general.”
“You see? You have a solid grasp of it already,” Rallis pointed out. “It’d be a shame to lose you in my class, Mr Black.”
Sirius looked conflicted. Professor McGonagall, meanwhile, seemed thoroughly unimpressed, though she hid it well enough, her expression perfectly civil despite the twitch of her lips. “Well, I’ve never quite been able to wrap my head around it, I’m afraid. Nevertheless, I do agree with Professor Rallis, Mr Black, if you’ve managed an Outstanding. There’s no sense in wasting that.”
“Hmm…” Sirius turned to Remus, then James, then Peter. “None of you got an E? What about you, Moony?”
“An A.” Remus smiled apologetically.
“I genuinely wish it were otherwise, Mr Lupin.” Professor Rallis shook her head. “A werewolf with a Hogwarts education? Fate almost certainly has something planned for you.”
Remus startled. Only Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, and Madam Pomfrey were supposed to know about him, officially. He sometimes suspected that Professor Flitwick knew, as well, but the Charms teacher had never said as much, either.
In response to his shock, Professor Rallis only arched an eyebrow. “I do teach Divination for a reason.”
Then, turning to James: “And you don’t need to take my class to sharpen your intuition, Mr Potter. There are books that could aid you. I’d suggest it’s worth the look.”
“I find, Pythia, that students who perform… particularly well in my subject don’t tend to have a, er… knack… for Divination. Unfortunately,” McGonagall answered for him. “Transfiguration must simply demand more of a, er… concrete… mind.”
James had to hide a laugh behind a cough. “Oh, yeah, absolutely,” he choked, as seriously as he could. “Sorry about that, professor, I’m just, er… Transfiguration-minded.”
“None of my concern.” Rallis shrugged. “Well, do consider it, Mr Black. Minerva – I won’t take up much more of your time. See you at the feast.”
“And you,” McGonagall smiled thinly.
As soon as Professor Rallis left, Professor McGonagall and James exchanged twin looks of exasperation. “Yes, er… where were we.” McGonagall cleared her throat. “Mr Potter. Might I ask, why are you not taking Potions? Your strongest subjects appear to be application-oriented, and Potions would round out Charms, Defence, and Transfiguration nicely.”
James deflated. “Have I got to? I mean, it doesn’t matter, for Quidditch, does it?”
“Never bet on one option, Mr Potter,” McGonagall warned. “It’s not wise. With a record like yours, you could easily land some of the most coveted positions in the Ministry – perhaps even as an Auror.”
“Pass.” James frowned stubbornly. “My dad would never let me live it down if I became some Ministry berk.”
Remus stared at his lap, swallowing around the uncomfortable feeling in his throat. “…James, if you can have more options, you should keep them open,” he murmured. “I mean, sports alone… it’s taking for granted that you’ll always be this… healthy.”
James whipped around in his direction, wide-eyed.
Remus offered him a feeble smile. “Anyone can become disabled at any time. Absolutely anyone. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth.”
They were all staring at him now, he could tell, but Remus only met Professor McGonagall’s eyes. She looked sympathetic, and there was an appreciation underlying it, as well.
She nodded at him; he nodded back.
“I mean, I can only do this one thing,” he continued, with a careless shrug. “And I’m grateful that— that isn’t true for any of the rest of you. Merlin, I’m grateful. But it’s exactly why you ought to take your own choices more seriously. Because you get to have them.”
When he glanced up again, he found his friends all red-faced and looking rather ashamed.
“…You’re right, Moony,” James exhaled. The look on his face was halfway to distressed. He turned to McGonagall – “Professor, could we please just have our dinner up in the dorms? I think we ought to discuss this a little further.”
“Oh, very well,” McGonagall sighed, with a half-forbearing shake of her head – although her eyes were fond. “I’ll be expecting your revised timetables by breakfast tomorrow, at the latest. You may be dismissed.”
They all stood. James gave Remus a firm squeeze on the arm, offering a strained and apologetic smile. Peter clapped him on the back as he passed, too, nodding in sympathy.
Sirius, for his part, evidently decided to forgo all caution or propriety and wound a hand around Remus’s upper arm. He briefly dropped his head onto Remus’s shoulder, though he straightened immediately after. Remus didn’t have the heart to shake him off; just smiled down at him instead.
The trek to Gryffindor Tower was decidedly subdued, and they all resumed talking about their picks with far more gravity.
In the end – somewhat predictably – Remus finished his timetable, first. There hadn’t been much to revise. James came a close second, and together they did their best to help Peter, but Sirius was still at it well past curfew.
There was a frenetic energy to Sirius’s efforts that set off alarm bells in Remus’s mind. By half-past ten, Sirius was so highly strung, he’d snapped at all of them, several times. Poor Peter had taken it to heart at some point, abandoning Sirius on his bed with parchment and quills strewn around him, and had gone to sleep in a huff.
James was currently trying to coax Sirius into doing the same. “It’s good enough, mate,” he said, tone unusually gentle. “Come on, just leave it. It’s not like the professors won’t let you change things later if you need to.”
Sirius’s hands were shaking slightly as he scribbled something along the edge of his parchment. His hair was a wild mess from running his hands through it, and he didn’t glance up. “But it’s not ‘good enough,’” he muttered through gritted teeth. “‘Good enough’ would be having more time together. More time with Moony.”
Remus, sitting cross-legged on the mattress, exchanged a glance with James. The tension radiating off of Sirius was palpable, and it tightened Remus’s chest.
“Pads,” he ventured softly, “You’ve done your best. You’re working yourself into a knot over nothing. We’ve already got plenty of classes—”
Sirius finally looked, grey eyes stormier with frustration. “It’s not nothing,” he snapped. “We haven’t got much time left at Hogwarts as it is, and now I’m stuck in half my classes without you. I don’t like it.”
James gave Remus a helpless glance. “Is this about you and Moony being together? Because I’m sure you two will manage to find time to yourselves… I mean, we’re Marauders, aren’t we? We sneak around for less, and we’re good at it, yeah?”
Sirius glared at him, but there wasn’t any real venom behind it. The mask was slipping, and Remus could see the agitation brewing just beneath the surface. “It’s not that,” Sirius hissed, waving his hand vaguely, knocking parchment to the floor. “Whatever. I need a smoke.”
And he slid off the bed, storming toward the bathroom.
“You weren’t joking about the fragile mood,” Remus whispered to James once Sirius had gone.
“If by ‘fragile,’ you mean like a detonator.” James groaned. He slipped two fingers beneath his glasses to rub at his eyes. “Yeah, I told you, didn’t I? Ups and downs. That display, there – that’s been most of our summer. You reckon he’ll supernova?”
Which was one of James’s darker, not-quite-jokes. Their star, exploding, scattering debris everywhere. Sometimes literally – Sirius had been known to start flinging things, when frustration got the better of him.
“Not likely. Not over something like this,” Remus assured him. “He’s just tired and coming down from the excitement of the first day back. I’ve got it, Prongs. Don’t worry.”
James – who had been leaning back on both arms – visibly relaxed, his elbows nearly buckling with the relief. “Cheers, Moony. Passing the baton – don’t mind.” And he rolled off of Sirius’s bed, stretching a little. “God, I’m knackered.”
Remus chuckled quietly. “He’s my responsibility now, anyway.” Partly joking, partly a reflexive, territorial reminder.
James huffed, half-smiling. “Erm, I love him, mate, but this bit’s always been your responsibility. I dunno what I’m doing, do I?”
He gave Remus a pat on the arm – “Go on, go snog your boyfriend silly.” – And made for his own bed.
Remus’s mind stuck on the word, for a minute. Boyfriend. He wondered what that would look like, what it meant for them.
He got to his feet. Padded across the carpet with only his socks on. The double-doors leading into the bathroom, which they usually left open, opened into the row of basins and the large mirror above them first. Then followed two more doors on either side of this space – the one for the bath on the left, the one for the toilet on the right. Remus stepped into the bathroom, where sure enough Sirius was perched on the edge of the bathtub, staring at nothing on the floor as he smoked. He had a knee hooked over the other, his free hand curled loosely around his middle. Dark strands of hair fell across most of one side of his face.
“Hey,” Remus ventured gently as he closed the door again. He walked over and crouched beneath Sirius.
“I don’t know what I’m getting so worked up for,” said Sirius, half-frustrated and half-despairing. “Sorry.”
“It’s alright. You’re alright.” Remus ran his hands along Sirius’s thighs, back-and-forth, hoping to comfort. “It’s just been a packed day and you’re probably sleepy.”
Sirius scoffed. “No reason to act a headcase.”
“You want reasons, Padfoot?” Remus gave him a fond, but pointed, look, raising both his eyebrows. “In alphabetical or chronological order?”
That made Sirius chuckle, at least. “You always know how to make things sound so… simple.”
“Only you would refer to anything you’ve been through lately as ‘simple,’ Sirius.” Remus smiled, bittersweet.
He coaxed the hand that wasn’t holding a cigarette into his, then stood, pulling them both to their feet. They leaned into an embrace in one beautiful, fluid movement like it was the most natural thing in the world. Remus buried a smile in the hair on the top of Sirius’s head, and relished the contented exhale that in turn brushed against his neck.
“Hmm. Your jumper feels nice,” Sirius murmured.
“Don’t burn it, then,” Remus returned. He used the hand that wasn’t curled around the back of Sirius’s neck to slip the cigarette out from between Sirius’s fingers.
“Nasty habit. Bad for ya,” he said, as he tossed it into the bin nearby.
Sirius made a half-hearted noise of protest, but didn’t argue. They stayed like that a moment longer, then Remus eased away: “Come on. Come to bed.”
There was an odd, almost awestruck look on Sirius’s face. It made Remus feel vaguely self-conscious, and his eyes flitted toward their hands, which were now interlocked, instead.
“…What?” he ventured.
“Nothing.” (When he glanced up again, Sirius was smiling softly.) “Merlin, I think I want to hear you say that to me for the rest of my life.”
Remus felt his face warm. He turned his head to the side, smiling at nothing. “…Are you sure, Sirius?” he murmured. “About me? I’m not much.”
Sirius chuckled. A gentle hand reached up to Remus’s cheek, cradling it, turning his face forward again. “You’re mental, is what you are.” Sirius smiled crookedly. The hand that was still holding Remus’s tugged him forward, and soon Sirius was twisting around, overtaking him, leading him back out of the bathroom himself.
With a mesmerising, wicked glance over his shoulder, Sirius added, “Which is lucky, because so am I.”
Remus couldn’t help but laugh along.
Notes:
Chal: “Let’s go,” “Come on,” “Hurry.”
Chup: “Shut up.”
I dare you guys to re-read PoA, GoF, and OotP with the idea that Sirius is just a latent Seer who sucks at interpreting his hunches. Ouch, oof, ouch, ouch, oof.
I always thought that Peter’s line to Remus in PoA – “You don’t believe this… wouldn’t Sirius have told you they’d changed the plan?” – made it sound like Peter knew they were a couple, LMAO. See also Snape’s, “It seems – almost impossible – that Black could have entered the school without inside help. I did express my concerns when you appointed [Lupin].”
James and Sirius were both canonically bright students but I have this headcanon that James’s intelligence was more, well, that; while Sirius just has a really good memory, and so does well on exams and such. I’m basing this on the fact that Sirius makes some pretty stupid choices in canon, LMAO, which to me imply he doesn’t really have a knack for thinking long-term, or for logical reasoning. On the other hand that could also just be because by the time we meet him in canon Sirius is Going the Fuck Through It™ though, so probably has a hard time thinking straight at all. So YMMV here, that’s fine.
Chapter 3
Notes:
Chapter TW: I feel like it warrants its own outside of the umbrella “child abuse,” so – literal torture from Bellatrix to the baby Black brothers.
A huge thank you to everyone who reads, comments, and leaves kudos! Your support fuels my writing and makes the journey so much more fun.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Remus had his mother’s hair, Sirius thought. It was the same shade of light brown as his dad’s, true enough, but it did that thing that Mrs Lupin’s did: sort of curled, sort of didn’t. One of these not-quite-curls, particularly stubborn, had fallen over his forehead currently, and Sirius’s fingers itched with the desire to reach up and brush it back. He could, of course. That was allowed now. But he didn’t want to wake him.
For Remus Lupin was, somehow, miraculously, fast asleep by his side at the moment. Sirius still wasn’t sure how he’d gotten here even though he could theoretically list all the preceding events in chronological order. It was just so hard to believe; Remus, there, with his lips slightly parted, his breaths steady and calm against Sirius’s face. This close, Sirius’s eyes could trace every line, every freckle, every faint scar that mapped his skin… there was a vulnerability to it, a sort of unguarded softness that Sirius never got to see otherwise, when Remus was all careful smiles and thoughtful restraint in his waking hours.
It wasn’t even as though this was the first time they’d fallen asleep together: there’d been sleepovers at the Lupins’, afternoon naps on the Potters’ makeshift owlery, and far more often, this, like it was right now, simply having stayed up talking until it inevitably happened.
But it felt momentous now that the meaning of it had changed. Remus was beautiful, Sirius thought. He marvelled at how he could ever have gone five years without realising this.
His gaze dropped past the thin scar that cut across Remus’s cheek, followed the line of his jaw, the soft curve of those lips, back up to the faint dusting of freckles around his nose. It would be easy, he thought, to lean forward and kiss him. He could wait for Remus to open his eyes, ask him first, because he remembered how anxious it used to make him when Marcus would help his fucking self without so much as a warning, let alone “please.”
But there was anxiety now, too – only a different sort; probably what people meant when they talked about Billywigs in their stomachs before Quidditch matches and such.
Because it wouldn’t be just any old kiss. It’d be a kiss with Remus. He felt, for some reason, like when it happened it would be tremendous; move mountains, end wars, stop time.
He reached out, cupping Remus’s cheek. Merlin, how was he here? How was he here? This moment would have been so far beyond the bounds of his imagination not a year ago that he’d never ever ever dreamt of it. He hadn’t known he was allowed to have this— that he could even want it. Remus, Moony, earth-angel, who was kind and wise and so very strong, and who knew him.
How could anyone know him, know him like only a Marauder could, and then want him?
And Remus thought he “wasn’t much.” By Merlin. That was probably why he bothered with Sirius – didn’t know any better.
Remus stirred, then, and Sirius withdrew his hand, a bit disappointed that he’d disturbed him. He watched those eyelids with the fragile web of veins flutter open, watched comprehension return to Remus’s lovely brown eyes. A barely-there smile was quirking up one corner of his lips already; it made Sirius’s heart attempt a somersault. “We fell asleep?” Remus murmured hoarsely.
Sirius nodded, biting around the helpless upturn of his own lips. That was indeed all they’d done: talked and talked until they’d fallen asleep. Not even a kiss, Sirius’s mind pointed out once more – why did that feel so significant, he wondered? Because it was the expected thing?
He knew his eyes were flicking back and forth with the way he was drinking in the sight of Remus awaking; he could feel it himself. Remus’s smile turned bashful under the scrutiny; he shifted, rolling over onto his back.
Sirius chuckled just to get the giddy feeling out of his chest. “Morning,” he obliged. “Say, Moony. D’you remember the first time we did this?”
Remus nodded. He was still smiling at the canopy above them. “Why wouldn’t I? Summer after second year… first time you stayed over at my house… Prongs and Wormy and I… didn’t actually think your parents would let you, given, you know, my mum… so we hadn’t been expecting all four.”
“Right, yeah.” Sirius grinned. “I’d managed to sneak out and turn up anyway. We had to fit us all into your bedroom— wound up having to share the bed, you and me…”
“Top-and-tailing it, yeah.” Remus chuckled under his breath. “Do you, do you remember, in the morning, when Prongs found us— we’d somehow… inched closer in the night, and— he said—”
“‘Don’t you look like a pair of puppies,’” Sirius recalled, laughing along. “Merlin, and he thinks he can’t grasp Divination.”
Remus quivered with amusement.
He turned on his side again. One hand slipped under Sirius’s arm to pull him close; the other reached past Sirius altogether – feeling for something. It brought Sirius’s face practically against his chest; that giddy feeling threatened to make Sirius’s heart burst. “What’s the time, darling?” Remus asked – rhetorically, as he was clearly looking for the bedside clock – and Sirius’s brain sort of stopped working when it registered the words. Merlin’s beard, it wasn’t advisable to be seeing Remus after all, he thought; at this rate he would surely die of a heart attack.
“Er?” was all Sirius managed.
“Gone about six…” Remus murmured to himself, meanwhile, completely oblivious as he eased back onto his pillow, like that had been nothing. His hair was a mess now, from turning; some of it sticking up at odd angles here and there; and his lashes fluttered and caught the light.
It all looked golden. He looked golden.
Sirius swallowed. A sudden surge of courage made his pulse quicken. The words bubbled up unbidden: “Remus,” he began, much lower than he meant to, flicking his eyes up shyly, “Would you, erm… like to kiss?”
Remus blinked, visibly caught off guard. His lips parted in surprise, then twisted into half a grin as he glanced away. “Pads,” he chuckled, soft and self-conscious, “My breath probably stinks.”
The lightness in it made Sirius feel instantly less exposed. He watched as Remus settled further into his pillow, casual and easy, as if the question hadn’t rattled the earth the way that it had for Sirius. “Besides,” he continued, tone gentling like he somehow knew, “There’s no rush, is there?”
It settled like a warm blanket over Sirius. There was no rush. Nothing was wrong. He hadn’t broken any rules – hadn’t fumbled the moment by not doing something sooner. It was enough, just to be there.
Sirius smiled quietly to himself. A knot he hadn’t realised was tightening gradually unwound in his chest. “Yeah,” he murmured, as he glanced at Remus again. “No rush.”
As if to prove it, Sirius’s heart slowed from a gallop to a trot, and they lounged for a bit, and everything quieted.
Remus had a knack for making the world feel like this. Calmer.
Eventually, James’s voice called from the other side of the bed-hangings – rudely reminding Sirius that time existed and passed at all. “Oi, are you lot in there?” James sounded muffled. “We’ve got to get to breakfast early – McGonagall, remember?”
Sirius and Remus met each other’s eyes and laughed silently. “What’s the matter, Prongs, can’t check for yourself?” Sirius shouted back, teasing.
“Not funny,” hissed Remus, but the mirth in his eyes said otherwise. They both started to get up, with lots of stretching – James, meanwhile, was grumbling: “Shove off, I’ve seen more of you than your mother has, Sirius Black.”
“Anything by zero makes zero,” Sirius snorted, and parted the hangings himself. The sunlit dorm greeted them: James was standing opposite the bed, arms folded, vaguely miffed (presumably about the ribbing); and Peter peered over in amusement from where he was already standing by his own bed, packing for lessons.
Pete whistled at Sirius emerging from Remus’s bed; Sirius held up two fingers in response. James said, “Also, is this going to be a habit from now on, because it’s really weird waking up to that bed being empty,” (Gesturing with a thumb at Sirius’s bed over his shoulder,) “So if it is you’d better let me know, and then Wormy could swap with you, Pads, eh?”
Sirius affected a scandalised gasp. “Prongs, how could you! Replacing me like it’s that easy— heartless git.”
Peter laughed. “Look what ya done, Moony, you homewrecker.”
Remus – casually buttoning up his cloak – shrugged, with a little smirk. “It’s always partly the husband’s fault when they stray. Neglect and such, you know.”
James clutched his chest in mock appal. “Neglect? I’ll have you know I am very attentive, thank you. Padfoot just happens to be in high demand.”
Sirius smirked, too, as he pulled on his boots. “Can’t help that I’m irresistible.”
Peter, turning, rolled his eyes. “Irresistibly annoying?”
Sirius stuck out his tongue. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Wormtail. Remus appreciates my charms, don’t you, Moony-mine?”
Remus hummed thoughtfully. He glanced at Sirius with exaggerated deliberation. “Hmm… I suppose you’re tolerable in small doses.”
“Small doses?” Sirius gasped.
“I’m joking, joking,” Remus chuckled, and wrapped both arms around Sirius’s neck from behind him, and Sirius loved the feeling of Remus’s nose pressed against the bit of skin that bridged his cheek with his neck so much he couldn’t help a giddy laugh.
He almost forgot other people were present. When Remus uncurled enough that he had room to look, Sirius found James watching them with a small smile.
He caught Sirius noticing, however, and cleared his throat, feigning indignation again. “Well, come on, get cracking,” he said. “And just so we’re clear, next time, I’m not waking you up. You can be late and have her cross with you on your own.”
Sirius could feel Remus’s exhale of amusement brush against his face. “I thought I was the prefect here.”
Sirius tilted his head back slightly, catching Remus’s eye with a teasing grin. “Whatever shall we do, Mr Moony? They’ll be giving him a badge before we know it.”
With a dramatic roll of his eyes and a tremendous sigh, James marched forward and grabbed them both by an arm each. He tugged them up forcefully: “Less flirting, more prepping.”
They laughed, but let him yank them off the bed regardless.
The new routine took quite a bit of getting used to. In some ways, they’d managed to keep up their old traditions: for instance, Moony had worked out that he could only comfortably handle up to five classes, alongside prefect duties, without overtaxing himself (though this realisation hadn’t come easily – Sirius had noticed how he’d pursed his lips, while crossing Herbology off his list). As a result, the rest of them stuck to no more than five classes as well, ensuring they all had roughly the same amount of free periods to spend together, even if not always at the same time.
But nevertheless, the whole gang could only be together for Charms and Transfiguration now. Sirius, Remus, and James had Defence without Pete; Sirius and James had Muggle Studies without the other two; and Peter would join them for Potions, but Remus couldn’t.
It really irked Sirius. He was certain only James’s and Remus’s timetables made any sense, both of them having taken Professor McGonagall’s advice to heart. Remus had chosen all the boring, dense subjects that would help in a teaching career, while James had picked ones that emphasised practical application over theory.
Sirius, on the other hand, had taken as many of their classes as he could (with the exception of Muggle Studies, which he convinced James to keep rather than the other way round), and Peter took whatever he thought he could manage. Despite Professor Rallis’s rather ominous warning, Sirius hadn’t even signed up for NEWT-level Divination. It probably wasn’t his wisest decision, but the thought of spending one or two hours entirely on his own was unbearable. Not even Remus had understood him this time, pointing out that he’d be taking History and Runes on his own, and that Peter would be alone in Astronomy and Herbology.
But Sirius wasn’t like them. He was convinced he wouldn’t even be mentally present in a class without his friends there. It’d just be pointless.
The first day of lessons went alright enough, even if he did miss Pete and Remus in Professor Vaughn’s class. But Friday morning felt quite odd, with Remus off at Runes while the rest of them had a free period. Like moons before they’d completed the Animagus transformation, Sirius thought… the association made him antsy. Strictly speaking, as sixth-years, they were meant to use the generous amount of free time that they were given to complete readings and assignments and such – all of their coursework being at research-level now, their classes more just forums to discuss what the students would have (or rather should have) studied on their own over the week.
But Sirius had always had the – in this scenario, rather unfortunate – gift of immediately retaining whatever he so much as glanced at, whether or not he understood it; and James only needed a single read-through to thoroughly grasp concepts inside and out. Maybe two if the wording was particularly esoteric.
That left them with free periods that actually were. There was always helping Pete, of course – but neither he nor James had shared Remus’s career aspirations for a reason. Sirius didn’t have the patience for it, often losing his temper and winding up hurting Peter’s feelings, without really meaning to. And James was simply rubbish at it, going at a mile an hour before Peter had even finished digesting his first sentence. They’d all three of them had unpleasant experiences with attempting it in the past, so they didn’t bother now.
It was starting to look like the afternoons would be Sirius’s haven; most of their shared periods were after three o’clock. He didn’t even mind that some of those classes included the weekends this year.
Consequently, he was much cheerier when he and Remus and James made their way to their first Defence class of the term. They’d been bantering light-heartedly, as they entered, then made their way straight for their customary seats at the back of the room.
The young, short-haired teacher they’d met on the platform strode in eventually. Without a word, she walked up to the dais, set her things on the desk, crossed her hands behind her back, and surveyed the class with a shrewd expression. Despite being quite slim, not particularly tall, and could have easily passed for their age, there was something oddly imposing about her presence.
“Good afternoon. I am Professor Maddalena Bordastrega.” She introduced herself in that accented English that Sirius remembered from their first encounter. “Welcome to your first NEWT-level Defence Against the Dark Arts class—”
But before she could finish, she was abruptly interrupted. Ola Kowalska, a Hufflepuff (NEWT classes were no longer divided by house), sprang from her seat unprovoked, startling everyone.
“I am not taking lessons from Bordastrega scum!” she shouted, both her voice and her body trembling. She sounded on the verge of tears. Sirius exchanged a confused glance with his friends, but they seemed equally baffled.
“Go back to where you came from, vermin!” Ola cried. “You and your entire family should be rotting alongside Grindelwald!”
Sirius arched his eyebrows. Rapid whispers – the name spreading across the room like wildfire. Professor Bordastrega, however, remained as composed as she had been at the start.
“Erm… Ola…” June Alderton, another Hufflepuff, tentatively placed a hand on her arm, but Ola shook her off violently.
“Don’t touch me!” she snapped, voice breaking. She turned tearful, accusatory eyes toward the rest of the class. “Maybe that name means nothing to you English, but try saying it anywhere in Europe! Ask her what her family has done!”
Sirius looked back at the professor, whose face remained emotionless. When she spoke her voice was calm, controlled. “Miss… Kowalska, yes?” she asked, having checked the register. “If you have some ethical objection to my appointment, you are free to leave this class. This is for anyone else as well.”
“Erm… ethical objection to what, professor?” Lily Evans dared venture.
Professor Bordastrega glanced at her with an impassive expression. “I come from a family of dark witches and wizards, in Italy. They worked for Grindelwald… and others, before his time. But I have no allegiance to them. I do not even associate with them.” She paused briefly. “I have been working in Britain for the past three years. Professor Dumbledore, he invited me personally to teach here. You do what you like with this information.”
All of this rattled off as if she’d only been reading out from the textbook. It was sombre, treated with the gravitas that it deserved, but at the same time she didn’t bother with some contrived, sentimental display of remorse, either.
Sirius couldn’t help the distant flicker of kinship in his chest. He liked her, he decided.
Ola, however, didn’t seem convinced. “I’m supposed to forget my grandparents because Dumbledore vouches for you? Their entire village burning down— my family displaced here?”
“I would not dream of saying so,” the professor answered evenly. “As I said: you do as you wish.”
“You can’t honestly hold what her family does against her?” Sirius spoke up, without really thinking about it.
Ola whirled around, glaring at him. “Sure, we’re all so surprised that you’d feel that way, Sirius Black!”
The words hit Sirius like a slap. The sharpness of Ola’s tone and the weight of his own name made his heart stutter. His first impulse was to retort, but the fire in her eyes froze him. He hadn’t expected to be dragged into this so directly, so pointedly.
He could feel the weight of his classmates’ stares. Opened his mouth, but no words came. A knot twisted deep in his stomach – “I’m not…” he began, but faltered. How could he explain the gulf between him and the rest of his family, here, in front of everyone, under this level of scrutiny?
“Yeah, you are,” a voice heckled from somewhere to his right. “Your family’s under investigation too, innit?”
“My brother’s still got scars from what Bellatrix Black used to do to first-years when she was here,” another chimed in bitterly.
Sirius inhaled sharply. She’s given me scars too… He could feel Remus’s hand curling protectively around his arm, and James, as well, shot back with venom in his voice, “Oh, is that why you’re such a prat, Aubrey? Because you come from a family of ’em, is it?”
Even Remus responded, rare heat in his tone. “Sorry, but what has any of this got to do with the class?”
“Correct – it does not,” Professor Bordastrega interjected. Turning to Ola: “Miss Kowalska… while some things cannot ever be forgiven, I am sorry for your loss, all the same. You are welcome to take another subject if you wish. Professor Sprout, she will understand.”
Red-faced, Ola swept her things off her desk, then stormed down the aisle and out of the door altogether. The entire class watched her leave. Professor Bordastrega didn’t speak until she was gone.
“Anyone else?” she asked.
No one obliged, although June Alderton was shifting uncomfortably in her seat.
“Alright,” Bordastrega nodded once, curtly. “I must be clear with you – I am new as a teacher, yes, but still, I am your teacher. Not your friend, not your colleague, not family. You do not need me to explain myself to you. But I will say this: I am an Auror. Professor Dumbledore, he has asked me to come here because of my work with the taskforce between the British Ministry and the Italian Ministry of Magic. For one year, I am free from my duties with them, and in this time, I work here, for him.”
She paused, her eyes scanning every face. “My work, it is about fighting the dark forces across borders. Our department was created because of the rise of Grindelwald. And now we fight the Death Eaters, and their leader, Voldemort.” A ripple of murmuring passed through the class, at the name, but she went on, unfazed. “We work across Europe to stop them, before they spread more. I have been here – in this country – for years already, and I see this position as an extension of that same fight. If my background, or my family history, makes you uncomfortable, you may go, like Miss Kowalska. I do not need your approval.”
There was a pause as she folded her arms. “Yes, my family… they supported magical supremacy. I do not. I do not hide what they did, and I do not agree with it. My work now is to make sure their mistakes are not repeated. If this is not enough for you that is not my problem. I am here to prepare you to defend yourselves against dark magic. Whether you trust me or not does not change that.”
Silence. The plainness of her words hung in the air, like a challenge. No one stirred, this time, and even June Alderton’s squirming had finally ceased.
“I take this responsibility very seriously,” she continued, her tone softening slightly. “You should do the same.”
Her gaze lingered on them all, as if inviting rebuttal. When no one spoke, she added, “Now, I will say again – if anyone wishes to leave, this is your chance.”
Some students exchanged glances, but no one moved.
“Good,” she said, turning to the board. “Then we will start with an overview of your Defence curriculum for NEWT-level. Open your textbooks to page three, please.”
Predictably, Professor Maddalena Bordastrega was all anybody could talk about, at dinner. James had even nipped into the library, found himself a tome on European wizarding genealogies, and brought it with him to the Great Hall. “If any Potter ghosts happened to be watching, and caught me reading this rubbish, I’d be cursed for life,” he’d joked. He was currently perusing it, flipping through the pages with his mouth half-open. “Blimey,” he exhaled. “They make even the Carrows sound like right angels, these Italians.”
Peter, who’d been reading along over James’s shoulder, paled, too. “Bloody hell,” he swore.
“Bloody seems apt, doesn’t it?” said James grimly. “You sure you haven’t got a branch that’s intermarried to them, Padfoot? Because it would certainly explain Bellatrix.”
Sirius managed to force a laugh, at the joke, hoping it didn’t sound as overly-bright as it did to his own ears. “She’s brave, then, that one,” he remarked. “If they’re that bad, and she stood up to them anyway.”
Remus, beside him, surreptitiously reached around Sirius’s back to give his hand a brief squeeze. “Forget dark wizards, Prongs… I’m more concerned about what Madam Pince would be capable of, if she saw you bring a library book so close to food and drink.”
Sirius turned and smiled up at him, grateful that he’d known to change the subject. Only Moony, he thought fondly.
“You don’t think I can flirt with Madam Pince?” James challenged with a smirk. “Oh ye of little faith. I’m tempted to leave a stain on purpose just to prove you wrong, now.”
“If they’d seen the number of girls you pulled on holiday, they’d never question it,” said Sirius drily. “I’m telling you, I’m surprised he didn’t come back with a disease.”
Peter chortled, and James sent Sirius a mock-supercilious look over the cover of his text. “Ungentlemanly of you, Padfoot. Just because you’re not a proper Black anymore…”
That wiped the smile off Sirius’s face, although he quickly hid it behind his goblet of pumpkin juice. Merlin, he wished everyone would stop talking about it.
“But I was right, then,” he said, attempting to shift topics once more. “She was an Auror after all. D’you reckon Dumbledore hired her on purpose?”
“Because of Mulciber?” Remus frowned; his eyes had gone sharp.
“Or maybe Professor Vaughn,” said Sirius. “She’s been getting death threats and the like from that lot, hasn’t she?”
“I’m surprised the Ministry had a coordinated taskforce like that in the works at all,” James snorted. “Makes them sound more competent than they are, dunnit?”
“I mean, she’s also pretty polarising already, though,” Pete pointed out. “I’ve been hearing people talk. The snakes are annoyed she’s taken a hard stance against You-Know-Who, without being subtle about it, you know, and then there’s others don’t like that she’s from the family she’s from and that.”
“…Useful being a rat, isn’t it?” Sirius observed, humming. “Got our own personal reconnaissance man right here.”
“Well, yeah,” Peter grinned. “I could do loads for pranks now.”
“Talking of which.” James closed his book, set it aside, and gave them a mischievous smile. “I’ve got a big idea for this year’s inaugural one, lads. Listen…”
And they all leaned in to do just that, Sirius grateful for the distraction.
He dreamt of Bellatrix, that night. It wasn’t really surprising, given how often people had insisted on mentioning her all day. He dreamt of Bellatrix, and Reggie and lots and lots of pins. The sort that went in pincushions – sewing pins, were they called? – long things that took forever to pierce through skin, both while going in and slipping out.
“But you lost, didn’t you?” she’d say, in that grating baby-voice she affected when playing. “You lost! It’s a penalty!”
They always did lose, though, him and Reggie. Maybe they’d been too young to notice. Sirius had been the first to bother asking what the rules even were, and she’d refused to tell him, and he had asked Uncle Cygnus and gotten kicked out of the drawing room because children weren’t meant to go inside unless called and he’d tried Aunt Druella but she gave him vague waffling about “games that only boys could play” which made no sense because Bella was a girl.
“…Well, yes, but she plays so, er, roughly, and our Cissy’s delicate.”
Reggie’s delicate, Sirius had thought. Delicate and stupid enough to show it, even knowing Bella enjoyed that; it only tempted her to do worse. Sirius had grabbed her by the hair and pulled and taken the full force of her anger and their aunt’s and uncle’s and mother’s and father’s afterward— all so she wouldn’t notice Reggie cry.
Better her rage than her delight.
“Crucio.”
A thousand volts of pain, and Reggie had just stood there, he’d just stood there—
It was a careful hand brushing the skin beneath his eyes that woke him up. Sirius blinked – the familiar sight of Remus’s concerned face hovering above his own took its time coming into focus, with nothing but a Lumos to illuminate it. “Nightmare?” Remus whispered, and Sirius nodded, too busy swallowing down the lump in his throat to manage words.
Remus’s fingers wrapped around his, which made him realise he was fairly burning up sans an actual fever.
The comparatively cooler hand tugged his upward, and then Remus pressed a brief and gentle kiss to the back of it.
Despite everything, it made Sirius smile into his pillow. “…Were you always secretly such a romantic, Moony?” he whispered back.
Remus exhaled amusement, though his brown eyes were still sympathetic. Scarred and callused fingers pushed Sirius’s hair out of his face, his clammy forehead. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, because he always asked, even though Sirius hadn’t once said yes in all the years they’d found themselves kneeling by each other’s beds like this.
Sirius shook his head this time as well. He never talked, anyway. Remus and James and Peter tended to just piece things together themselves – and that only worked for whatever had external evidence, didn’t it: Mother’s caning, the verbal onslaught in the Howlers, the overly-strict do’s and don’ts, the occasional going hungry.
They didn’t know about the cellar. Wouldn’t find out about Bellatrix, either; it’d been too long ago. Before Hogwarts.
He just didn’t see the point in telling them. It wasn’t as though they could do anything about it, and he already had their sympathy. Possibly more than was warranted.
Maybe that made it hypocritical of him to have hounded Remus for the truth in first and second year because he’d been so worried that Remus was going through the same things, but, there it was.
“D’you want to do something else?” Remus murmured, now.
Sirius closed his eyes, remembering Regulus again. Distant anger sat in his throat, and he hissed an answer: “Break things.”
“Alright.”
Sirius blinked, confused. When he looked, he found Remus still smiling down at him. “Come on, then,” he whispered. “Grab your wand and let’s go.”
“…Where?” Sirius asked perplexedly, even as his body automatically complied, sitting up, reaching for his cloak.
Remus didn’t answer, getting up off his knees and parting the hangings for Sirius. He tiptoed over to the next bed, himself; swiped the Invisibility Cloak off the top of James’s trunk with a quiet little, “Cheers, Prongs.”
Entertained in spite of the lingering melancholy, Sirius chuckled as he pulled his boots on.
As soon as they were ready, he and Remus slipped under the familiar fabric.
“Merlin, you know this is meant to be able to cover two grown wizards?” Sirius whispered, half-teasing. “And yet your ankles are showing. How tall’d you get over the summer?”
He could feel Remus’s laughter in the way his shoulder shook, beside him. “I suppose we’ll just have to stick quite close.”
“Oh, dear, what a pity,” Sirius grinned. He pushed up against Remus’s side, relishing in the way Remus curled an arm around his elbow and held him there.
They walked out like that, and had to pause quite a bit to adjust the Cloak and stifle laughter and shush each other. Didn’t bother with a secret passage, making straight for the front door, then unlocking it with a whispered Alohomora.
“Where are you taking me?” Sirius chuckled; he dared to raise his voice to a more regular volume now that they were out on the grounds, with the wind burying their noise.
“Shack,” Remus answered with a smile— and before Sirius could ask any further questions, he wrapped a hand around Sirius’s wrist and tugged him forward; then he broke into a run.
Sirius laughed, grabbing a fistful of the Cloak so it wouldn’t slip. Their feet probably flashed in and out of sight regardless, not that either of them cared at the minute.
It wasn’t long before they reached the Willow, used a Stunning Spell on the knot, and scurried into the hollow with practiced speed.
By the time they climbed up into the Shrieking Shack, having shed the Cloak, they were both breathless, grinning.
Remus walked over to an upturned chair. Without a word – almost casually – he snapped one of its decaying legs off, in a rather appealing display of easy strength.
“Here.” He tossed it to Sirius, who caught it deftly, blinking at it in confusion. “People already think this place is haunted,” Remus explained. “You can make as much noise as you like.”
Sirius shook his head even as a broad smile stretched his lips from ear to ear. “You’re joking?” he said.
“No, I’m se—” Remus caught himself before he could fall into the usual trap, making Sirius laugh.
“I’m Sirius,” he declared. After a brief second of consideration, he marched up to the chair, and kicked at it hard. Truth be told, running out of the school and to the Shack had already released a lot of that heaviness that had been clinging to his chest. But it was still extremely satisfying to be able to smash his boots against the rotting wood, to watch it crumble.
“And I will not—” (Hitting it with his plank,) “Fucking—” (Kicking away another leg that’d been sent flying,) “Apologise—” (Smashing the nearest defunct lamp,) “For it!”
Remus whooped, even as he laughed.
Sirius was half-laughing, too. He paused to catch a breath, steady the rise and fall of his chest.
Remus wrapped his arms around him from behind, and Sirius sighed, contentedly leaning against him.
“You’re magnificent,” Remus murmured in his ear. “Absolutely magnificent.”
He buried his face where Sirius’s neck met his shoulder. It sent gooseflesh pricking pleasantly along Sirius’s skin, and Sirius gave a half-startled, half-nervous laugh. “How’s that fair? Those are inanimate objects,” he joked, wanting to change the topic. “Didn’t exactly put up a fight, did they.”
Remus refused to let him. “I admire it so much,” he whispered, like a confession. “You, the way you— you’ll not let it win. Even if you were backed into a corner and it was your last option out, you’d never, ever let it win.”
Sirius squirmed. The praise sat like a thousand Flobberworms in his stomach – wriggling about, making him feel both bashful and uncomfortable all at once. “No, that’s you,” he insisted, turning around. “You – you’re the one that’s admirable, Remus, how you… take whatever’s thrown at you with such, such grace—”
Remus was shaking his head no, a wry little smile lifting up one corner of his lips. He pulled Sirius closer by the small of his back, and Sirius’s face warmed even as he brought his own arms up to wind around Remus’s neck. “Hardly,” Remus answered. “All I do is give up, Padfoot. That’s all it is, I just— I accept my lot, and, I give up. Give in. Maybe it’s who I am, what I’m like. Maybe I’m just… tired.” He exhaled. “It’s so much easier to resign yourself, be pessimistic. Safer, more predictable. Can even make you feel a bit like a martyr, you know? All… tragic and important.”
“Come on, Moony, don’t talk about yourself like that,” Sirius hushed. He traced a half-circle from the bottom of Remus’s lip down to his chin. “It’s because you’re mature. A wise old soul, that’s what it is. Me, I’m just— belligerent—”
“I don’t care.” Remus bent slightly, pressing their foreheads together, that bittersweet smile constant as he searched Sirius’s face as if committing it to memory. “I can’t take my eyes off you, when you get like this. Angry. Fighting. You’re… Merlin’s beard, Sirius. Don’t, don’t change. Never change. Never stop— treating what’s unfair like it’s unfair. Taking on the whole bloody world and defending your place in it.”
Sirius had to fight the urge to duck his head, he was so embarrassed. “I’ve no idea what you’re on about, you daft creature. You’re my inspiration. You’ve always been.”
Remus chuckled. There was a pause in which his eyes flicked down to Sirius’s mouth, and Sirius averted his own self-consciously, and Remus bent, and Sirius braced himself, a bubbly feeling in his chest.
Remus didn’t kiss his lips, however, just pressed a sweet little peck to his cheek, right at the corner of them.
Swoon.
“Sorry,” Remus smiled, abashed. “I’ve, erm, I’ve never kissed anyone before, and, er, I don’t know how.”
Sirius shook his head reassuringly, charmed, returning his hands to their loop around Remus’s neck. “You said it yourself – no rush.”
Remus exhaled amusement. His own hands held Sirius by the waist, sparking the oddest, tingling sensation. “Have you…?”
“Well, yeah.” Sirius rolled his eyes with a rueful smile. “Professor Ainsley.”
That made Remus’s grip on his sides tighten. “Doesn’t count,” he insisted vehemently. “If you didn’t want it, or if it was manipulated out of you, it means nothing. Less than nothing.”
Sirius smiled. An utterly soothed feeling swept over his heart, and he couldn’t help quipping – or else he thought he’d spontaneously combust from how perfect the moment was.
“Oh, good,” he teased, “I’ve always wanted to lose my virginity to Since I’ve Been Loving You.”
Remus made a sound caught between a barked-out laugh and choking.
“Sorry, sorry,” Sirius laughed, too. “I can’t help it, Merlin, you should see your face…”
“Why are you like this?” Remus pulled him even closer, cheek against cheek, so Sirius couldn’t even see him anymore, just feel his mirth in his quivering shoulders.
When he eased away, he was considerably less red, though still biting around his smile and not quite meeting Sirius’s eyes.
He cleared his throat. “I do like Zeppelin III.”
“Mm, you do.” Sirius grinned, cupping his face. “Real blues man, you are.”
“Can’t imagine why.”
“No.” Sirius nodded sagely. “You’ve got absolutely nothing to be blue about, have you.”
They managed to feign seriousness for all of five seconds, then dissolved into uncontrollable chortling.
A memory rose up in Sirius’s mind, then, and he made a startled sound, eyes wide even as both hands shot up to cover a sheepish grin. “Oh, no. I have, actually, I have – I’ve kissed Prongs.”
“Sorry?” Remus half-laughed, half-gasped.
“Yeah!” Sirius buried embarrassed chuckles. “In third year. We got curious, we thought we’d give it a go.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Remus shook his head, amused and incredulous at the same time. “Honestly, you two.”
Sirius, still half-hiding behind his hands, peeped out at him mischievously. “Tell you what, then. To make things fair, I’ll allow you one kiss with Prongs too. Just one, though. That’s the rule.”
Remus snorted. “Sure – on the day he learns that brushing his teeth daily isn’t negotiable.”
Sirius barked out a laugh. “Oh, so then never. Poor sod.”
“He’ll live,” Remus huffed, patting Sirius where he held him. “And I’m… already spoken for? I think?”
Sirius dropped his hands. A helpless smile stretched across his face. “Lucky me,” he murmured. “Lucky, lucky me.”
Remus’s lips twitched, and before Sirius could say anything else, Remus tugged him down by the sleeve of his shirt. “Come on. Let’s sit.”
They moved to a corner of the room. Sirius plopped down onto the floor with a graceless thud, and pulled Remus along beside him. The wood groaned beneath their weight, but neither seemed to care. Remus leaned into him, their legs brushing, and Sirius shifted to wrap his arms comfortably around Remus’s middle.
Everything ebbed into soft, contented silence. They sat there for a while; Remus’s arms around his shoulder, and Remus’s chin atop his head, all Sirius cared about, now. Basking in the warmth that came with the ease of this thing between them.
A while after, Sirius sighed, as he glanced around the dimly-lit Shack. “We should probably think about heading back to the dorms, shouldn’t we?”
“Yeah,” Remus agreed, though his tone lacked conviction.
Neither of them moved. Instead, they shifted closer, Remus tugging Sirius snugly against his side.
The night was cool, the wind outside barely audible, and even the dusty, worn interior of the Shack felt almost cosy, for once. Remus tilted his head until his temple rested against Sirius’s, and Sirius let out a contented sigh, pressing his cheek against Remus’s hair.
“Maybe in a minute,” Remus mumbled, eyes already half-closed.
Sirius nodded, his fingers tracing lazy circles on Remus’s arm. “Yeah.”
They wound up staying like that for much, much longer, there in each other’s arms, and the world outside felt very far away. Even if for just that fleeting moment, Sirius forgot the nightmares and the shadows that lingered at the edges of his mind, losing himself instead in the rhythm of Remus’s breathing, as if all the world’s worries had simply faded into the night.
Notes:
I always found Viktor Krum’s reaction to seeing Grindelwald’s mark in DH pretty intriguing. He made it sound like British wizards aren’t as aware of the atrocities Grindelwald was responsible for while the rest of Europe apparently is. Expanding on that with Maddalena Bordastrega here. P.S., her name comes from the Borda in Italian folklore.
How big is the Invisibility Cloak? Well, in OotP Hermione makes the assessment that (she “supposes”) all four of the Marauders could fit under it if they tried. So I’m assuming my approximation here wouldn’t be that far off, no? Two grown wizards might equal four itty bitty baby Marauders?
Chapter 4
Notes:
You, yes you, the person seeing this – you’re super cool! Thanks for reading, for interacting, and for making this series feel like a shared experience!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
JOIN THE HOGWARTS SCHOOL NEWSPAPER!
Your Voice, Your Stories, Our Magic
Are you passionate about writing, photography, or design? Do you have an eye for detail or a knack for uncovering the truth? The new Hogwarts school newspaper, The Quillman, is looking for talented students to join our team! Whether you’re a budding reporter, an artist with a magical flair, or simply love to be in the loop, we want YOU to help bring Hogwarts’ stories to life.
☆ Open Positions ☆
✒ Editors & Section Editors:
Lead a team of writers and shape the content for each issue. Specialise in sections like News, Quidditch, Culture, or Opinion. Bring the latest updates from the wizarding world to your friends.
✒ Reporters & Writers:
Love telling a good story? Become the voice of Hogwarts by covering school events, interviewing your fellow students, and writing exciting articles.
✒ Photographers & Illustrators:
Capture the magic of Hogwarts through enchanted photography or create stunning illustrations to enhance our stories.
✒ Designers & Layout Wizards:
Are you creative and organised? Help design the look of our newspaper, ensuring it’s as visually captivating as the stories we tell.
✒ Spell Technicians:
Are you skilled in Charms and Transfiguration? Use your magical abilities to enchant our paper with moving pictures, animated headlines, and seamless distribution.
✒ Outreach & Owl Post Team:
Help spread the word! Work on promoting the newspaper around the castle, manage subscriptions, and keep everyone excited about the latest edition.
Interested in more than one role? Feel free to apply for multiple positions!
════ ⋆★⋆ ════
☆ Why Join? ☆
- Share your stories with the entire school.
- Gain valuable experience in journalism, publication, photography, and design.
- Build your leadership and teamwork skills by collaborating with fellow students across all houses.
- Get the inside scoop on Quidditch matches, school events, and more.
- Work directly with Professor Serena Vaughn, our Editor-in-Chief, to learn the craft of magical reporting.
════ ⋆★⋆ ════
☆ How to Apply ☆
- Pick up an application form from the library for more details.
- Submit your application by Friday, 10 September.
- Open to students in third year and up from all houses!
Don’t miss your chance to be part of Hogwarts history!
For questions, reach out to Lily Evans (sixth-year Gryffindor prefect) or visit our office on the second floor of the West Tower.
════ ⋆★⋆ ════
☆ Make Hogwarts news YOUR news. ☆
Wherever the magic happens, we’ll be there to tell the tale!
“…What’re you looking at?” Sirius asked, with audible suspicion.
James quickly tore his eyes away from that poster (crimson letters on pale pink paper, rotating stars scattered across it, not exactly easy to miss), pretending to study one of the other notices on the board instead. “Huh,” he remarked, “They’ve put the Hogsmeade weekends up early this year, haven’t they? Memorise these for us, won’t you, Padfoot?”
Sirius grabbed his head and shoved it forward. “Oh, give over. I know you saw her name, you berk.” He sighed, steering James by the shoulder and forcing his gaze back at the corridor ahead – or what should have been the corridor, anyway; their start-of-term prank had involved transforming most of it into a beach. The floor was now covered in sand; the walls displaying seaside scenery (interrupted by doors and portraits and notice boards); and the ceiling showed a permanent sunset.
Well, James had missed being on holiday somewhat, and he thought some of his fellow students might feel the same.
“Thinking of signing up?” asked Peter, who was flanking his other side. “Because if you do, I might as well. Could probably do the illustration bit.”
“If I see either of your names on there, you’re dead to me,” Sirius huffed, and James couldn’t help some amusement either:
“No, Pete, we don’t join school newspapers.”
“Why not?” Peter blinked.
James and Sirius exchanged a longsuffering look.
“Do you or do you not fancy bagging yourself a lady-friend this year?” James replied, and Sirius added, “He’s the one who gets interviewed, not does the interviewing, idiot.”
Peter managed a rather sulky, “Oh.” It was a full moon, that night, and Sirius was even grumpier than usual about it.
“Bloody Potions,” Sirius muttered, sure enough. “I hate having to be stuck in class when we could’ve been out with Moony already.”
James hummed, not bothering with a pointless response. Sirius kicked at the sand beneath them in lieu of one:
“For our next prank, we should just blast the moon right out of the sky.”
James chuckled. “Erm, I reckon the rest of the planet might have something to say about that, mate.”
“Tough.” Sirius turned up his nose. “Moony’s more important than them.”
“Would you look at Snivellus practically snogging that poster?” said Peter, then, with a giggle. James turned: a few paces across from them, Severus Snape was, indeed, glued to the board that hung on that side of the corridor, ostensibly floating above a languid tide.
James narrowed his eyes. It didn’t take a lot to work out that Snape was perusing the same thing as him – if the glimpse of Lily’s name had sparked James’s curiosity enough to skim it, to find out what she was up to, he could only imagine the effect it would have had on her creepy friend. He didn’t think Snape would join up or anything, not now that he’d so publically chosen his side, but still – to steal a look while his fledgling Death Eater company weren’t around to catch him – well, James commiserated, for once. Lily was difficult, near-impossible, to get over.
For James had been trying; by Merlin, had he been trying. Every human female in existence who was up for it and wasn’t her, it felt like.
It’d work at some point, he reassured himself. Statistically speaking. He needed some patience…
They were just passing Snape, now, and would have done without incident if James didn’t then spot Mulciber and Avery approaching from the opposite direction. To his surprise, Snape didn’t do what James had expected him to: move away from the board, pretend he hadn’t been looking at Lily’s poster. Instead, when Mulciber and Avery got closer, Snape turned to them and pointed at it deliberately, talking as he did.
James had an inkling he knew what this was about – Professor Vaughn’s name had been on the poster as well, after all. He inched closer as surreptitiously as he could, slowing his steps so that he could eavesdrop.
“—Propaganda tactic,” he could hear Snape saying, sure enough. “That Muggle-lover has been given the perfect vehicle to spread her filth. We should warn the house against reading it.”
James nudged Sirius with an elbow, but evidently his friend had already caught on. His lips were a thin line as he returned James’s glance with a knowing one of his own.
At an unspoken cue, they both slowed down to listen, almost making Peter stumble.
“Disgraceful,” Avery was saying, now. “And look – Mudblood Evans at the helm. I’m not surprised.”
“Bound to be a rag full of nothing but indoctrination,” Snape agreed.
Mulciber said, “It really is refreshing to hear you speak of your little pet so harshly, Severus,” with a taunting note in his voice. Trouble in paradise, James wondered? Old Snivellus being ditched by even that crowd?
“I’m not under her sway anymore, if that’s what you’re insinuating.” Snape’s own was low and cold – more so than usual. “You know as well as I do, Alpheus… that I wasn’t in full control of my faculties last year. Lily Evans possesses enough skill to brew a love potion.” Spitting the words like venom. “It’s the only explanation. She had me under her spell – literally.”
James’s mouth did not find time to catch up with his brain, he was that repulsed. Without stopping to think, he blurted, “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
It was too late to dodge the consequences: Snape’s head had snapped around. His expression twisted with fury, at the sound of James’s voice. Avery and Mulciber sneered in unison, but Snape was the first to speak:
“Mind your own business, Potter,” he hissed, dripping with malice. “It’s got nothing to do with you.”
In for a knut, in for a sickle, James thought, and slipped a hand into his robes pocket. He clutched his wand. “I reckon it does,” he sang, then stepped closer. “I couldn’t help but overhear this… brilliant little theory of yours, Snivellus.”
Snape’s sneer deepened.
As soon as he opened his mouth again, however, James – quick as lightning – angled his wand upward, pointing it at Snape through his robes.
He whispered, “Sonorus.”
Just as Snape started, “That’s right, Potter,” —the charm took effect, and his next words followed in a loud boom that echoed up and down the entire corridor:
“—LILY EVANS SLIPPED ME A LOVE POTION!”
The declaration thundered through the space, ricocheting off the stone walls. There was stunned silence for a split second – followed almost immediately by peals of laughter. Students who had been passing by stopped dead in their tracks, staring at Snape with disbelief and wide, mocking eyes. A group of other sixth-years, probably headed to Potions as well, burst out laughing, while a few senior girls exchanged raised eyebrows and knowing glances.
James feigned surprise, then raised his hand theatrically. “Hang on— let me make sure I’ve got this right. You’re saying Lily Evans, the most popular girl in school, has to resort to love potions… on you.” He couldn’t stop the grin spreading across his face. “Merlin, Snivellus, what do you smoke at night? Your dreams sound mental.”
Snape had turned a remarkable shade of puce, lips wisely clamped shut so that the Amplifying Charm couldn’t do worse. Peter chortled, “That makes so much sense.”
“Does, doesn’t it?” James smirked, and smugly folded his arms. “A girl who’s got her pick of blokes – am I right, people?” (Turning to the gathering crowd, who echoed resounding agreement.) “A girl like that, going, ‘D’you know what I fancy? Slipping a love potion to Slytherin’s resident try-hard – that greasy-haired git with the face like a smacked arse.’” He scoffed. “Jolly well done. You’ve absolutely cracked the case.”
More laughter erupted. A group of passing Gryffindors had doubled over, one of them calling out, “Lily would rather snog a Blast-Ended Skrewt than you, Snape!”
“Yeah, on the wrong end!”
“Honestly, Snivellus, instead of making up wild stories, you might want to accept that not even someone as nice as Evans would waste her time on you.” James exaggerated a sigh, gesturing to the poster Snape had been staring at earlier. “She’s too busy doing proper things… like running the school paper, and being a prefect.” With a pointed look at the spot on Snape’s robes where a badge should have been, but no longer was: “Something you, er, clearly know nothing about.”
The crowd’s guffaws grew louder. Someone heckled, “He’s cracked, that one!”
“Tell him, Potter!”
“Eyes off our girls, you Slytherin scum.”
Before James could go further, however, Sirius tugged him away insistently. They melted into the crowd, James no longer able to see what Snape and his cronies were up to.
“What?” he asked, confused.
Sirius had a tight grip on his arm, and rare chastisement in his expression. “Noses clean today, remember?” he hissed. “We are not landing ourselves in detention on a full moon!”
“Oh, right.” James coloured, realising he’d forgotten Moony entirely. Merlin, Snape might have a point – Lily did, evidently, turn people’s heads.
They weaved through the lingering students still buzzing with laughter at Snape’s expense. Peter hurried after them, struggling to keep up with their longer strides. “I can’t believe he made that up about Lily,” he panted, as he looked between James and Sirius. “A love potion! He’s madder than a box of frogs.”
Sirius snorted. “Madder and uglier, but we’ve got priorities. Anyway, serves—” But he stopped himself, for whatever reason, and didn’t speak again until they’d reached the door to Potions.
Slughorn wasn’t inside, yet, when they entered. The twin rows of workstations that greeted them were also not that populated, most of the students that’d arrived as early as they had still just milling about, chatting. The Marauders made a beeline for a station near the back of the row on the right; Peter and Sirius commandeering one in front of James, who could simply shift toward the middle of his if he wanted to be closer to them. It wasn’t ideal, but the stations were set up for pairs, and such was their usual arrangement whenever Remus had to miss a class – none of the professors trusted James and Sirius to sit together and not cause trouble.
“But I wonder if we ought to tell Professor Vaughn,” Sirius was saying now, a slight frown on his face. “I dunno, I doubt there’s much they can do about the newspaper, but just in case…”
“Yeah, I’ve been worried about her, too,” said James. “That lot weren’t wrong – with her and Evans running this, you just know they won’t be publishing trifles.”
As though he’d conjured her up by mentioning her name, however, Lily entered the room, just then. James couldn’t help but tune Sirius and Peter out as soon as he spotted her; he would have turned away immediately upon catching himself, he honestly would, except that Lily was marching right toward him.
She stormed down the aisle between the rows of workstations; made straight for James’s without so much as a pause. She had that fire in her eyes, as she got closer – the one that tended to call to mind something his mother often told him: Every woman has Durga-Ma within her.
James took an involuntary step backward. Out of the corner of his vision, he noted that both Sirius and Peter had frozen in place, too, where they’d already been turned around to talk to him— that was the last he could really observe of his surroundings, however, because Lily was quite, quite close now, and all he could see was piercing green.
“What is your problem, Potter?” she hissed. “Haven’t you had enough of making Severus the laughingstock of the school? You’re just compelled to do it over every single year, is it!?”
James tore his eyes away from hers long enough to gain some semblance of composure, then returned: “What do you care!? Everyone knows you aren’t friends anymore!”
“I care because I’ve got a conscience, unlike some people!”
“He was telling lies about you! Insults!”
“Oh, I’ve heard, thank you very much! I can fight my own battles!”
“Well, I’d have loved to have seen you manage that, considering you weren’t even there!”
“Good afternoon, good afternoon!” Professor Slughorn’s jovial bass interrupted, and James and Lily had no choice but to leap apart with twin, exasperated huffs.
He couldn’t believe her. Even now, after everything Snape had done, she was still rushing to his defence as if the slimy git had any right to her loyalty. He shot a glance at Sirius, who raised an eyebrow, and Peter, who looked like he was about to speak but thought better of it. Before James could fully digest the ridiculousness of it all, however, Slughorn’s voice interrupted his train of thought again.
“Quickly, come in, you’ve still got time…” He was ushering in the stragglers, Snape and Mulciber and Avery among them, all three still visibly incensed.
The familiar clatter of cauldrons and clinking vials followed, the sounds of students shifting about to set up their stations. But James could feel Lily still standing a few paces away from him, the fact of her presence more noticeable with every passing second. She wasn’t looking at him; in fact, she was facing entirely the other direction with her arms tightly crossed. But it was the first time James had ever seen her look so… unsure.
Of course, he realised all of a sudden. She had nowhere to go. Snape, her usual partner, had reportedly not been on speaking terms with her since the incident last year, and her closest mates Mary and Marlene were already huddled together at a different workstation.
James might have smirked at the irony of it all if he wasn’t sure she’d hex him for it. He tore his gaze away, trying to focus on gathering his own ingredients, but it was impossible to ignore her lingering so close. He almost started to say something, but it didn’t take a genius to grasp that anything that came out of his mouth at the moment would be the wrong thing no matter what.
And, well, as it happened, James did possess a bit of that – genius – so he kept mum.
Slughorn, meanwhile, had long begun his droning about their NEWT syllabus— but, halfway through his enthusiastic introduction, he seemed to notice the peculiar standoff at the back. His bushy eyebrows drew together in confusion. “Miss Evans,” he called out cheerfully, “You seem a little… adrift today. Have you lost your partner?”
Lily’s head snapped up. “No, I— er—”
Slughorn only clucked in sympathy. “Ah, no worries, no worries! Plenty of space to go around… oh! Mr Potter.” His eyes lit up as though he’d just made a great discovery. “You’re working alone today, aren’t you?”
James’s eyes went round as he realised where this would inevitably go. Both he and Lily blurted at the same time:
“I’m alright, professor, really—” “I’ll find someone else—”
But Slughorn waved away their protests with a careless, broad smile. “Nonsense, a wonderful opportunity for collaboration! Both top-notch students. This will be quite the pairing, I imagine.” He clapped his hands as if to signal the end of the discussion, and that was that.
Looking like she’d swallowed something sour, Lily inched toward James’s station again reluctantly. James, for his part, pushed his cauldron as far apart from her as possible, shrugging when he noticed Sirius throw him a bitter look over his shoulder.
“We’ll begin with a quick revision of your OWL-level ingredients…” Slughorn was waffling on.
Lily – who’d set her things down – drummed on their counter distractedly. James watched out of the corner of his eye as she turned slightly, apparently about to speak to him, but stopped, her head snapping forward again… then pausing, turning once more.
“…Look,” she whispered, “I… I appreciate the… sentiment… but honestly, have you ever heard of proportionate retribution? And can’t you think for two seconds— isn’t it obvious why Sev said it at all?”
James scrunched his nose up at her. He grabbed his quill, scribbled a note on his parchment, and shoved it across the counter.
Can’t with the chit-chatting. Actually trying to stay out of trouble for once. Don’t care about Snivellus’s excuses.
Lily blinked, a genuine look of bafflement on her face. “You? Stay out of trouble?” she whispered.
James rolled his eyes, sliding his parchment back. Need to be around when Remus gets back from you-know-what, he wrote, showing her again.
Lily’s mouth formed a silent “oh.” She jerked her head up, eyes flitting this way and that with impressive speed, a look James was more than familiar with from his own gang – she was making sure no one was snooping. Intrigued, he watched as she slipped her wand out under the counter, whispering something that sounded a bit like, “Muffliato.”
“There,” she declared, at a regular volume that startled James. “We can talk freely now.”
James blinked. “…We can?” he tested, and sure enough, no one turned to look at him – not even Sirius.
“Cool.” James cocked his head. “What charm was that? Did you say ‘Muffliato?’”
“It’s not, it’s something Sev invented— never mind,” Lily sighed. “As I was saying— he clearly had to make something up about why he and I used to be… you know… or else that lot might have harmed him for causing the scene he did last term.”
James snorted, half-scowling at his blameless cauldron just so he wouldn’t need to look at her. “You mean when he quite literally stalked Gryffindor Tower until you were forced to acknowledge him?” he returned.
“Would you stop making it out like I’m saying he did anything right?” Lily scowled back. “I’m not. I’m only stating a fact – he hangs around dangerous people.”
“He chooses to!” James argued.
“Yes, obviously, he does!” Lily threw her hands up briefly, and they made a slapping noise as they landed on the counter again. “Which is exactly why he’s got to lie, innit? He’s got to explain—”
“—You? He’s got to explain you?” James lifted both eyebrows. “Unbelievable, Evans. You know, you strike me as a girl with a bit more self-respect than that.”
“I’m not saying it’s alright!” she snapped. Evidently, Snivellus’s charm only covered their noise, and not their movements, because the violent gesture that had accompanied her outburst caused Slughorn to call, “I hope all’s well back there?”
“Fine, professor,” they responded in unison, and with the exact same impatient tone. The Muffliato charm appeared to only work at a certain volume, for Slughorn acknowledged the shout with somewhat baffled nodding.
They turned to one another again: “How much did you hear of what Severus said to me before you and Frank came investigating, last year, anyway?” Lily demanded.
James crossed his arms stubbornly. “Oh, sure, Evans. Insult me in front of all our friends, make a dreadful accusation upon my character, and then expect me to oblige whenever you want me to tell you something regardless.”
He watched, half-surprised, as Lily’s face actually turned pinkish in response. He’d expected more vitriol, not actual remorse… his accusation didn’t even really hold water, he’d only felt spiteful.
He shifted uncomfortably.
“…I was wrong,” she murmured, talking to her hands, which fidgeted with each other. “I-I mean, I stand by the, er, general sentiment – that hexing people for no good reason isn’t right. I wish you’d stop, and you ought to stop.” She lifted her head again, brilliant greens meeting James’s eyes directly, fairly taking his breath away. “But, but you’re not responsible for Severus’s choices – no one is. People… people have been through what he’s been through without winding up supporting genocide.” She shrugged morosely. “So, well, erm, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I was upset, and I wanted to lash out at— something, and… you happened to be there.”
James could only gawk at her. To say he hadn’t been expecting that would’ve been an utter understatement; something uncomfortably close to shame crawled up his throat. Merlin – he almost wished she’d go back to telling him off.
He turned back to his cauldron, his own face quite warm. He was acting like a petulant child, wasn’t he? He sighed. “…We didn’t… actually hear anything,” he mumbled. “Rather, I didn’t, I dunno about Frank and the rest. You and Snape were sort of whisper-shouting, y’know, and over each other, at that. It was all… jumbled, like. Couldn’t make out words— speaking for myself, I just saw him grab ya, and… didn’t bother with anything else. Had to stop him.”
When he stole a glance, Lily looked quite sad and faraway. It made his heart clench painfully.
He turned again, glowering at the counter. “I don’t like how he treats you,” he bit. “I don’t like how he treats anyone, but especially you – you supported him. You don’t deserve it.”
“So you think that warrants constantly humiliating him?” Lily shook her head. “You’re not the judge of that, James. You’re just not.”
“Fine, whatever, maybe you’re right,” James shot back, “But how does it warrant you defending him, either? You cut him off. You clearly concede he’s not a good bloke.”
Lily crossed her arms, fixing him with a hard look. Not a glare, there wasn’t enough fury in it to justify calling it that; only something so unyielding and full of conviction that it intimidated James far more than a glare could have.
“Unlike you, I don’t only stand up for my friends,” she said. “And at some point you’re going to have to ask yourself, James Potter – do you have principles, or do you just have people you like and people you don’t?”
It winded him worse than if she’d thrown a punch. James stared at his shoes. He must have been silent for a bit too long, because he heard her exhale wearily.
“…You saved his life,” she murmured. He jerked his head up, surprised, but she only shook hers dismissively. “Yeah, I… heard about what happened. You saved his life – why’d you bother?”
James frowned. “What’d you mean, why? He’s… a person, I don’t want him dead.”
Lily’s face transformed into something inexplicably like relief, and she snapped her hands forward, as if pointing him out. “So you’ve got it, really,” she said. “You’ve got it, just… give yourself a chance.”
James felt his eyebrows furrow. “Give myself a chance?” he echoed, not comprehending.
Lily nodded firmly. She was bracing herself with one hand on the counter now, the other resting on her hip so that her pose was at a slight angle. Merlin, it wasn’t fair how pretty she was, even as she stared him down – it was utterly distracting.
“To be your best,” she clarified, averting her eyes. “Because… because from what people have said… and from what I’ve seen… that’s probably something rather…”
She didn’t finish her sentence, however, fingers rapping at the counter in an almost frenetic little rhythm. “I dunno.” She sighed. “Whatever. It’s not my job to straighten you out.”
“No, hang on, something was on the tip of your tongue,” James insisted, and he turned to face her entirely, crossing his arms. “Well, you might as well, yeah? Not like you haven’t said worse.”
She huffed, straightened, and returned her attention to her own things. “Leave it,” she said.
Before he could think it through, James quickly snatched her cauldron, yanking it toward his side of the counter. “Oi!” she glared at him, indignant.
“Tell me,” he repeated, both eyebrows arched as he shielded his improvised hostage from her grasp.
“You’re incorrigible,” Lily huffed.
But she faced him fully again. “It’s just— I dunno, James, you take so much pride in breaking the rules, you lot, but at the same time you only do what’s expected of you.”
James’s frown deepened, utterly confused. “I don’t think anyone in the world could accuse me of that…”
“No?” Her gaze was pointed. “Oh, right, yeah, because you always stray off the beaten path, don’t you.” Sarcastically. “Exactly what is expected of you when you pass by Severus, then? When your mates are bored? When you… when you’re talking to m—to girls and you’ve got an audience, rather than… like this.”
And now there was a melancholy, almost pleading look in her eyes, beneath the chastisement. James could hardly turn away.
“I mean, for Merlin’s sake, pick one,” she said. “You’re going to have to eventually. Is it the rich, popular boy— the Quidditch lad thing— for the rest of your life, or is it…” She paused. Her neck had swivelled to the front again, and she made a frustrated noise. “I dunno. Almost everyone seems to think you’re better. Remus all but bit my head off for implying otherwise, the other day. I just don’t see why… if you are better… you wouldn’t… choose to be that more often. I guess.”
She worried at her lip as if hesitating to say what she did next, but took in a deep breath, like she was steeling herself. “Look, I know what Sirius did. I’ve worked it out. And, while, yeah, I was wrong to blame Severus’s decisions on you, that doesn’t mean you haven’t got some responsibility in… I-I mean, haven’t you ever… stopped and considered that, maybe, maybe Sirius wouldn’t have felt so comfortable doing something like that to him if you hadn’t utterly dehumanised him in front of your group by that point? You’ve said he’s a person, but you don’t treat him like one, and— I dunno— maybe it’s unfair to say, but surely that had a bit to do with why Sirius doesn’t appear to feel the same way as you, yeah?”
James, contemplating all this, had shifted away from her cauldron absentmindedly, and she pulled it back. With a sigh, “I suppose that’s none of my business.”
He found himself at a loss for words, forced to stare at his own apparatus, without really seeing it, for a while. At the front, Slughorn was instructing them on the first potion of the year – he’d forgotten to so much as open his textbook, James realised, and did so, not that his attention was actually on it.
There was a knot in his chest that was deeply uncomfortable, and – desperate to be rid of it – he tilted his head toward Lily again. “…Well, I… I’m sorry, too,” he managed.
She turned slightly, one eyebrow raised. “Do you even know what you’re sorry for?”
“I’ve got an inkling,” James exhaled, ruefully. Uncomfortable with the sombreness of the moment, he ventured a half-heartedly joking, “You’ve preached an entire sermon, Evans, Merlin— give us a minute to digest. Or d’you want me to write you several feet of parchment’s worth of an essay on it afterward? I can.”
That made her features soften, at least. Charmed and rather sheepish, James confessed, “No, I’m not being funny, I actually do feel like I ought to have taken notes just then. That was a lot.”
The side of Lily’s face had turned a pretty shade of pink. “I had a lot buried,” she half-shrugged at her cauldron.
James huffed. “Evidently.”
A much less tense silence fell between them, as they set to doing their own work, or at least attempted to – James was juggling his pieces of ginger root between both palms aimlessly, and Lily kept stealing glances at him, too. He’d caught her once or twice, having been unable to fight the urge to do the same thing himself.
Eventually – having set her potion aside to simmer – Lily cleared her throat. “So, er…” She was tapping on the counter again, not quite meeting James’s eyes. Her lips twitched from side to side restlessly, and James understood that she was looking for something less divisive to talk about.
Nice of her to bother, he thought. His heart skipped a beat.
“I suppose Muffliato will be all over the school by tomorrow,” was what she settled on, at length.
James blinked. “Hmm?”
She gave him an unimpressed look. “Sev was always complaining about how you’d pick up his spells the minute he used them on you. And pass them along, at that.”
James snorted, amused. “Well, why does he feel the need to hoard them, then? If you’ve got spells you’ve worked hard to create, you ought to share them with wizardkind, that’s what I say.”
“Oh, and you share yours, do you?” There was a lovely twinkle in her eye.
“That’s different.” James pushed his glasses further up along the bridge of his nose. “Mine are mostly for laughs. Entirely pointless outside of that.”
But he’d clearly piqued her curiosity, because she turned to him, folding her arms. “Go on, then,” she demanded, “Like what?”
Entertained by her attention, and wanting an outlet for the odd, fluttery feeling in his stomach, James affected a lofty, “No, I don’t think so.”
That made her gawk at him, blinking like a startled bird. It took everything in James to hide a smile.
“James,” she hissed.
“Lily,” he returned.
She stepped closer. He hummed an off-key tune, nonchalant.
She took him by the elbows and spun him around; not enough strength in it to have actually done it, but James let her, smirking as he did, so she managed. “Show me one,” she insisted; she’d gone a self-conscious red. It made James grin, that breathless feeling threatening to overwhelm him, send him into hysterics.
He drew his wand, a corner of his lips still upturned crookedly as he watched her.
“Just remember, you asked,” he warned.
Lily huffed. She crossed her arms, one foot tapping impatiently on the floor. “I did,” she returned, with a defiant tilt of her chin.
Shrugging exaggeratedly, James pointed his wand at her. He made a quick figure-eight motion in the air: “Spargere Scintillat,” he drawled.
A shower of glitter immediately rained down upon her, sprinkling Lily’s head and shoulders with a burst of tiny sparkles. Lily gasped, stunned, her mouth a soundless circle.
For a second she just stood there like that, her auburn hair looking like tinsel. It suited her, James thought, his heart swelling. She looked like a fairy – not the real things, vicious creatures, but the ones out of Muggle picture-books. Tinkerbell and her pixie dust.
Then the moment passed, and Lily’s still-startled eyes met his, and she exhaled accusatorily, “James!”
James’s grin widened. “Lily?”
And they burst out laughing. That tight knot of tension that had been sitting between them instantly unravelled with it. The break in Lily’s concentration must have caused her Muffliato charm to momentarily stop, because Slughorn’s voice called out, “Mr Potter, really! I expect better behaviour from you than—”
But Lily, still giggling, held up a hand to stop him. “No, professor, it’s alright! I asked him to demonstrate.” She wiped at the glitter still raining lightly from her shoulders. “It’s not a prank.”
Slughorn raised a bushy brow, looking between the two of them, clearly dubious. “Are you certain, Miss Evans? Because I’d hate to think young Potter has been pulling another one of his stunts on my top student.”
Lily shook her head, still smiling, her cheeks flushed from the mirth. “Really, it was me. Oh, please don’t give him detention.”
Slughorn harrumphed, although there was a hint of a smile twitching at the corner of his lips. “Very well, very well. But no more glitter in my class. This is a Potions lesson, not a ballroom.”
James winked at Lily as Slughorn turned away, and she rolled her eyes in response, but there was no hiding the amusement in her expression regardless.
James could have easily Vanished the glitter, of course, but he didn’t. It looked so nice, little diamonds on Lily’s perfect skin. He inched closer toward her, leaned in and whispered: “Once, I said the incantation wrong, and accidentally invented a spaghetti variation…”
Lily chortled into her palm, trying to send him a chastising look in spite of it. “You’re awful,” she half-whispered, half-laughed. “And you’ve spoilt my potion!” Pointing to where little flecks of the sparkling dust had fallen into her cauldron.
Still grinning helplessly, James swapped it for his own, an apology. It would be worth the extra lecture from Slughorn to have made her laugh like that.
“’Least it wasn’t spaghetti,” he quipped, nonetheless.
She shook her head, although her smile remained. Then she fished out her own wand, cleaning the glitter off on her own.
Chuckling, James returned his attention to his own work, wondering if he could salvage the potion. Sirius had turned around, however, and he caught his best friend’s eye: he was frowning, his brows furrowed.
James responded with a quizzical look of his own, mouthing, “What?”
Sirius said nothing, although his lips thinned. Faced forward again.
Perplexed, James was about to reach out and tap him on the shoulder, but he heard Lily cast another Muffliato. He turned toward her, expectant.
“Talking of avoiding detention,” she said, tentatively, “Did you mean that you go to see Remus? After he’s, erm… finished with… you know…”
James nodded. “Yup. Madam Pomfrey usually lets us, a bit after moonset.”
“Oh, good. Oh, of course Madam Pomfrey knows. Thank Merlin.” Lily sounded genuinely relieved, and even her face showed concern. “So he’s got a proper Healer. And company. D’you reckon I could see him, too? I’d be really, really careful not to let on to Mary and Marlene, I promise.”
James smiled, grateful that she cared. “I’d ask Madam Pomfrey,” he answered. “If she allows it, I’m sure she’d tell you what to do.”
“Right, yeah, good idea.” Lily nodded briskly. “I’ll do that, then. Give him my best, in case I can’t, won’t you?”
“On my honour,” he promised. Merlin – but she really was fantastic, to the core. Actually cared about Remus; reasoned with James even though she thought he was dreadful; minded Snape’s… humanity… after everything he’d done.
If you are better, choose to be that more often, her voice echoed in James’s mind.
He couldn’t help fixing a contemplative look on his cauldron for a long time.
Now that James and the rest were able to join him, Remus and the wolf seemed to be of one mind more often, James observed. There was intelligence to its choices, not a mindless, instinctive ferocity, anymore. For instance, at the moment, now that the night had begun to wind down, Remus – or the wolf? – appeared to sense it, even before the slightest sign of the moon setting. It always did that; didn’t matter if they were frolicking in the middle of the forest, or halfway along the deserted backstreets of Hogsmeade – when it was time, the wolf would perk up, turn right around, and lead the way back to the Shrieking Shack. The rest of them had no choice but to follow.
Remus didn’t like them to watch him transform, was the thing. They all knew to stop at the front of his ramshackle prison, when the wolf entered it. Sirius was the only one who’d actually seen it happen, in second year, and that was without Remus’s knowledge; he’d followed him, back then. James sort of understood: the Animagus transformation was different, merely another form of transfiguration, and all he usually saw when he watched Peter and Sirius shift was a sort of… swirling of the air around them, not unlike when transfiguring something with his wand.
Remus’s was a true transformation, and James could imagine it would likely be quite grotesque for a body to actually, physically change from a human’s to a wolf’s, and vice versa. He thought, if it hadn’t fazed Sirius that much, it might not bother him, either, but he understood why Remus didn’t want to risk the chance, however miniscule, of James and Peter never looking at him the same way again. Sympathy already seemed to chafe at Remus’s pride, as it was; James could see how pity would be anathema altogether. Or worse yet, revulsion – James didn’t think he was particularly squeamish, but he suspected Peter might be.
So, as always, they paused at the barbed-wire fence surrounding the Shack while the wolf went ahead. Sirius, whether consciously or unconsciously, tried to take a step closer, but James in his stag form skipped ahead and blocked the shaggy dog’s path. Dating or not, he thought that’d probably warrant a conversation between the pair of them first.
He watched until the wolf had re-entered the Shack and shut the door with a lazy nudge of its nose. Gave it a moment or two longer to be sure the locking charms had done their job, and then shifted back into human form.
Sirius and Peter had done the same. “Christ, I’ll never get used to having to listen to that,” Sirius winced, as the noise that gave the Shack its name started up – the moon had set.
“Bit better than before, at least?” James offered, but gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder nonetheless – then, turning around: “Who’s got the time?”
“’Bout a quarter past five,” Peter answered, having checked his watch. “What’d you reckon, breakfast in the kitchens or kip until seven?” (They normally checked in on Remus around that time. If Madam Pomfrey deemed him awake and well enough, she’d let them picnic with him; if he was sleeping off his aches and potions, they went straight to the Great Hall or, now that they spent the moon nights with him, back to bed themselves, their visiting postponed for later.)
“Breakfast in the kitchens; Madam Pomfrey’ll probably take about that long to patch Moony up; then see if he’s awake,” Sirius answered in a tone that brooked no argument. James very much doubted Remus would be, but didn’t protest. Sirius’s urgency was not a new thing that came with he and Remus seeing each other at all; the poor blighter had been visibly itching to dash off to Remus’s side after their night-time wanderings even the year prior, it was only that the two of them had been on the outs at the time, so he hadn’t actually been able to follow through then.
And then of course there was the early years, when Sirius would outright nick James’s Cloak and sneak into the Hospital Wing when his more above-board attempts would get him kicked out by their strict matron. James and Peter only did that if they had something urgent they absolutely needed to see Moony about, before the time Madam Pomfrey usually allowed them in that is, but for Sirius it’d been imperative no matter what. James supposed there would always be a part of Sirius that’d never quite trust the adults with… well, anything, really, but probably least of all his near and dear ones.
“Sounds good.” He slung his arms around Sirius’s and Peter’s shoulders, steering them along the path back to the passageway that would take them into Hogwarts. The castle was almost totally silent still, when they emerged from behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy. James considered ditching the Cloak altogether and simply strolling toward the kitchens – it didn’t seem like even Filch was about – but the idea made Peter antsy, so they had to huddle under it, anyway. Peter rode in James’s pocket as a rat, so they would fit. They had a quick breakfast (James and Peter would’ve probably taken their time, but Sirius scarfed his own food down, necessitating the same out of them), and then made the trek toward the infirmary.
Predictably, Madam Pomfrey told them to come again later, even after Sirius’s usual insistences that they’d be quiet as dormice, wouldn’t disturb Remus’s rest. James actually did believe that – there was nothing that could bring out Sirius’s rare, gentle side like an ill or morose Moony. It was himself and Peter James didn’t trust, the boredom would make him restless. With a half-fond, half-forbearing exhale at the sight of Sirius’s crumpled expression, as soon as Madam shut the door on them James held the Cloak out to him.
“Go on, then,” he said. “Just don’t forget we’ve got Muggle Studies at nine.”
“Fab.” Sirius took it with a grin. Chuckling, James pulled Peter toward himself by the neck, already twisting them in the direction of Gryffindor Tower:
“Give Moony a snog from us, too.”
Peter chortled, and Sirius returned, “You wish.”
James and Peter ducked into a shortcut toward their dorms, then napped for a bit – well, Peter managed more than “a bit,” but James had to be up for class. Sirius napped in class – then they all went back to the Hospital Wing right after.
“You really, really don’t need to come down on top of us having been out together,” Remus protested as usual. He was looking a bit pale and exhausted – faint shadows under his eyes, the skin over his cheekbones stretched too thin. His hands, lying limply on top of the covers, trembled ever so slightly, and there was a hollow look about him like some essential spark had temporarily dimmed, although he still smiled weakly at them all.
At least there weren’t any scratches and bruises to be seen anymore, anyway; no bandages or purpling on what was visible of him.
“You’d have to kill me to be rid of me,” Sirius declared with a languid smile; he was curled up on the bed with Remus, head on his boyfriend’s shoulder, a careful hand idly caressing one arm as lightly as though Remus were made of paper-thin glass.
“Well, how am I supposed to top that?” James feigned indignation. He threw both hands up for the added effect. “No wonder you ditched me for him, Moonykins.”
Sirius smirked, and Remus laughed, wincing as he did: “Ow, ow, ow, not now, Prongs, fuck, that hurts.”
“Quick, tell a sad one instead,” Peter joked along. “Erm, er— oh! How about that time we went to Honeydukes, and they were completely out of Chocolate Frogs?”
Remus snorted, immediately grimacing right after. “What is wrong with you both?”
James chuckled. Sirius sang, “Poor baby,” indulgently, then leaned across Remus, and picked up the jar of dittany on the bedside drawer. He scooped up a little, perfunctorily sliding his hand up Remus’s jumper, presumably to massage it into his sides. The gesture was token, no more intimate than Madam Pomfrey would have done, but Remus sort of hid behind his own hair for a bit, what James could see of his face rather pinkish.
Evidently Sirius was a lot more comfortable with displaying it than Remus was. Mindful of that now, James obligingly turned to look at something else for a while.
And then there was a knock on the door, and Sirius really did have to leap apart with impressive speed. He went from Remus’s side to the stool by the bed in under a second.
Madam Pomfrey poked her head in with a rare half-a-smile on her face. “Remus? You’ve got another visitor,” she announced.
“Me?” Remus blinked, and James turned, beaming – he’d hoped, of course.
Madam Pomfrey stepped aside, and there she was: Lily, pretty as ever, holding a little bouquet of daisies and lavender, her brow furrowed in concern. Her steps were tentative, all of her usual confidence dampened by the unfamiliarity of the situation. She seemed to glance around quickly, but as soon as her eyes lit on the bed, she smiled wide, rushing toward Remus before anything else.
For his part, Remus had straightened further, too, wide-eyed. “Lily! What—?”
“Oh, you don’t look as bad as I’d feared, thank Merlin,” she sighed, immediately scooping Remus up in a one-armed embrace. (James wondered what she felt like, if she squeezed or caressed, whether she wore perfume and if so, would Remus always feel like he’d been hugged by her when he smelled it…)
“Still like death warmed over, mind,” she teased lightly as she eased away, “But better? How’re you feeling? Here, I thought these might liven up the room for you.”
All of this in one prompt, easy breath, and with an air of inexplicable authority she turned, set the bouquet on the bedside drawer, and offered the rest of them smiles:
“Hullo, Peter.” (Little wave that Pete returned, equally friendly.)
And then her eyes met James’s, and James couldn’t have stopped the grin that split his face if he’d tried.
“…James.” She nodded, her own smile a touch more hesitant, now. Awkward, unsure. But there was something sort of amused in her eyes – conspiratorial. James liked the thought of that.
“Lily,” he echoed, smirking right back.
Sirius cut in, “Fancy seeing you here, Yoko,” in an affectedly quiet, almost condescending tone. He’d stood off his stool, had arched an eyebrow in lieu of a smile. His eyes flicked toward James and back again.
“Hullo to you too, Sirius,” Lily returned, just as clipped and forcibly polite.
Sirius sent her a smile so tight it was almost a sneer. He turned to James, stepping forward: “Prongs? Can I have a word?”
Trying not to sigh, James stood. Lily, meanwhile, had sat down on the bed by Remus’s knee; Remus hadn’t noticed Sirius’s change of mood at all, far too touched by her presence. It was much too obvious to not notice, his face had surprised gratitude written all over it, and the touch of his hand on Lily’s shoulder, however feeble still, was also eager, welcoming.
“How’d you…?”
“Well, Madam Pomfrey…”
Their voices faded into the background as James followed Sirius out of the quarantine room. The moment the door clicked shut again behind them, Sirius spun around, sharp eyes sweeping the empty ward around them. Madam Pomfrey was nowhere in sight, probably in her office, and evidently satisfied with this Sirius faced James again. His brow was knit, lips pulled into a thin, tight line. “You invited her to see Moony?” he whispered.
James – leaning against the wall now – arched a quizzical eyebrow. “No, she asked. She’s his friend too, why not?”
Sirius’s eyes flashed. “But she’s not yours, is she?” he hissed. “In case you’ve forgotten what she—”
“Hang on,” James interrupted, holding up a hand. He glanced around quickly, then drew his wand and muttered, “Muffliato.”
He could feel the charm settling. Pocketing his wand again, James turned to Sirius with deliberate calm. “Some sort of audio-specific variation on the Imperturbable Charm that she showed me, yesterday,” he explained. “Go on.”
Sirius looked even more unimpressed, lip curling slightly. “Charm that she showed you…? Prongs.” He let out a sharp, humourless laugh, crossing his arms over his chest.
James sighed. Straightened up from the wall. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, giving Sirius a look that was both patient and exasperated. “Look, Pads… I appreciate the concern, but that’s behind us now, you know? It’s been a whole summer, and we’ve— and I mean, maybe she had a—”
“If you say she had a point, I swear on Merlin,” Sirius cut in, a finger raised as if to stop James from even uttering the words. “She accused you of turning Snape into a Death Eater! That’s not even remotely fair— or accurate, for that matter. What point could she have had?”
James opened his mouth to retort, then paused at Sirius’s fiery gaze. “She’s apologised,” he said, softer now, though resolute.
For a brief moment, the only sound between them was the muted ticking of a distant clock echoing faintly in the sterile quiet of the main ward.
Sirius passed a hand over his face. “She’s toying with you,” he said. “She is, and I don’t like it, and I don’t have to like it no matter what you say.”
“Well, alright, then, don’t,” James lifted both shoulders in a sort of arrested shrug, aware his expression was both impatient and contending all at once. “We’re only talking, Padfoot.”
“You still fancy her.” Matter-of-fact, and of course James stood no chance of lying to Sirius of all people.
He sighed. “Doesn’t matter,” he said, ignoring the pang in his chest that came with the words. “We’ve got to get on somewhat, right? We’re housemates… and, anyway, she and Moony, yeah? I don’t see you giving him an earful about it.”
Sirius crossed his arms stubbornly. “Moony’s got carte blanche to do whatever the fuck he pleases with no input from me, after what I did to him last year. And it’s not him she treats like crap, mate, it’s you.”
“She doesn’t.” James groaned. He had to fight the urge to stomp in place with the frustration of it. “She’s honest! I don’t mind – as a matter of fact, I prefer it.”
Sirius pinched the bridge of his nose. “This’ll end badly,” he muttered, but – thank Merlin – didn’t labour his point.
He only threw an annoyed look at the door to the quarantine room. “She won’t become one of us,” was his final retort.
But James thought of the picture they’d left behind in there: Lily and Remus chatting away happily; how pleased Remus had been to see her; Peter listening on with a keen smile of his own.
She’s halfway there, James thought, and knew it was true – felt it in his heart.
He didn’t say so, however, having noted that Sirius sounded more like he was trying to convince himself, rather than James.
Notes:
“Durga-Ma:” Mother Durga (the goddess).
Chapter 5
Notes:
Every comment, kudos, bookmark, and hit means the world to me! Thank you for being part of this story!
We’ll be going with around three or four years for the age difference between Petunia and Lily, for the record.
Shoutout to Milo for letting me borrow “Lily-pad” as an endearment!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Sitting on top of the picnic table in the back garden, a guitar propped under her arm and the sky a pleasant violet above her, Lily mused that it would have been quite a serene summer evening – if it weren’t punctuated by the cacophony of Mum and Petunia having a massive row that wafted outside from beyond the kitchen door.
Lily sighed. Honestly, the suburban side of Cokeworth in this weather was nice enough, otherwise: not too hot and not too cold, generally a quiet place that she supposed could be dull to anyone who wasn’t a student returning home from the chaos of Hogwarts. All of the houses had tall walls and fences, giving each the illusion that it was a world unto its own, and most of the families that lived there were ordinary, middle class, not unlike the Evanses themselves. Too ordinary and middle class to get up to anything remotely interesting.
If one were to look for something interesting in this town, they’d cross “the tunnel,” which wasn’t really a tunnel at all in Lily’s opinion; it was too small. Up the slight incline of the Evans’s street and down the steps on the right (that nobody really took, because if they were going up said incline they’d likelier be after the bus stop straight ahead). “The tunnel” stood under the road that the buses crossed, and served as something of a border, even if no one called it that.
Not in so many words, anyway. All the girls were warned not to go under it after dark, and all the boys that had any rebellion in them (a rarity in the area) could be found loitering there at said time, smoking or vandalising the walls.
The natives of the suburbs did not go beyond that spot, however; although occasionally the residents of the other side would cross over, mostly to visit the park, or to hail a bus. Beyond it was a more disadvantaged area, beginning with a brief cluster of small houses – workers’ homes from the industrial era – that gradually gave way to the row of terraced houses that was Spinner’s End, where Severus and his family lived.
Lily often thought that Spinner’s End wasn’t aptly named, because it wasn’t any sort of “End” at all; it continued on to the old textile mills, to the river beyond it all. Her own street felt more like an “End.” An end to the suburbs and middle class monotony, in the literal sense; but also, in a more figurative one, the demarcation line between Lily’s life at home and Lily’s life with Sev.
For that was where it had all begun, wasn’t it? Crossing that tunnel…
A particularly histrionic shout from Petunia brought her back to the present moment, and, reflexively, Lily’s hand picked up where it had paused in strumming her guitar. She wasn’t even aware of what she was playing, at first, the tune only catching up to her a heartbeat after her fingers had resumed their movements: My Bonnie lies over the ocean…
It was an incongruous serenade to the argument in the background, maybe, but that only amused Lily in a wry sort of way, so she went on.
My Bonnie lies over the ocean…
“—Perfectly reasonable to expect your, your intended to dress like a self-respecting woman ought to! I don’t want to embarrass Vernon in front of his—”
My Bonnie lies over the sea…
“—Only saying, Petunia, that I worry— if he starts dictating you now, when you’ve hardly been together a year, then—”
My Bonnie lies over the ocean…
“—Not dictating me! It’s natural, and, and right, and your morals are just completely skewed from—”
Oh, bring back my Bonnie to me…
The sound of the door clicking open behind her made Lily pause and turn. Her father had evidently chosen to abandon the battlefield inside as well, like she had, and was currently walking up to her with a sheepish half-a-smile.
He often looked sheepish, Dad did. Came with being the sort of man he was – a gentle and rather shy creature, which gave him the air of constantly “apologising for the intrusion” wherever he went. He had blondish hair, thinning nowadays and grey at the sides. A straight nose, faint lines around his forehead and eyes, the eyes themselves the same shade of bright green as Lily’s. An average build, slightly stooped not from poor posture but from the way Dad tended to walk in general.
She couldn’t in full honesty say that she loved him more than Mum, whom she genuinely cherished just as much, but she would admit to loving Harry Evans with a special love reserved only for him.
She smiled back warmly.
“Hello, kiddums,” he greeted in that nice, sing-song way of his. Up-and-down on the “hell-low,” and he enunciated it that way, too: hell, stressed on the syllable. Not rushing to get to the end of the word like everybody else.
“How’s it out here compared to in there?”
“Heavenly, daddy,” Lily answered with a sardonic huff.
“Oh, good. Might as well join you, then.” Dad chuckled, under his breath as he usually did.
They stayed together in companionable quiet for a while, the only sound other than Mum and Petunia being Lily plucking at the strings of the guitar every now and again.
“Who’d have thought Tuney handing over all her old trousers would kick off World War III, eh?” she marvelled, eventually.
Dad exhaled another breath of amusement, although when Lily turned she thought the look in his eyes seemed rather faraway.
He cleared his throat: “…You know, love…” (Pausing, as if searching for the best words,) “I, erm… I’m not going to pretend I know much about… your world, you know, growing up as girls, and all that. I tend to leave that to your mum.”
“Wise decision,” said Lily, faux-loftily, making him smile and pat her on the shoulder.
“Still,” he continued, a little more seriously, “I’ve been thinking. Maybe I should have had a word with Petunia, you know, before she…” He trailed off.
“Upped and left for London,” Lily finished for him, knowing he would dance around the subject, unlike her and Mum – and Petunia herself, really. Poor old Dad, surrounded by strong wills.
“Right.” Dad gave a nervous laugh. “And, erm… well, that got me thinking about you, too. Would you mind if I… shared a few thoughts, sweetheart? Some of the things I wish I’d said before?”
“Dad, say it,” Lily smiled affectionately. She twisted around on the table so that they could face one another. “I’m all ears.”
He nodded as if to himself. His hands were in his pockets, a nervous gesture. “You’re about that age now.” He swayed slightly, squinting out at nothing. “Suppose we’ll be, er, potentially hearing more about… boys, and such. From you.”
“Oh.” Lily chuckled, endeared by how he was so obviously trying, despite how awkward the topic made him. Dad, glancing at her again, briefly, mirrored her smile. He rubbed at the back of his neck.
“And as much as I know we’ve raised a sensible girl who makes us both proud, and that you’re more than capable of making your own decisions… far be it from me to tell you what you should or shouldn’t do, Lily-pad,” he added with a wry, half-amused sigh. “But we thought the same about Petunia – that she’d find her own way – and, well, here we are. Maybe it’s time I gave you a bit of advice. For whatever it’s worth. You know, coming from a man, about men.”
“I’d love that,” said Lily earnestly, shaking her head to show him he wasn’t meddling. If there was one person in the world whose guidance she’d value like treasure…
Some of the nervousness in Dad’s expression faded away, and he took a seat on the bench beneath her. “Is there?” he asked. “A boy?”
Lily glanced at her fingers. A distant melancholy swept over her heart. She set her guitar aside, clasped her hands together at her lap. “…Yeah,” she murmured, talking to her shoes. “He, erm… he says he loves me. A lot. And I think…” She swallowed, feeling a knot tightening in her throat. “I-I think he really means it. The way he looks at me, dad, it’s like… like I make the whole world spin.”
She let out a shaky breath. “Which… I suppose is what I’m meant to want, right…? It’s what everyone wants. But, I dunno. It feels more like a weight than anything. And I think… I think I’ve let him down.” Her voice faltered, barely able to push the words out, and she quickly swallowed them back.
Covering her face with her hands, she tried to steady herself. “It’s… hard to explain… witchy stuff… you know.” She dragged her hands back through her hair, attempting a weak smile to make it all seem less significant, like it wasn’t eating away at her. Trying to make it sound trivial when it felt anything but.
Dad was nodding, watching her closely. He took a moment to answer; he always did, perfectly comfortable with enduring silence in order to be sure he knew what he’d be saying before saying it.
“Sounds to me like you’ve got the opposite problem to our Tuney at the moment,” he remarked.
Lily turned toward him. “Really?”
“Really,” Dad echoed with a small, sympathetic smile. “I don’t reckon I need to warn you about getting tied to some bloke who thinks he can tell you what to wear.”
“Oh, absolutely not,” Lily snorted, rolling her eyes. “I’d like to see one try.”
Dad laughed, his eyes twinkling. “So would I, to be honest. Might even buy tickets to that show.”
Lily grinned and laughed along with him.
“Well, obligatory fatherly advice anyway.” He ruffled her hair affectionately. “Promise me you’ll never settle for someone who tries to lord over you or make you feel small.”
“Never,” Lily replied, giving him a mock salute.
Dad let out a soft, amused breath, but his gaze shifted toward the kitchen door, growing more serious. “But there’s another side to it, love. There are some men… who’ll put you on such a high pedestal… that you lose sight of who you are. They’ll treat you like you’re perfect, like you’re above them in every way. And that can be just as dangerous – because eventually, they’ll wind up falling in love with an idea of you, not you.”
Lily’s lips twitched as she fought a smile. “So, what, I shouldn’t date anyone who’s nice to me either?” she teased lightly.
He chuckled, a bit more relaxed now. “Not quite what I’m getting at,” he smiled.
Then his expression restored some gravitas. “You’re a canny one for not getting taken in by that sort of so-called admiration, Lily-pad,” he said quietly. “For not letting a bit of flattery turn your head. Because, the thing is… when a man falls in love with his own idea of you, it won’t be long before… you start feeling like he’ll only love you so long as you aren’t actually yourself. Like you can’t put a foot wrong, can’t have an off day, can’t just be… human. Because the moment you do, the illusion he’s built around you starts to crack, and that’s when things can turn nasty.”
He shook his head disapprovingly. “The trouble with men like that is they won’t blame themselves for expecting the impossible. No, they’ll blame you for not living up to it. And all that adoration that might’ve once felt so nice? Oh, it’s going to sour, quick as anything, once they realise you aren’t the goddess they imagined. And that’s not on you, but you’ll be the one left paying for it.”
Swivelling his head back around to smile at Lily, he reached out and clasped her shoulder. “When the time comes, and you’re looking for someone to share your life with, I hope you find a man who sees you. You, exactly as you are, and loves her. Not because he thinks you’re some unreachable ideal, and not because he wants to mould you into what he thinks you should be either. Just… someone who’s your equal. Someone who’ll challenge you, whenever it’s needed, but respects you. Someone who can make you laugh, and knows when to take things seriously, too. Someone who’s as kind as he is strong.”
Lily felt her chest constrict. There was a flicker of recognition in her mind, and she pushed it aside as quickly as it had come.
“Because someone strong, truly strong,” Dad was continuing, voice gone a little softer, “Won’t be threatened by how bright you shine. He’ll be proud of it. He’ll want to stand beside you – not in front of you, not behind you. And that’s where he’s going to be – at your side – when there are storms to weather. Not only when it’s easy.”
She swallowed, trying not to let her thoughts stray too far toward dangerous territory. Instead, she leaned forward and kissed her father’s cheek – feeling a surge of warmth for him, and how he always seemed to know just what to say, even when he fumbled for it.
“Thanks, dad,” she whispered. “I’ll remember that.”
Dad gave her a soft look. “Good,” he said. He reached for one of her knees and squeezed.
Lily opened her mouth, but before she could get another word out, the kitchen door opened again. Her mother came stomping toward them, face flushed, arms crossed at her chest.
“She says she won’t be coming home to visit anymore,” Mum announced. “Oh, over that? I’m the unreasonable one, here?”
Even though there was nothing but frustration in her voice, Lily couldn’t help enjoying the sound of it regardless. She loved the way her mum spoke, a distinct thing that suggested an expensive education but was actually a remnant of Mum’s old abandoned aspiration for the theatre. She hadn’t been able to become Shakespeare, unfortunately, so now she taught him. But the influence remained, her words as crisp and clear as a news presenter’s, and it might have been ridiculous out of anybody else but from the deceptively stern face of Rosemary Evans, it only felt natural.
For Mum looked like a queen; as a matter of fact, she looked like the queen. She wore her hair the same way, that prim-and-proper tightly pinned bob, and held herself quite regally. Dark hair and light eyes, Celtic good looks… Lily knew that Petunia would look exactly like her when she got to that age, you could spot the similarities even now, except that Petunia was blonde.
“Do you know what the boys would do to girls who wore trousers, when I was in college?” that perfect enunciation continued its tirade, now. “They’d sneak up on us and snip at our clothes with real pairs of scissors. Real pairs of scissors! And they thought it was a laugh. Oh, all of the progress we’ve made, and Petunia thinks there’s nothing wrong with some, some boyfriend forcing her into skirts and dresses—”
“I don’t think she really means that she won’t visit anymore, mum,” Lily placated. “She’s only being dramatic. As per.”
Mum deflated, a rueful look in her eyes. “Yes, well, I wonder where she gets that from,” she sighed.
“Don’t be so harsh on yourself.” Dad pulled her close by the elbows, making one corner of Mum’s lips quirk up in spite of her mood.
Mum turned to Lily, coaxing, “Nip into her bedroom and have a word with her, later, won’t you, Lil? Smooth things over before she leaves.”
Lily snorted. “You think she’d listen to me? I’d only get an earful about what I wear, next. Oh, d’you know what – I could do, just to return them all. The trousers. I mean, I don’t think much of her tastes… in fashion or in men.”
“You and your cheek,” Mum huffed, amused and resigned all at once.
Lily laughed, shrugging impishly. “Calling that spade a spade.”
“I’ll talk to Petunia, alright?” Dad offered with a gentle smile as he rubbed at Mum’s arm where he still had his curled around it. This was a much better idea – not even Petunia could stay angry with Dad, not really. “Why don’t we go inside, and finish our tea, and sort this all out later?” he suggested.
“There’s no use, it’ll all be cold, now,” Mum sighed.
Dad stood. The dimple by his lips and creases around his eyes deepened with tenderness. “I’ll make up sandwiches with it,” he assured her. “Take one up to Tuney.”
She smiled up at him, gratitude and affection in it, and for a moment, Lily suspected they’d both forgotten she was even there, the way they looked into one another’s eyes. It made something in her heart flutter, and she knew that no words of advice her parents could offer would ever impress upon her as deeply as simply watching them – watching this.
Because of them, Lily had long resolved to go unmarried rather than settle for anything less. She didn’t mind her own company, after all.
“Come on, Lil,” Dad slung his free arm around her shoulder, now. “Give us a hand. Let your mother have—”
“—Some quality time with three or four glasses of wine?” Lily teased, which made them all chuckle.
“God knows I need it,” Mum huffed, and Dad said, “I was going to say ‘a break,’ but that’ll do, too.”
He steered them both in the direction of the kitchen once again. Lily smiled contentedly, musing about how she no longer understood Petunia like she used to: there was nowhere else Lily would rather be.
After tallying the sorry number of application forms that they found on their new office desk, Professor Vaughn assured Lily that this lacklustre turnout was exactly what she’d been expecting.
“We’ll put up another round of notices, after the first edition has gone out,” she said. “People will be more likely to join once they’ve got a better idea of whether it would be worth their time or not.”
Still, Lily couldn’t help her disappointment. She’d really been hoping for a proper first meeting of The Quillman’s editorial team at last.
“I’d really been hoping—”
“Fer a proper first meeting, aye, we ken,” Marlene groaned, shooting Lily an annoyed look over her plate of bangers and mash. “Ye’ve only said it aboot five hundred times in the past hour.”
“Sorry.” Lily sighed, nudging her own empty dishes away. “I’ve just got no idea what to do with my weekend now… none of the teachers have started setting that much homework yet, either.”
She really had spent far too much of her free time with Severus in the past, she thought— and instantly shoved the notion aside.
Mary, meanwhile, giggled. “Only you would be disappointed by that, Lil. Anyway, haven’t you been paying attention to your calendar? Tomorrow’s—”
“The Hogsmeade weekend, I know.” Lily set both elbows on the table and slumped against them. It was “the” Hogsmeade weekend and not “a” Hogsmeade weekend for a reason; they’d never had one in September before. Normally, the first one would be in October, and then monthly from there. A September trip into the village meant a trip before serious classes, before the new Quidditch season, and just generally a freer one than it might have been otherwise.
Naturally, that meant a flurry of romantic rendezvouses being planned for that weekend among most of the student body – as copious as if it’d coincided with Valentine’s Day.
So it was “the” Hogsmeade weekend in current Hogwarts parlance. Lily had no date, however, so she exhaled once again.
“That’s no use, either. I haven’t got any shopping to do yet, and you lot have plans.”
“Yer more than welcome tae join us at the square…” said Marlene, but Lily shook her head glumly.
“Even if I had got tickets, which I don’t, I really, really don’t want to see BOOM-Stick. Honestly, BOOM-Stick. What’d you even like about them?”
“Search me, doll, it’s this one that wanted tae go.” With a helpless shrug in Mary’s direction, who, in turn, was blushing.
“Well, it was the only thing available that sounded like any fun,” she said, half-defensive and half-embarrassed. “For a… a date, I mean. W-Which didn’t really go as planned, so here we are.”
Lily chuckled, if sympathetically, and reached a hand across the table to pat Mary on the arm. “I’m really sorry about that, by the way. Believe me, if I’d known Remus already had a girlfriend, I’d have told you as soon as I found out – he can be so tight-lipped about these things.”
“Oh, it’s fine, really.” Mary smiled, sheepish. “It’s funny, but all that stress about asking him out first seems to have just… worn off, you know? It sounds strange, but it doesn’t feel like such a big deal anymore, now that I’ve done it. Maybe all the nerves were just about working up the courage to ask. And since he was so kind about turning me down, it doesn’t sting as much.”
“His loss,” Marlene declared loftily.
“Anyway, who’s to say…?” Mary toyed with the end of her plait, a glint in her eyes despite how pink she’d gone. “Sirius seems not to think very highly of her. It might not even last.”
Lily gasped, and Marlene laughed so hard she had to pause and clutch her stomach.
“Mary Elizabeth Macdonald!” Lily cried, half-laughing herself, and Marlene wheezed out, “Who are ye an’ whit have ye done wi’ our sweet little Mare?”
“That was downright vicious, that,” Lily agreed, still chortling uncontrollably.
Mary had buried her face behind her hands; her shoulders quivered with embarrassed mirth, too. “Oh, stop! The point is, we had to put the tickets to use…”
“Ach, poor me. I wis jist her pity invite,” Marlene feigned sorrow.
Lily shook her head, amused. She was about to say more, but was interrupted by a light tap on her shoulder: turning, Lily found one of their Hufflepuff classmates, Adrian Masefield, standing a step behind her, clutching what was obviously the application form for the school newspaper in both hands.
“Hullo, Adrian,” Lily greeted with a smile. She didn’t know the boy very well, but wasn’t entirely a stranger to him, either – they were both on Professor Slughorn’s little ‘Slug Club,’ and had met and spoken at parties before. Still, he was a bookish sort, kept to himself and his circle. He had blond hair, wide eyes, and a large nose. Not too tall, but not as short as his best mate – another Hufflepuff from their year, Reginald Cattermole – either. Adrian wore glasses, and his hair tended to stick out in all directions – a description which (it occurred to Lily) was not unlike one James Henry Potter, except that James’s glasses were round, and James’s hair made him look rather… well… cool. As though it were perpetually windswept from riding on that broomstick.
Adrian’s hair made him look a bit like a madman.
Now who’s the vicious one? Lily thought, mentally chastising herself for it.
Adrian, meanwhile, was nodding his own greeting. “Hi.” He held the paper in his hands out to her. “Am I supposed to turn this over to you?”
“Yeah, that’s fine,” Lily answered, and took it from him. A quick perusal told her he’d applied to be a photographer.
“You like photography, then?” she queried, to be polite.
He nodded again. His hands had slipped into his pockets, which Lily noted had been half turned out anyway, as if he did that a bit too often. There was a rumpled look about him in general – his tie not quite straight, some of his shirt buttons undone, his cloak almost carelessly draped over his uniform and slipping off one shoulder. The slouch of his posture only added to this lazy air.
He shrugged, his gaze drifting past Lily as if the conversation held only half his attention. “Yeah, I suppose. It’s something people don’t quite get, you know?” His hand emerged from his pocket, pushing his glasses further up his nose, though they still sat at a crooked angle. “I use a Praktica – East German. You wouldn’t believe the craftsmanship. Most people would go for a Leica, but, that’s so unoriginal. Besides, there’s something raw about the Praktica… gives photos a real grain, a soul. It doesn’t try to pretty anything up, unlike all the trendy rubbish you see nowadays.”
He glanced at her, but only briefly, as though he wasn’t entirely interested in gauging her reaction. “I was inspired to pick it up as a hobby because of Cartier-Bresson. But I doubt you’ve heard of him, he’s not one of the posers that get any attention. His work is about capturing the decisive moment, you know? None of this staged nonsense.” He fiddled with a fraying cuff on his robe. “That’s real photography. It’s art, but not in the way most people think of it. It’s more like… capturing life as it really is. Something most people don’t understand.”
His eyes flicked to her again, narrowing slightly, like he was expecting her to contradict him. “But I suppose photography is subjective, innit?” he finished, with a small, knowing smirk. As if he’d just delivered some profound truth.
“Er… right.” Lily blinked, perplexed. “That went right over my head, I’m afraid, I don’t know anything about photography. Cheers, though. Hope to see you on the team.”
“Cool.” Adrian shrugged again, his hands restored to their home in his pockets. Nonchalantly, “Couldn’t help but overhear, earlier. That you haven’t got any plans for Hogsmeade this weekend.”
Lily turned, slightly surprised. “Hmm?”
He shifted his weight, his slouch deepening with it. “If you’re not doing anything, we could… I dunno… walk around or whatever. Check out the quieter spots. The Three Broomsticks is a bit loud, don’t you think?”
Lily tilted her head. Her eyebrows lifted in curiosity. “Are you asking me on a date?”
Adrian looked momentarily affronted, as if the very idea was beneath him. “Asking you on a date?” he repeated with a light scoff. “I don’t really subscribe to that whole notion – dates. It’s just constructed, isn’t it? Like, society’s way of labelling interactions… boxing them into these narrow definitions.” He paused, adjusting his slipping cloak absently. “People feel like they have to call it something. But why? We can just be in the moment. Exist. No need to tie it down with expectations.”
“…Right,” Lily frowned, liking him less and less with every word. “Well, thanks for the offer, but I’m alright. Got other plans at the minute.”
“Cool.” Adrian took this for the dismissal that it was, if indifferently. He turned around and left, back toward the Hufflepuff table.
“Merlin, doesnae that one think he’s God’s gift tae the earth?” Marlene sneered, and even Lily couldn’t help rolling her eyes.
“Hippies,” she agreed derisively.
“Whit are they?” Marlene blinked, confused, making Lily and Mary laugh.
“Never you mind,” Lily answered. She reached across and gave Marlene a pat on the head, exaggerating condescension.
Still, even without a proper team, Lily set to work immediately that evening after classes. “Thanks again for agreeing to this, Greta,” she smiled at her Ravenclaw classmate, Greta Catchlove, a plump and golden-haired girl with a perpetually cheery expression. Greta took the folder that Lily handed her with a smile of her own:
“Oh, no worries at all,” in the friendly lilt of the West Country. “I’ve already got a number of drafts that just want polishing… here’s an idea – don’t put my name on, and it’ll look like you’ve got articles from multiple writers already!” (With a wink.)
Lily laughed. “Excellent plan.”
Their voices echoed across the now-empty corridor as she twisted the key that would lock the office door. It was almost curfew, well time for them to start toward their respective dormitories.
“—Total conundrum, isn’t it,” Greta was saying, now, “The first edition’s got to be interesting enough to convince people it’s worth reading and writing for, but at the same time it’s only us here, putting in the work to make it that. There’s only so much a couple of students can do, isn’t there?”
“I know!” Lily commiserated. “There’s not even Quidditch to draw some attention… Merlin, you know things are dire when I’m wishing for Quidditch matches to write about…”
Greta chortled.
“Well, having a gossip column would be the foolproof option if you’re wanting readers.”
“Never, Professor Vaughn wants the paper to be ‘educational above all.’ Integrity and that.”
“Interviews and human-interest pieces, then, that’s the ticket. Oh! How about interviewing Professor Bordastrega? Everyone’s curious about her.”
“Poor woman, scrutinised like some sort of circus attraction…”
At the turn of a corner, they came upon a group of younger girls – fourth-years, by the look of them – huddled together by one of the tall, arched windows. Mindful of her prefect’s badge, Lily considered warning them about curfew being imminent, and started toward them. Too late, however, she realised that they were giggling in that unmistakeable way that could only mean they were deep in gossip, their heads tipped close together.
“—And I swear she just does it to keep him interested,” one of the girls said – quite lowly, but Lily caught fragments anyway, thanks to the echo. “I mean it’s quite clever, when you think about it. Potter could have any girl he likes, couldn’t he, so the surest way to have his attention all for herself would be to tempt him. Boys always want what they can’t have more, you know.”
“That’d explain it. She’s always brushing him off, but he keeps going after her,” another voice chimed in, a snicker following the words. “I swear I thought they’d fallen out after that last row – but here we are, eh? Watching her pretend to be nice to him again. What a minx.”
“I think it’s a cold-hearted thing to do,” a third girl clucked loftily. “She’s toying with his feelings, in’t she. Poor James.”
“I’d treat him better!” the first girl announced, faux-grandly, making the rest of them squeal and laugh in a raucous clamour.
Lily’s cheeks flushed as she registered that they were talking about James Potter – and, by the sound of it, her.
She kept on walking, but her back had stiffened. Greta, evidently noticing the change in her demeanour, glanced over, but said nothing – following her lead as they passed the group.
The younger girls abruptly fell silent, when they noticed them approaching, but as Lily walked past, they exchanged knowing smirks, trying and failing to suppress more giggles. It confirmed her suspicions about the topic of their conversation, anyway. Lily could practically feel their eyes on her— she swallowed the urge to snap at them, knowing that would only make it obvious that she had heard.
Once they were out of earshot, Greta gave her a sympathetic look. “Ignore them,” she said softly. “They don’t know what they’re on about.”
Lily forced a smile, though her face still burnt. “Oh, I’m not bothered. I feel sorry for them, really – sad, innit, how us girls are incentivised to turn against each other like that over some boy.”
“You’re a libber, Lil?” Greta smiled. “Good on ya. You’re right – patriarchy, and all that.”
“Yeah.” Lily forced a confident half a grin. They made the next turn, and—
And she almost stopped in her tracks. Coincidence seemed to be having a laugh at her expense, because a little ways ahead was the very subject of the gossipmongers’ chatter: James.
Lily stared. He wasn’t alone – he rarely ever was, anyway – he had an arm slung around Peter Pettigrew’s shoulder. The pair of them were laughing and twisting this way and that – as if intent on tracing figure-eights into the floor, for whatever reason. Lily noticed that their eyes were turned skyward, so she looked, and found her explanation: Moaning Myrtle was swooping over their heads, and they were evidently trying to keep up with her.
Right, Lily realised. They were all in front of the abandoned lavatory that Myrtle haunted.
“Oh, no,” Greta muttered, beside her. “Wonderful. Let’s wait until she passes, I don’t want to be held up by her whinging again.”
“Are they winding her up?” Lily whispered back, squinting at the boys. “She’s even left her toilet to chase them off…”
But then, when relative silence followed, she could actually hear what was going on.
“Can’t you stay longer?” Myrtle was pleading in her most babyish voice, her translucent hands clasped in front of her chest. “You always do this to me, you only visit when you want somewhere to have a drink. Humph.”
“You wound me, Myrtle, my love,” James called back, the grin evident on his tilted face. “You know I’d stay forever if I could, but alas! A man has duties. What would everyone say if I were to disappear into your… er… your charming little… space, for good?”
Myrtle gave a long, dramatic sigh, drifting closer to him. “But no one ever bothers to visit me except you four.”
“Well, that’s because they don’t take the time to appreciate the finer things in life, lovely. Like your excellent company.” And even though James laughed, and his tone was theatrical (possibly a bit tipsy, at that), Lily couldn’t help noting that it wasn’t unkind. Teasing, but no humiliation in it.
She was right: Myrtle giggled in a pleased, bashful way that Lily had never heard out of the forlorn ghost before. Myrtle swayed from side to side giddily as she sang, “Oh, you’re just saying it. You’re laughing at me. You’re so cruel, James Potter.”
“I am not!” James replied, indignant – Lily couldn’t even tell if he was fooling around now. “You’re one of the most interesting people in this castle, and if you weren’t a ghost and I weren’t alive I would never have allowed the utter travesty that is you being alone to stand. We’re like Romeo and Juliet, you and me.”
Lily could have sworn Myrtle blushed, or the closest thing that passed for it in her colourless form, anyway. “You called me a person,” she gushed, and James declared:
“You’re very personable.” (Turning toward Peter, his nose scrunched up,) “Is that a word? Personable?”
“Dunno, mate,” Pete managed through uncontrollable chortles. Definitely tipsy, Lily thought.
Myrtle swooped lower. “What’s Romeo and Juliet?”
“Oh, just you wait, my marvellous Myrtle.” James held a finger up with a sagely expression. “Next time, I’ll bring you that story. And flowers. I’ll bring you stories and flowers, but I really have got to go, now.”
Myrtle cocked her head, an utterly endeared sparkle in her eyes. “Dead flowers?”
“The deadest,” James promised, nodding solemnly. “So dead they’d be the Inferi of fauna. I mean flora. Say, does fauna come from fawn, like, deer?” (To Peter again.)
Lily couldn’t help the little smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth as she watched their antics. Despite the acting, there was something oddly sweet about the way James spoke to Myrtle – Myrtle who so often wailed about her isolation, who was used to being the punchline of jokes, and was now giggling like a girl at her first ball as she basked in the coveted attention of a popular (and not unattractive) Quidditch captain. She wasn’t shrinking into the corners of the walls, but beaming – albeit, er, ghostly – at James.
He had made her feel special, whether or not he’d intended to.
Lily looked away. Sudden warmth crept up her neck. It wasn’t just that James was being nice – he was often annoyingly charming, especially when he was trying to get a laugh out of her – but this was different. It wasn’t a show he’d put on for anyone’s benefit, least of all hers. He wasn’t playing the part of the hero or trying to win over a crowd. He was just… being James.
A feeling swelled, one that often nudged at her around him. She could call it many things, none of them incorrect: amusement. Fun.
Endearment.
She cleared her throat, heart racing. The noise attracted the boys’ attention, however, both of their heads turning toward her and Greta.
“Evans!” James grinned. (Above him, Myrtle shot the girls a sour look, harrumphing as she glided back into her lavatory through the wall.) James straightened as much as he could in his clearly drunken state, drawling, “No, hang on, I know what you’re about to say – ’s’almost curfew. Don’t worry, don’t worry, we’ll head.”
“And we’re not— hic— sloshed at all,” Peter slurred helpfully.
Composing herself, Lily drew up taller and rolled her eyes. “I’m sure.” Huffing, “Fine – just get going before I’m forced to take points, yeah?”
“That’s why we love you,” James pointed a finger at her, and Lily had to ignore the way her heart stuttered in response.
As the boys lumbered in their direction, James paused just as they were about to pass: “Erm, Evans? You doing anything for the Hogsmeade, you know, whatever, tomorrow?”
She turned. His expression was earnest, all of the cocksure theatrics he’d affected for Myrtle gone. Her heart both soared and sank at once, impossible as it sounded: he was clearly asking her out, but how on earth could she say yes? Juxtaposed against those hopeful hazel eyes and dimpled smile facing her right now, was that casually-cruel smirk that had watched Severus suffer by the lake. However she felt about Severus now, it wouldn’t change the fact that James had revelled in somebody else’s pain. Regardless of what that person was, or was not anymore, to Lily at the moment…
All of the warmth she’d felt a moment ago flipped over, morphing into pained anxiety. Certainly he was changeable, that much was evident. Undeniable. But changeable, not changed. The term had hardly even started, and he’d already proven that yet again. Even if she gave him a chance, it would apparently just get her labelled as a conniving femme fatale playing hot and cold with him, in the eyes of his adoring fans.
“I’ve… got a date, actually,” she murmured. She couldn’t, wouldn’t give him that inch. Just because he had the capacity to be as wonderful as he’d just demonstrated didn’t mean she’d be able to ignore the rest.
“Oh.” James’s face fell. He quickly composed himself, however, nudging his glasses further up along his nose. “Who’s, er, whom with?”
“Adrian Masefield,” she shrugged, being the first name she could think of. But she was glad for it; this wouldn’t be a lie – she resolved to find Adrian later, tell him she’d changed her mind.
“…Right.” James nodded – kept nodding for a long time. Then he steered Peter around: “Right. Have a good one, then.”
“…See ya…” Lily agreed.
She could still hear him and Peter regardless:
“’Oo’s Adrian Masefield?”
“Crusty bloke with the hair. You know, from Hufflepuff?”
“No, I don’t know. Well, alright. Alright. Lucky git…”
“You sure about that, Lily?” Greta asked her, now, with a playful smirk. Evidently, none of Lily’s genuine, conflicting emotions showed on her face – because her companion seemed to be under the impression that that’d been an impersonal, meaningless rejection. There was obvious teasing in Greta’s voice as she said, “I’ve heard Potter doesn’t ask twice, you know. Matter of pride.”
“…I’m sure.” Lily forced a smile. Pretending to joke along, “Getting turned down ought to do him some good, anyway. Deflate that ego.”
Greta laughed, and Lily tried not to feel too wretched about it.
Notes:
There is a background character called Adrian in the movie version of HBP, a member of the Slug Club whom Slughorn namedrops. My sister and I found him while researching what characters from canon would have been in the same year as the Marauders, and that throwaway line was so funny to us for some reason that we nicknamed him “Random Adrian” and decided to put him in this. I don’t even know, man, our sense of humour is broken.
I’m assuming the Evanses are middle class based on Petunia’s snooty comment about Snape being poorer in the DH flashback.
I know, I know, Petunia says “Harry” is a “nasty, common name” (in Philosopher’s Stone) which would be a little bit weird if it was her own father’s name, and Harry was probably named after Henry “Harry” Potter as implied by the Pottermore article. But I’m just so sick and tired of Joanne’s weird penchant for not letting the wives name their own freaking children, okay. Could she please put her money where her mouth is regarding her pretence of not fundamentally hating women, for once?
Let’s just say Petunia resented her parents that much, I guess. RIP Harry Sr.
Listen, if Myrtle (in the movies) flirts with Harry, that means there’s a non-zero chance she could’ve liked James, too, because they’re supposedly identical. LMAO.
Chapter 6
Notes:
This chapter is brought to you by: you! Your encouragement keeps me going, so thank you again for being part of this shit.
Chapter TW: Child abuse… and it isn’t who you think it is. Also, internalised ableism which doesn’t really get resolved, because, well… I have yet to have found a resolution myself, LMFAO. Just Remus-kinnie things, I fear.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Madam Pomfrey allowed Remus to return to lessons on Friday, after a full day’s rest. His first class was Ancient Runes – one of the few he didn’t share with the others this term. Although he’d been careful not to let on – especially to Sirius – that he was concerned about how obvious the state of him might be, with how slowly he’d be taking notes due to his still-aching wrist or how he had to frequently shift in his seat to ease the pain in his back, he found that, with Lily there, he didn’t have to worry. Normally he only relied on the other Marauders, who’d pull pranks, cause a ruckus, or otherwise create a distraction if needed. But now, he had her as well.
Not that Lily made a scene, of course, but when she noticed him struggling to keep pace with the speed of Professor Babbling’s lecture, she helpfully raised her hand, and asked for clarification after clarification, giving Remus more time to make his own cooperate with his quill. Remus was utterly grateful he still had someone who cared to sit with.
“Thanks for that,” he smiled, as soon as the lesson ended. Lily had already gathered her things and packed up at lightning speed; Remus had long gotten used to this habit of hers. This was Lily Evans, after all – always had something important to get to next, people to meet, places to be.
“No worries,” she beamed back, even as she stood and swiftly pushed her chair back in. “Will you be alright? Need anything?”
Truth be told, he could have used a bit of support getting up, but he didn’t want to say so: the desk would do. He shook his head, a practiced expression of mildness on his face. “I’m fine… just packing.”
Lily clapped a hand on his shoulder and said, “Don’t hesitate to let me know if you ever do, yeah? Right, see ya.” —Then jogged away.
As soon as she was gone, Remus allowed his smile to fall. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply in an attempt to brace himself. There was an irritating knot of pain sat just at the base of his spine and he had to scan his body for some other spot to focus on, somewhere entirely painless – chest, he decided – narrowed all his attention to the point just like Madam Pomfrey had taught him, and set his palms flat on his desk, pushing himself upright.
He winced, standing slowly. Healers and doctors often said meaningless terms to him and his parents that sounded right out of science fiction: cervicogenic dizziness, degenerative joint disease, myopathy, bone thinning, nerve damage. Remus must have inherited his mother’s poetic bent, however, because if he were to describe it himself he’d say he felt like a crumpled ball of paper being straightened out by impatient hands that favoured yanking rather than smoothing it.
Hands that didn’t care whether it tore.
Focus on the positives, that one absurdly expensive, aged Healer at St Mungo’s with the apathetic, fake smile would say. There are always positives to focus on, one must be grateful…
He shut his eyes against the throbbing pain (neck, lumbar, wrists, knees, ankles, fuck, fuck—) and cast about for any. Well, at least he didn’t have to worry about open wounds, on top of this… and at least at school Madam Pomfrey’s potions dulled it enough that he could get around without a cane, unlike transformations at home…
“Remus?” an uncertain voice interjected. He quickly cleared his face of all sign of grimacing, then turned: it was Mary Macdonald, slightly bowed at the waist, peering at him in concern.
“Oh, hullo, Mary.” He restored his smile. It must have been shaky, however, because Mary’s brows were still knit. Anxious.
“Are you alright?”
She’d half-extended a hand – presumably for him to take, to help him leave the desk – Remus stared at it. His stomach lurched queasily. Was it some helpless, masculine instinct that chafed at being offered a girl’s aid, no matter how egalitarian he generally thought himself? …Was it his own weakness, rearing its ugly head, that fear of burdening others?
Whichever, it urged him to deliberately straighten, ignore the pain. “Yeah, I’m only packing,” he said, smile even sunnier now. “But thanks very much.”
With that, he plucked his book-bag off the back of his chair and slung it across one shoulder… damn it all, the weight of his books pulling it down didn’t help…
“O-Oh, that’s good.” Mary gave him a bashful smile of her own. She tucked a strand of her hair behind one ear, and as he rounded the desk, she kept pace – uncharacteristic, but Remus didn’t question it. They were friendly enough by now. “I-I hope you’re… generally… well?” she went on, endearingly awkward. Remus’s smile turned genuine; she wasn’t one to initiate conversations, normally, so must have mustered up all her courage to give it a go at the moment. It reminded him of Peter, and inspired the same sense of protectiveness that he did.
“Generally,” he answered, half-quipping. She obliged with a soundless laugh. “How’re you?” he continued.
He really had been anticipating a response – didn’t mean to be rude at all. Honestly. But his eyes found the doorway, and his surroundings faded into nothing as a result. Sirius was there, Sirius with his perfect hair that fell elegantly over his forehead, Sirius watching Remus with that usual spark in his grey eyes, warm and teasing but with something deeper simmering just beneath. He was leaning against the doorpost, arms crossed. Had come to “pick him up,” as it were, probably.
Remus’s heart was too busy doing cartwheels in his chest to pay any attention to what Mary was saying. He almost sped toward the door, but caught himself.
Sirius, meanwhile, had uncrossed his arms as soon as Remus stepped into the corridor. The faintest hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. They finally closed the distance, and Remus, only half-listening to Mary, opened his mouth, both to greet Sirius and say his goodbyes to her—
But then he registered Mary’s actual words.
“—S-So I was, erm, wondering, you know…” (Her fingers fiddling with the edge of her cloak, cheeks flushed, looking down at her shoes before glancing back up at him,) “I-If, maybe you’d like to, erm, to come with me, to Hogsmeade, this weekend? J-Just the two of us.”
Remus’s eyes went round as he realised what she was asking. His head whirled back around, away from Sirius and toward her: “Like a… date?”
Mary nodded several times, so speedily he thought she might give herself a headache with it. Lost for words, Remus stammered, “O-Oh, that’s— that’s really kind of you, Mary, but…”
“What’s this about a date?” Sirius’s voice cut in, before he could continue. Remus’s eyes flitted toward him, where he’d approached them, amusement dancing in his greys. Sirius met his briefly as well, but quickly returned to Mary, lips twitching.
“Ah – asking our Moony on one, eh?” he continued. “You’ve got excellent taste, Miss Mary Mack.” With a gracious smile.
Mary went red as a tomato, but smiled back. She made a sound – although Remus couldn’t tell if it was a word, or a squeak.
Sirius, meanwhile, was scrunching up his nose now, an inexplicably commiserating expression. “Unfortunately,” he sighed, “And I really do hate to be the bearer of bad news, but, this one’s got a girl hidden away at home. Haven’t you, Moony?”
Remus thought his eyes would never return to their normal shape again, permanently saucers. “R-Right,” he managed. “I have. Got one. I’m really sorry, Mary— I appreciate the offer.”
“Oh.” Mary had now morphed into a shade of puce. “Oh. I see. T-That’s quite alright. S-Sorry…” She looked so mortified that Remus wanted to apologise again, but Sirius got there first.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, and reaching a consoling hand out to pet at Mary’s arm, “I’m rooting for you, more. She’s a right pain, that bint. Bit psychotic, if you ask me. Dunno what Moony’s messing about with her for – she’s lucky she’s got a pretty face, I guess.”
Remus’s eyebrows lifted. “That’s my girlfriend you’re slagging off, thanks,” he said, with genuine chastisement.
“He’s right, Sirius, that’s a rather cruel thing to say,” Mary agreed, frowning along despite the flush still colouring her face.
Sirius only shrugged, smirking indolently. “Well, the truth is always hard to swallow.” Tugging at Remus’s arm, “Gotta be off, Mary. Have a good one, yeah? Oh, if you’re after Marlene, I think I saw her out on the courtyard.”
“Thanks.” Mary offered him a sheepish smile that turned bashful as it found Remus again. “Bye, Remus. Sirius. Erm… right…” And she left, in the opposite direction.
When Remus looked, Sirius was grinning up at him like a child on Christmas morning. “I’m your girlfriend, am I, Mr Moons?” he teased.
“Hush.” But Remus couldn’t help the amused exhale, even as his eyes flitted about – checking that they hadn’t been overheard. Sirius, chuckling, reached up and plucked Remus’s bag off of his shoulder in one casual movement, transferring it to his own.
Remus contemplated this for a second. Not the first time Sirius had done that. James did, too, sometimes, although James tended to ask first. What made their support different from anybody else’s, Remus wondered? Not as awful to bear? With James, perhaps it was that James offered everybody his help just the same, and didn’t single Remus out as some sort of charity mission…
With Sirius…
“—Haven’t really talked about that, have we?” Sirius was saying, at the moment, under his breath. “I’d thought you’d bring it up first. Precise fella that you are.”
The look he gave Remus, peering up at him through his eyelashes, was almost self-conscious, colour high on his cheeks. Remus had to pause and decipher what he meant, but Sirius must have noticed that he was a bit dazed, sluggish, because his expression changed into vague concern.
With half a sympathetic smile, Sirius leaned up. “Arm around my shoulder, Moony,” he whispered. “It’s perfectly innocuous. No one would look twice.”
Remus’s body obeyed before his mind could catch up. Still, he couldn’t help the rueful glance as he braced himself against Sirius’s much surer posture: “I don’t want you taking all my weight…”
Sirius only rolled his eyes, fondly-longsuffering. “Why not? I’ve got the muscle for it. Beater, aren’t I?” he challenged. “Strong arms and that.”
Remus obliged with a soundless chuckle. Some of Sirius’s hair (it’d gotten even longer over the summer) had fallen over one shoulder, and as Remus’s fingers were just shy of a stray lock, he couldn’t help toying with it idly. “What were you saying?” he murmured.
Sirius smiled. His eyes flicked side to side, as though checking that they weren’t being watched, and then— without warning— he jerked to the left, taking Remus with him, barging into a broom cupboard that stood right beside them.
Remus unhooked his arm so that Sirius could lock the door. This accomplished, Sirius drew his wand and muttered, “Muffliato.”
Remus made himself comfortable against the wall. Sirius leaned against the opposite one as well. His smile turned cagey.
“I mean, like… rules. And such,” he clarified. “You know, er… ‘Don’t go accepting invitations to Hogsmeade from some girl.’ …Sort of thing.”
Remus breathed a silent laugh, embarrassed. “I won’t go on dates with anyone else but you,” he promised. “I solemnly swear.”
Sirius cupped his own neck, chuckling under his breath, too. “Now your turn,” he prompted.
Remus watched him. He smiled to himself, bittersweet. Sirius was lovely unguarded. No one else got to see him like this: half-embarrassed, that typical self-assuredness gone. One hand curled around his other elbow, and he wasn’t quite meeting Remus’s eyes.
Remus reached across; coaxed his hands into his own. “I wouldn’t… necessarily mind it, though,” he murmured. “If you… if there was something you wanted… that I couldn’t really… provide…”
He didn’t glance up, so had no inkling what Sirius’s expression would have been, in response. Sirius squeezed his hands. “What’d you mean?” he asked, just as quietly.
Remus shrugged. Sirius stepped closer, letting go, so that Remus’s hands had to clasp behind his waist instead. One of Sirius’s own gently touched his face; Remus had no choice but to look.
He found furrowed brows, thin lips. “Hullo, you.” Soft, half-hearted quipping.
“…Hi,” Remus obliged wryly.
“What’s the matter?”
Remus sighed, leaning further so his head tapped the wall. “Just a bit achy this morning,” he admitted. “All over.”
“Oh, dear.” Sirius’s hand fell lower, then traced aimless half-circles over his chest. “Should we see Madam Pomfrey after this?”
Remus shook his head no. Closed his eyes. “It wouldn’t be fair,” he mumbled, “For me to ask you not to, if you ever… if someday you wanted… things I might not be able to do. You know?”
Silence followed, and then Sirius realised: “Are you talking about sex?”
Remus nodded. When he opened his eyes again, Sirius was giving him a tender, if amused, smile. “Hard luck. I don’t want it with anyone but you, now, so if you’re not able to I’ll just live like a nun. What does it matter?” he insisted. “But if you ever did want to try, we’ve just got to get a bit creative, that’s all. ’S’not all violent shagging, you know… Merlin, I knew we should have gone ahead and gotten you that Playwizard subscription back in fourth year…”
“Stop it,” Remus chastised half-heartedly, although he couldn’t help chuckling along with Sirius, either. He reached up and ran his hand through Sirius’s hair, just by his ear. “But, Padfoot, there might be more I couldn’t… not just…”
“Remus, I’m sure about you,” Sirius interjected, vehement. “I’ll say it as many times as you want.”
Something seemed to have occurred to him, just then, because his eyes went slightly round for the briefest second, and he fidgeted. “Or is it that you’re not sure about me?” he ventured.
Remus leaned forward. He pulled Sirius closer against him in the same movement. “It’s not even a little bit that,” he assured, barely letting Sirius round out his last syllable. “I’ve wanted this for so long. You. But— I’m also used to wanting things I can’t have, Sirius. I’d… as long as we can be… I’m alright with… whatever. Really.”
Sirius shushed him, shaking his head. “I’ll bet plenty of those… the things you want… are out-and-out impossible.” He clucked his tongue. “Bastard of a world. But… it’s all the more reason to go ahead and… accept what isn’t… right?”
Remus let their foreheads touch. “Suppose so,” he murmured, a small smile tugging at his lips despite everything. “And what if—?”
“We’re only in school, darling, everything is ‘what if,’” Sirius chuckled. “At our age, everybody’s just trying, innit?” And then he seemed to have heard what he’d said, and made a sound caught between a laugh and a hum. “Me, especially. I’m very trying.”
“Only when you’re being mean about yourself,” Remus returned, arching an eyebrow even as he smirked. “How can you ask me to accept and then keep implying I’ve made a terrible decision?”
“…Got me there,” Sirius conceded, with a sheepish laugh.
Shaking his head in fond amusement, Remus reached up and tucked a strand of Sirius’s hair behind his ear.
Sirius cleared his throat. His smile turned shy. One of his hands lifted, curled around Remus’s wrist where it still rested against his cheek. “I reckon we’re like The Contenders, us,” he mused.
“The who?” Remus queried.
“No, not them. The Kinks.” Sirius’s eyes lit up in that mesmerising way that they tended to, when he spoke about music. “You know, on Lola Versus? Come on, you loved that album.”
“Ah,” Remus obliged, less because this actually rang any bells and more just to watch Sirius’s smile stretch.
“Folk guitar and jazz piano, with electric guitar and rock percussion,” he clarified. “You don’t think it’d work, but it does. It’s fuckin’ beautiful.”
Ducking his head in embarrassment, “Cor, listen to me.”
Remus’s shoulders shook with mirth and self-consciousness all at once. “Alright, then,” he murmured, “Would you, erm… like to call me your steady, Sirius Black?”
“Merlin, would I ever.” Sirius grinned. Looping both hands around Remus’s neck: “And you, Mr Lupin?”
Remus smiled. Their faces were so close their breaths tangled with the movement. “I’d be honoured.” Under his breath, half-marvelling.
Sirius’s grin widened to the point that it scrunched up all his features. “Go on, say the thing back,” he teased. Affecting a scolding tone: “‘Padfoot, you’re not to so much as look at other boys.’”
Remus laughed. “Prongs might have a problem with that.”
“He’ll just have to stay a stag forever, then, won’t he.”
Their chuckles intertwined. “I wish I could take you on that Hogsmeade trip, now,” Sirius huffed. “Unfortunately I’ve got my own date with Uncle Alphard to see about first.”
“Who wants Hogsmeade?” Remus smiled, idly twirling a lock of Sirius’s hair. “When we’ve got… the Forest… the Shack… so many secret places all to ourselves.”
“…Talking of the Shack…” Sirius averted his eyes, for a moment. “There’s something else I’ve been meaning to ask you about… Remus—” (Glancing up again,) “How would you… would you be… alright with it, if I stayed with you a bit longer, next moon? Stayed until Madam Pomfrey turns up? I’d be careful, and we’d stow the Cloak somewhere near—”
He cut himself off at whatever he found in Remus’s expression – Remus wasn’t sure what, himself. His heart had plummeted into his stomach, was all he was aware of.
Sirius’s face fell. “I take it that’s a no.”
“Pads…” Remus gently took his hands again, rubbing the back of them with his thumbs. “It’s not that… it’s… complicated. Why… why do you want to?”
“…Why, he asks.” Sirius exhaled a fond, if humourless, laugh. “Why do you check on me each time I have a nightmare? Why do you write relentlessly every summer, why do you stake out the bathroom the nights I lock myself in?”
Remus had no choice but to mirror Sirius’s bittersweet smile, at that. He reached up to cradle his face; he had his answer, now, as to why Sirius’s concern didn’t feel as unbearable as anybody else’s. It was because Sirius needed him just as much. He was no burden.
“…You’ve got to understand,” he murmured, “It’s not a pretty sight. My own parents can’t stomach it.”
“I know, Moony, I know. I’ve seen,” Sirius reminded him gently. “I wasn’t repulsed, my— the only thing that bothered me about it was that it had to happen to you.”
“…I know,” Remus echoed, an admission. It was odd; most of him still wanted to turn Sirius down, but not because he felt pitied. More because he wanted to spare Sirius the pain of watching.
“When Bella got me with the Cruciatus,” Sirius whispered, at length, “All I could think about was you. I kept wondering if that was what you had to… and you go through it every month.”
“Sirius,” was all Remus could think to say, hardly a breath of a sound. The feeling that swelled tightened his throat, made it seem as though the world had shrunken to the space between them. Neither soft nor fragile, but fierce, burning with the same fire that he saw in Sirius’s eyes.
“The thought of you having to bear that alone, even just for a moment,” Sirius continued, somehow soft and rough at the same time, “Makes me desperately sad.”
The feeling became a torrent. Remus remembered every restless summer night of wishing on stars that Grimmauld Place would be a kinder home – just this once, oh-please-oh-please – and in one swift motion he pulled Sirius against him, shutting his eyes against the raw emotion that swept over his heart, even as he rested his chin atop Sirius’s shoulder so that Sirius wouldn’t notice.
It was a warmth that burst like a firecracker, not the usual steady flame. There were words that he wanted to say: big words, terrifying words. Words that a romance of barely weeks couldn’t possibly warrant, and a friendship of five years might but would still not be worth risking the fright they could give Sirius.
So instead, Remus managed a hoarse, “Yes. Yes, you can stay with me if you want.”
“…Thank Merlin,” Sirius exhaled a silent laugh against his ear, hugging back just as tightly. “I—”
But he never finished his sentence, instead easing back enough to be able to kiss Remus on the cheek, a firm, lingering thing.
They separated by a hair’s breadth. Remus’s hands returned to Sirius’s waist. Wanting to ease the heaviness of the atmosphere, Remus forced a smile: “Are those all our ‘rules’ sorted?”
Sirius grinned, as well. “For now.” Impishly. “Right, what next? Should we head back to the dorm so you can nap and sleep off the pain? And while you’re at it, I can convince you just how nice it’d be to cuddle up with an – if I may say – adorable old fluff-ball of a dog when you’re feeling utterly shit.”
Remus laughed. “That sounds perfect.”
The rest did him good. By the time the afternoon came along, bringing with it their Defence class, Remus felt more or less in top form again. Which was helpful, because Professor Bordastrega evidently preferred an equal split between theory and practical application for her lessons. She barely spent twenty minutes on the chapter about Unforgiveable Curses and how they operated – quickly moving on to teaching them how to use the defensive spells they already knew nonverbally, as well as an introduction to basic duelling hexes such as the Disarming, Shield, and Stunning Charms.
Remus couldn’t help but feel as though they were secretly being taught an Auror’s curriculum. For self-defence, he wondered? And why now? He and James and Sirius exchanged notes about it in the margins of their texts.
Do you reckon all this might have been prompted by something? It seems a bit more intense than usual.
Definitely more intense. Wonder if it’s just for NEWT-level or if the juniors are getting this, too.
Ask Davey/Liam/Farhana later.
I’m not convinced. What would they be preparing us for? Is that even allowed? Ministry-wise, I mean?
If it was Dumbledore’s idea, they wouldn’t be able to do shite.
You’re saying he hired her to get us ready for a fight?
But what fight?
Maybe they can’t tell us? Too much of a risk?
Would they really expect UNDERAGED WIZARDS to fight, though? That’d be mad.
Doubt it. Likelier Prof. Dumbledore wants us equipped to defend ourselves because the Ministry isn’t do—
But Remus had to stop scribbling halfway, because Professor Bordastrega’s voice called out, “Mr Lupin, if your quill is so busy, perhaps you would like to come help me instead, eh?”
James and Sirius snickered, and Remus felt his cheeks warm as he stood. “Sorry, professor,” he said.
“Come, come. In front.” Professor Bordastrega gestured toward the dais. “Sorry is no use if you are not learning. You will help me with the demonstration.”
“What, duelling?” Sirius gave a snort of a laugh, and James didn’t even bother masking his own guffaws.
“Excellent idea, professor! Teach him a lesson!”
“Shut it,” Remus hissed at them, rolling his eyes. He picked up his wand and started down the aisle toward the front of the classroom.
Professor Bordastrega stood soldier-like, legs in a slightly spread stance, hands clasped behind her back. “Bene,” was all the acknowledgement Remus got, that and a nod, and then she turned, addressing the class once again. “Now, nonverbal magic – very important – it shows control. Not just power, eh? It’s about focus,” she said. “When you can cast without speaking, it means you truly understand the spell. So we will practice the spells you have just learnt – the Disarming Charm, Expelliarmus, and the Shield Charm, Protego – nonverbally. We will see if you understand.”
She turned to Remus again. “I will perform the Disarming Charm, and Mr Lupin will attempt the Shield Charm. Do not worry,” (Addressing him directly,) “If you make a mistake, I will correct it, for the benefit of the class. We are here to learn. Yes?”
Remus cleared his throat. He tried and failed to ignore the chuckling he could still hear from the back row, if only because he knew to listen for it. “Yes, professor,” he said.
As soon as Professor Bordastrega turned to face him fully, Remus raised his wand. He held it in front of his face, in the traditional duelling stance. Her impassive expression broke for a second, eyes squinting in mild surprise; but she did the same, and they bowed.
She lifted her head and her wand at the same time. Remus held his own wand out as well, already summoning the sort of concentration required for nonverbal magic. Inwardly, he shut out the vague awareness of his friends and the sounds of the classroom. Centred himself.
Without a word Bordastrega flicked her wand. A bright flash of red – Expelliarmus – shot toward Remus. Pure instinct took over; his arm swiftly flew up like it was second nature, which it was. A shimmering, translucent shield burst into being in front of him.
Professor Bordastrega’s eyebrow twitched. She had clearly hoped to catch him off-guard, but Remus gave nothing away. His face stayed calm, and without pause he shifted his footing, bracing for what might come next.
Bordastrega gave a curt nod, as if to acknowledge the block. This time, her wand moved even faster, firing off a quick series of jinxes – a nonverbal Stupefy and another Expelliarmus right on its heels. Remus was just as quick to defend: his wand arm swept across his body as he silently summoned the Shield Charm again. The first jinx deflected off his Protego, and with a smooth twist, he sidestepped the second.
The professor’s lips thinned. Her eyes narrowed a fraction. With a snap of her wand, she launched another speedy Stunner. Remus blocked it again, never losing rhythm. His feet were light but sure, every step calculated, every flick of his wand prepared.
Professor Bordastrega’s posture changed. She wasn’t holding back anymore. Her wand sliced through the air, casting two spells at once: a more aggressive Expelliarmus followed by nonverbal Impedimenta, clearly aiming to slow him down.
Remus retaliated instantly. His wand flashed in front of him to block the Impedimenta with another Protego. As the Expelliarmus soared toward him, he turned neatly on one foot – letting it sail past. The room was silent now, only the scrape of their shoes and the swooshing of magic left to fill up the space.
Bordastrega was smiling slightly, a crooked pull at one corner of her lips in something like respect. With a snap of her wrist she fired off one last Expelliarmus, this one more targeted than any before.
Remus raised his wand again to deflect it— but she had aimed too well. The force of the spell hit him squarely, and his wand flew from his hand, clattering across the floor.
Before anyone could react, including Bordastrega, Remus’ hand flew up, and without thinking, he cast Protego – wandless.
The shield materialised instantly, shimmering between them. Bordastrega froze, her expression shifting from curiosity to something approaching shock. The class was deathly silent.
Remus stood there, his breathing unsteady from the exertion, his hand still raised in front of him. The shield flickered briefly before fading away, leaving the professor staring at him with a mix of surprise and approval.
“Impressive,” she said at last. It carried across the stunned classroom.
It was as if her voice had brought the class to life again. A cascade of murmuring followed, and the sounds of James and Sirius clapping and cheering from the back.
The effort and adrenaline expended were catching up to Remus, now, and he bent; had to hold himself steady by the knees as he caught his breath.
“They do not teach wandless magic anywhere in Europe, no?” asked Bordastrega, sounding quite interested.
Remus closed his eyes. The memories rose up unbidden. His dad, with his wand held out at him, tears turning his pained eyes bright even as the rest of his expression spelt grim determination. Remus, barely five or six, barely out of being a toddler— screaming and begging Dad to stop, stop hurting him—
“Stop me yourself, Remus,” voice cracking beneath sheer grief. “You know how. Remember the incantation: Protego. Go on, stop me.”
And another jinx hitting him, and Mum’s cries from outside of the room, her fists beating against locked wood, “Open the bloody door, Lyall, or I swear I’ll—”
“Werewolves have no wands!” Dad, harsh and pained at once. “And Hunters do, Aurors do, Hit Wizards do! If you don’t want to be hurt, stop me.”
“Open— this— door—” Harder thumps, like kicking.
“Concentrate.” Dad, insistently forcing Remus’s attention on him, on the pain, and nowhere else.
Remus opened his eyes, now, feeling strangely weary.
He straightened. “My father taught me,” he said, evenly.
Bordastrega made a humming noise. She was appraising him, now, eyes flicking up and down, arms crossed at her chest. “Your father… Lupin… it is not Lyall Lupin? Who used to—?”
“Yes,” Remus interjected, sharper than he’d intended. She didn’t seem to notice his tone, however, only nodding as if in comprehension.
“Ah, well. That would explain it. When he was with the Werewolf Capture Unit, before his promotion to head office, they called him the Exterminator, your father.”
She smiled in a way that said this was meant to be a compliment.
“So I’ve heard,” Remus managed – and a heartbeat after, remembered to plaster on a facsimile of a smile back.
“Evidently, such talent… it does pass in families.” With one last approving nod, Professor Bordastrega’s default stoicism more or less returned, and she faced the class once again. “You may go, Mr Lupin. Now – can someone else come and assist me? Someone who has not grasped the spells to that extent?”
Remus started toward his seat again while appreciative chuckles rippled through the classroom here and there. He felt rather numb.
It must have shown on his face, because when he sat down between James and Sirius, he was met with twin looks of concern.
“You alright, mate?” whispered James. “That was bang out of order, that last com—”
Remus gave him a tight smile. “She didn’t mean anything by it,” he reassured. “I don’t mind. Really.”
“…You sure?” Sirius didn’t sound at all convinced. When Remus looked, he found a rare, still expression on Sirius’s face. Sombre, sympathetic, disquieted.
Understanding.
Remus thought again about trust, and accepting support, and how there was only so much concern a person could bear before feeling like all it was, all it really translated into, was— doubt.
Wasn’t it? Ultimately? In all of its naked, ugly truth? Like other people simply didn’t believe that he could… could anything; manage, function, survive.
And in lieu of a pre-existing self-belief, a self-trust, other people’s was just crucial, wasn’t it? Wasn’t that just a fact of being human?
He didn’t want to forever feel like a child. Like he was taking more than he was able to give back – that he would ever be able to give back – and had no choice but to keep… keep on…
“…Not really,” he admitted, quiet. Because Sirius was not that. Because with Sirius, he could give in return— somehow, miraculously, he could… justify his existence. Didn’t have to apologise for being… well, for being.
Sirius took his hand under the table, locking their fingers together and squeezing.
James gave him a brief pat on the back, too.
It calmed something inside of him, and despite the distant melancholy, Remus could feel the comfort. The warmth.
Strengthened, he returned his attention to his textbook, and Sirius never once let go.
Notes:
…You ever think about the practical implications of, a, Remus canonically being able to perform wandless magic, in combination with, b, his Pottermore feature stating that Lyall tried to give him a magical education at home, being convinced that Remus wouldn’t be able to go to Hogwarts?
…And then you ever just. Cry. Yeah. Yeah.
In less depressing notes, IDEC that “steady” is probably outdated by like a decade at this point in the timeline, it’s just too freaking cute a term leave me alone—
Chapter 7
Notes:
Your support fuels my writing like coffee fuels my soul; I thank you deeply for every word and every click.
Chapter TW: OotP-era Sirius is pretty suicidal. Please skip the flash-forward (the first section) altogether if that could trigger you.
If you chose to skip it, please click here for a short summation of key takeaways (spoiler warning, obviously, to everyone else).
During the late OotP-era, Sirius notices Remus and Tonks growing closer and makes the decision to break up with Remus, believing Remus deserves someone who can bring him true happiness. He claims that Walburga’s hatred has cursed him – literally, just like Lily’s love protects Harry – meaning he and Remus can never have a peaceful life together. When Remus hesitates to leave, Sirius deliberately provokes him, saying cruel things, including that he loved James more and that if Remus had been truly faithful, he would have kept their rings (said rings will be significant in later instalments). In the end, Remus gives up and goes, with his own parting remark that Sirius shouldn’t leave him anything in his will.
Further TW for abuse apologia.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
A rarity: the sound of laughter at Grimmauld Place. An outright miracle: the sound of music and laughter at Grimmauld Place. But there was, both, there was both right now. Sirius listened with his eyes on the ceiling, for a minute. If he simply turned his head ever so slightly against the armrest of the sofa that he was lying on, he’d be able to watch the sources for himself; they were all in the drawing room. He just didn’t feel like it yet. Remus’s laughter was as familiar to him as the sound of his own heartbeat. Nymphadora’s was new, true enough, but distinct: hearty, and loud, and almost a cackle – which even Sirius could see was objectively quite funny, added to that loveably-“goofy” air of hers, and endeared her to people all the more.
To hear them both at the same time meant a sight that Sirius didn’t really want to contend with yet. Always something to contend with, wasn’t there. He’d long stopped wondering if and when it would let up; now tended to wonder when it had even begun, and that couldn’t be a good sign, if it was so long ago that he’d forgotten specifics.
He closed his eyes. Focused on the music, and only the music, for a while. Just a while, just a bit longer, just as far as he could still pretend to be blind to the rest.
Nymphadora’s records said a lot about the decade that Sirius had lost. An awful decade, decade of death and disease and apathy, the welfare state collapsing, and fatal viruses murdering men that could so easily have been him, and wars that simultaneously were and weren’t, and Lily and James gone forever. Forever.
And yet the music of the time, Nymphadora’s time, was saccharine. All the stars dressed like Bowie. The track she’d currently put on, Got My Mind Set on You, was by George Harrison. George Harrison. Because evidently even he sang ditties in those accursed years.
Sirius couldn’t decide whether he hated her music or the children’s more: the music of now, that he’d heard on the Muggle radio at Remus’s cottage and when the rest had been staying for the summer. The children listened to bands called things like Nirvana and Radiohead and Oasis and all sounded more or less the same, this odd in-between of punk without the punk, somehow both whinging and apathetic at the same time. Angst, but no pain; anxiety-inducing, honestly. As if the children had something to be afraid of, but something nebulous and too large to name, War of the Worlds sort of thing, so all that they could really do was nervously dance in place while waiting for the other shoe to drop— that was what it, the music, felt like. Sirius was sometimes quite afraid of being alive at the time that they were.
On the other extreme, there was something called Britpop that was possibly the most embarrassing cultural export of this godforsaken island of theirs since colonialism; he hated that, too. The music with the truth was too frightening and the music with the pageant too contrived— Sirius fought the urge to cover his ears entirely. Remus might think he had a headache again, and there was no need to spoil their little scene by playing the jealous, huffy first lover trying to monopolise his attention.
It wouldn’t be fair. Not when Remus was laughing like that again, like he hadn’t in… as long as Sirius could remember.
He opened his eyes. (There was only so long one could shut them to reality.) Tilted his head, braving the scene before him at last.
Today was Nymphadora’s birthday, which was why she was even more… buoyant… than usual; a blur of pink hair and denim and rhinestone dancing around the drawing room. Remus, who had evidently been charged with following her around, operating her beloved Muggle contraption (a “camcorder,” they called it), set to his task with fond amusement, whether or not he was aware. It was written all over his face; he kept chuckling and shaking his head at her antics, pointing the lens of the recording device right at her face as she belted out: “This time I know it’s for real, the feelings that I feel…”
“Dora, watch—” But Remus had spoken too late; Nymphadora, who’d been leaping about backward and not really paying attention to her surroundings, tripped over the edge of the carpet, and fell on the chaise lounge behind her with a squawk that dissolved into full-bellied laughter.
“—Out.” Remus finished impotently, with an amused sigh. Then he seemed to realise something, and he clucked, “Merlin, I’ve done it again. Sorry, I think it’s that I call Ted ‘Tonks,’ so when I—”
“I don’t mind.” Nymphadora grinned up at him, a bright and impressively stretched thing. “You can call me Dora if you like.”
Even on the soft brown of her skin, Sirius could see that she was blushing. Oh, she was smitten, utterly smitten. Sirius had witnessed her rage against people who’d called her Dora, before, yet here she was, letting Remus.
Remus was on the verge, too, only he didn’t seem to know it yet. But Sirius did. Sirius often knew him better than he knew himself, just like Remus did him. This… thing, it was exactly like with Gwendolen – potential, potential that Remus was admittedly ignorant to, but existed nevertheless. An open door that he had only yet to walk through.
When that door had unlocked for Gwendolen, Sirius had held on tighter. He’d been an entitled creature, then: No. Mine, mine, mine.
And so of course he could recognise it when it opened for Nymphadora. The only reason Remus wouldn’t notice that it had, nor let himself pass, was because he’d made Sirius promises.
In other words, whether or not it would actually occur would be entirely up to him. To Sirius, that is.
He watched, as Remus extended a hand to help Nymphadora back onto her feet. Watched as Nymphadora’s grin turned mischievous, and knew exactly what was about to happen before it did: she pretended to reach for his wrist, but instantly yanked him forward instead, making him trip and yelp and fall over her, too.
There was the two-part harmony of their laughter once again. She wrestled the camcorder from him, attempted to aim it at his face. He covered his eyes with both hands, “Don’t, don’t, I hate being filmed—”
“Oh, you boring sod. Come on, they’re my birthday tapes, I won’t have you lurking behind—”
“Give me—”
“Stop wrigg—ah! No! Don’t tickle!”
The hoarse, low melody of his voice somehow made a fine accompaniment to Nymphadora’s shrill guffaws. Even Sirius couldn’t help but smile, despite the pang in his heart.
He could picture it perfectly. They’d marry in the spring; they both belonged to it, after all. Him in a neat black suit, her in a complementary white one. No veil. The band, her own mates, would play Pachelbel’s Canon up-tempo on electric guitar and loud drums. Everybody would be laughing – them, Ted, Rommie, Harry, everybody; laughing exactly like that.
He would appreciate that he could be her Remus, that she didn’t know a Moony. Didn’t mourn a Moony. Had never even met the boy who’d died with Lily and James, as they all had, so couldn’t remember… couldn’t miss.
They’d have children. Sirius had always thought Remus ought to have children. He’d make a fine father. Better than theirs.
Remus had currently managed to wrestle the camcorder back into his hands. They were both on their feet again. Nymphadora sang along, “To do it, to do it, to do it, to do it…,” as she danced from one piece of furniture to the next, searching for the scarf that she’d been after, the reason she’d come in here at all. She and a handful of the others would be celebrating her birthday at some pub or the other and Nymphadora was getting dressed. Celebrating without Sirius, that is, of course; he couldn’t leave the house. Remus hadn’t even offered to stay. Sirius thought about this as he turned his head again, back toward the ceiling.
“Sirius, be in my birthday video!” Her voice rang out quite close, and he had to swivel his neck back around. She’d plopped herself onto the floor beneath his sofa. Cross-legged, spreading both arms above her head as if to frame him: ta-da. Remus was chuckling as he recorded them both.
In the miniature view of the swivelling screen at the front of the device, Sirius could see her grin, sincerely excited, utterly naïve. He wouldn’t pretend: he hated her, a little bit. He’d never been the saint between them – between him and Remus, that is. It was only that he knew better than to think that what he wanted was what was best anymore. He managed the faintest smile. She was watching him in the screen, too, he could tell; her grin mellowed somewhat. “Cor, you look like a model posing,” she marvelled – no teasing in it at all. He might have hated her less if she’d been more perceptive, and then consequently cruel.
But she was nice, Nymphadora. Got the best of her mother and father both.
He remembered that he hadn’t answered. “Be in your video and have it eventually used as evidence against me by the Wizengamot?” he drawled, half-heartedly sarcastic.
Nymphadora cackled. Affecting a documentarian’s crisp accent: “And here we have the notorious Sirius Black, once a fearsome fugitive, now lounging majestically on this very sofa, living proof that even escaped convicts have impeccable taste in fashion.” She leaned closer toward the lens, pretending to whisper like a nature presenter. “Note the casual slouch, the effortless brooding. Truly a specimen – wanted by the Ministry, and yet still devilishly handsome.”
Sirius snorted, and she glanced over at him with a grin.
“Despite his dangerous reputation, he’s surprisingly laidback. Rumour has it, he evaded the Dementors not with cunning magic, but with sheer charm and smouldering good looks.” She gave the camcorder a sagely nod. “A true expert at avoiding responsibility, but never the spotlight—”
Sirius chuckled lowly. “I see journalism isn’t dead.”
Nymphadora gave a mock salute to the lens. “Hard-hitting investigative reporting, Sirius. The people need to know.”
Sirius flicked his eyes toward Remus, whose smile had faltered ever so slightly. The subtle tightening of his jaw betrayed him. That warmth of his was momentarily clouded, eyes darkening just enough to reveal a pang of something unspoken, something possessive: it was there in the way his fingers fidgeted on the device, gripping it just a bit too tightly. Sirius’s own smile stretched in response, slow and comprehending – Oh, darling, do you even know which one of us you’re jealous about?
He sat up. Languidly stretched his legs, dropping them to the floor, necessitating that Nymphadora move out of the way. That vague smile intact, he stood, and walked over to Remus. Heedless of the fact that his body momentarily blocked the lens as a result.
Remus gave him a quizzical look. Ignoring it, Sirius gently pried the device out of Remus’s hands, cold fingers brushing against cold fingers. Remus didn’t fight him like he had Nymphadora (and was Sirius really so petty as to crow about it like this—), and a moment after, Sirius had the thing, pointing it directly at him.
“…Not you, too,” Remus sighed, attempting to hide his face once again.
“Nice one, Sirius!” Nymphadora laughed, and she bounced in between them. Her hands tried to swat Remus’s away.
A playful squabble ensued. Sirius watched it all, smiling still, smiling with a clogged-up throat, and he worked out how to swivel the screen back toward himself, so he could look at them in it, as opposed to right there, real, right in front of him.
Their happiness played out in miniature. Sirius deliberately ignored the sight of Nymphadora: he drank in Remus’s smile, the sparkle in his tired brown eyes. The war had made old men of them both, and yet right now, even if Remus didn’t quite look his age, at least he looked like he might be.
Sirius loved him. Sirius loved him so much that it hurt. Remus wasn’t just happier with her, he was lighter. This was easier than what they had, a joy that didn’t come wrapped up in old wounds and half-healed scars.
Look at her, Sirius thought, so full of life, and look at Sirius – a ghost. Even alive, a ghost. Remus would always mourn him even if he stood right there.
So much— too much— of Remus’s life had been unfair. And here Sirius had the power to make this, at least this, just, and right, and all that Remus deserved.
His throat tightened further, like a noose had wrapped around it, and the screen quivered minutely: he realised his fingers had gone white-knuckled around the camcorder.
There was no question. Of course he would, because he did— whatever else sat between them, he did— love Remus beyond measure.
But that didn’t mean he had it in him to be nice about it. No. Not his rotten soul. He wouldn’t kindly “bow out,” as the saying went; wasn’t even certain he’d have known how. He fought to keep that smile in place as he drawled, “Three cheers for the happy couple.”
Remus’s head shot up. He was staring at Sirius, with a half-open mouth and a furrowed brow. Nymphadora, oblivious, turned as pink as her hair, giggling, “Sirius, no!”
Sirius exhaled bitter amusement. He set the camcorder down on the nearest table, and without looking back, turned and left the room.
The fact that he didn’t immediately hear Remus’s footsteps behind him, chasing after him, demanding an explanation, confirmed all that weighed heavy on his heart. Sirius’s own feet were lead as they dragged him up the stairs, up to his bedroom. Their bedroom? No, he thought, with a rueful smirk. That’d require Remus to have spent that many nights at Grimmauld Place, not out on some mission or the other. (Missions with her.) Twenty-nine, Sirius had counted. Twenty-nine times Remus had stayed here with him.
Fair enough. Molly was always saying that Sirius was determined to make everyone as miserable as he felt, in this house – when she thought Sirius wasn’t listening, of course. Fair enough, fair enough. Not even Remus could be that tolerant.
He missed Harry. (No, stop, not now.) He opened his bedroom door. Closed it again. This had always been his only sanctuary in the building – and how doomed was that, this gloomy little room, barely lit and barely aired, a sanctuary – but it felt like one more than ever, now. Things felt real, in there. Real in the way that Azkaban hadn’t been, that even the London flat during those last years hadn’t been, that Remus’s cottage, Remus’s cottage especially hadn’t been.
It’d turned his head, that place. Worse than prison ever did. He’d let himself believe things. That he and Remus could salvage what they’d had. That Harry needed them. Needed him. That there was still a future, an “after.” One where they could all be a family again, perhaps not as whole as it might have been, but even so – it’d be something.
He laughed about it, now, under his breath. Let go of the door and walked over to his bed, to the pictures covering the wall it was pushed up against. James grinned up at him from the photo in the centre, eternally fourteen.
Remus’s cottage had even made Sirius temporarily forget that a world without James Potter was never going to be a world worth seeing.
Sirius sat down on the mattress. Eased backward until he could lean against the wall. He reached a hand up, rapping at James’s head with a knuckle, so that his remnant in the photograph kept having to duck. “Idiot,” Sirius whispered fondly. “What’d you even go and make me his godfather for? Should have known it’d go to shit. All on you, mate.”
Before Grimmauld Place, before this room, Sirius had actually thought he and Harry…
But now he’d seen Harry with the Weasleys. Worse still, Harry had seen him for what he inevitably would be, in proximity. Twice he’d snapped at the poor boy, and only once gotten the chance to apologise for it. People accused him of confusing Harry for James (when they thought Sirius wasn’t listening, again, again, Sirius was always listening, it was instinct in this house, got him out of it alive once, couldn’t turn it off, didn’t know how—), and they were right and wrong all at once.
He’d never confuse Harry for James in the way that they believed: James never, ever had that look in his eyes, the look of a cornered stray about to bite someone. Just to stay alive.
Sirius had only ever seen a look like Harry’s in the mirror. (He’d thought he couldn’t love Harry more than the day he’d held the little baby in his arms for the first time; he’d thought wrong, no, Harry now, brave and kind and broken and used, he’d do anything for that boy, and the joke of it— he couldn’t. Didn’t know how. Not one damned thing.)
No, Sirius confused Harry for James in the way that he forgot Harry didn’t know him like James. That Harry actually thought Sirius was someone he might be able to depend upon. That’s why it hurt him so when Sirius… inevitably… showed…
Better off without you, that’s sort of what Molly meant, if not in so many words, wasn’t it. And she was right. Mothers in Grimmauld Place were usually right. Even if Molly was inclined toward it because she’d never forgive James, and by extension Sirius, for what happened to Fabian and Gideon, it didn’t mean she didn’t have a fair point.
He brought his hand back down, drumming on his knees. Realised too late that he’d emptied all the flasks and bottles of alcohol he’d stowed in here, and would have to go back downstairs if he wanted a drink right now.
Molly had called Harry a son, right there in Sirius’s kitchen. Harry had people who loved him, who’d care for him better. Remus had someone, too. Sirius loved Harry but Harry would eventually grow to hate him, once they had more time together and more chances for Sirius to fuck up just like he had during that conversation. And the only person left alive who could stomach Sirius at his worst… probably shouldn’t.
Footsteps outside of his door, hesitant, familiar. Talk of the devil, Sirius thought wryly.
Remus should not love him. Harry would not love him – not for long. No one else would miss him other than them, and Lily and James were gone, and Regulus, and Freddie Mercury and Lennon too, and the spirit of punk had long moved on to hip-hop, and Sirius did not – could not – recognise this world anymore. What was that song that Bill Weasley was always listening to? And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad, the dreams in which I’m dying, are the best I ever had…
If there was one thing, one singular thing, that Sirius knew well, it was when to leave a party – when he’d overstayed his welcome.
A world without James Potter was never, ever going to be a world worth seeing.
The doorknob turned. Remus’s head peered inside, “Hey. Everything alright?” —A cautious hand on the edge of the wood, only one foot actually venturing into the room.
Much about Remus was cautious, these days. The years couldn’t have been kind to him: something had chipped away at whatever confidence he used to possess, and Sirius’s heart broke for it – for not having been there to protect him from it. Sirius considered him for a long time. Shook his head. The irony in him pitying Remus, when he was about to drive the dagger right where he knew it would hurt. Knew Remus too well for it not to.
“Fine,” he said evenly. “Just thinking about what to put in my will.”
It got the reaction he’d been hoping for. All the colour drained from Remus’s face as he stared, and as if with some effort, he echoed, “Your—?”
“Will,” Sirius repeated, cruelly casual, or maybe casually cruel. When he didn’t immediately elaborate, Remus shook his head, as if to himself, brows furrowed. He entered the room fully, frown almost wary as he shut the door behind himself.
“If there’s one thing we should’ve learnt by now it’s that you never know what could happen. Right?” Sirius continued, monotonous. “I’ve got shit now. Got to decide where it’ll go.”
“Sirius, what… brought this on?” Remus asked. He was still standing exactly where he’d been, in front of the door, as if afraid to approach any closer. Wised up at last, Sirius thought wryly.
He shrugged. “The house, I’ll probably leave to Harry. He needs to get out of the Dursleys’… sooner rather than later,” he said. “And I know Dumbledore says he mustn’t yet, but when he does – because he will – I want him to have somewhere that’s entirely his. I’m certain the Weasleys would be more than happy to open their own doors to him, but he’ll not want that forever. To go from a place like that to a place like theirs… it’s too much too quick. I remember that, with the Potters. Harry’ll want to strike out on his own eventually.”
“On his…?” Remus’s frown deepened. “I thought you said— what about y—?”
“I can’t.” With a wry smile. “Not on my own. I’m not… well. I don’t know that I’ve ever been. Harry needs more than I’d be capable of.”
“What do you mean, on your own?” Remus was halfway to glowering, now, whether or not he realised it. “Didn’t we decide that we’d—? Together, me and…”
Sirius watched as comprehension dawned on his face, slowly but surely. Remus turned pale as a ghost. He stared, utterly speechless, one of his hands trembling at his side.
Sirius forced a crooked, bitter smile. “What do you think I mean?”
Remus’s expression shattered like fragile glass. His eyes flickered wildly between confusion, anger, and something like betrayal. His shoulders, always held so tense, slumped, as though Sirius’s words had physically knocked the wind out of him. His jaw tightened, the muscles of his throat making his hard swallow visible.
He took a step forward, but then faltered, like an invisible barrier kept him rooted in place. “We’re splitting?” Half in disbelief. “After everything we’ve—?”
“Because of it,” Sirius corrected. “We’re splitting because of it.”
Remus’s eyebrows raised; he looked utterly lost. “I don’t understand,” he managed.
Sirius inched himself toward the edge of the bed once more. Dropped his knees. “This isn’t going anywhere, my love. Not really. Even after all of this… after Voldemort, after everything ends… what do we have? What life can we build together? I can’t—” His voice caught for a moment, but he forced himself to continue. “I can’t make you happy. Look at me. I’ve spent years locked in a prison, whether Azkaban or this house. I don’t know how to live anymore, Remus. And Merlin knows you’ve suffered enough – you deserve some sort of peace. You won’t find that with me.”
“How can you possibly know that?” Remus came so, so close to raising his voice; Sirius could hear it in the quiver of his words. Once upon a time he might have been the calm and collected one between them, Sirius likelier to throw histrionic fits when they rowed. Not anymore: Sirius had returned to find a desperate man, who’d learnt to clutch the things he held dear tightly. Violently, even – had lost far too much not to.
“This won’t last forever,” Remus insisted. “Grimmauld Place, or this— you’ll be able to leave. Dumbledore will clear your name, and we’ll go, Padfoot, we’ll get you out. You’ll have the time, and the space, to get— get better, and— you’ll remember how to live again. You will.”
When did you become the optimist between us? Sirius thought wryly, even knowing that wasn’t what this was at all. It was more like stubbornness, closer to a tantrum.
“But it will,” he rasped. “It will last forever. I do know that for certain.”
“How?” Remus demanded, almost angrily.
Sirius smiled, shaking his head. “Do you remember what Dumbledore told us about the blood magic that Lily unknowingly activated, when she gave her life for Harry? How her love for him was so powerful it became actual power?” He squeezed at the mattress beneath his fingers. “What do you think my own mother’s hatred for me would have done to me, Remus? What do you think the blood magic between she and I means?”
Remus stared. His mouth opened and closed, though not a sound escaped.
Sirius averted his eyes. “I’m cursed,” he clarified.
When he looked again, there really was anger in Remus’s expression, now, although his eyes were pained, tear-bright. “And what am I?” he hissed. “Am I not cursed? This disease—”
Sirius maintained his smile. “My darling, you’re building my case for me, not countering it.”
“Don’t— pretend— that this is noble of you,” half a plea and half an accusation. “You’ve already— abandoned me once, and you’re saying you’ll do it again for my benefit? Don’t lie to yourself.”
He sounded almost petulant. Time was a scary thing indeed, how it changed people, how even Remus could become so brittle he’d wield hurt as expertly as Sirius himself used to.
“I’m not. Abandoning you,” Sirius whispered. “Not this time. …You’ve got her.”
Remus blanched, eyes flashing as he bit, “Don’t. Don’t make this about Nymphadora—”
“She likes you. You like her.”
“I chose you!”
Sirius’s throat tightened, aware he looked utterly wretched as he gazed up at Remus with a quivering bottom lip. “I’m—” Relieved, grateful, confused, in love with you, so, so in love with you— “Flattered,” he said. “But she’s the one… she’d be good for you. Better, better than I’d ever be.”
He watched Remus’s hands curl into fists, the knuckles turning white, and he knew that look, the tightness in Remus’s jaw, the flare of his nostrils as he tried to steady his breathing. It was like standing in the eye of a storm, waiting for it to break. Sirius’s stomach twisted painfully as Remus took a step forward. The sound of those shoes scraping against the floor made the room feel even smaller, more suffocating. Remus’s hand lifted, trembling, like he wanted to reach for him, but instead it only hovered mid-air, caught in indecision.
He dropped it back to his side, as though the effort to hold himself back was taking everything in him.
“I… have made you… very few promises in our time together, Sirius,” dangerously quiet now. “Yet I’m not the one who’s broken any of them.”
Sirius closed his eyes. Remembered Remus, sixteen and innocent and impossibly lovely, taking his hands into his own: “It’s not conditional for me,” and, “I swear I won’t lie to you anymore.”
Remembered them at nineteen, without the faintest idea that anything could be looming beyond the war. “Constant.”
Sirius swallowed. “All the more reason,” he rasped.
“How can you…?” When Sirius looked, he thought he’d find more fury on Remus’s face, that this fragment of a sentence had meant, how dare you. But instead, Remus was shaking his head, a forlorn look fixed on Sirius. “How can you hate yourself so much that you forget reality? You never swore them in return. And that’s fine, I’ve been fine with it, but you were never obliged—”
Merlin, of course Remus would twist his own logic against himself like this, stupid, beautiful, soft-hearted martyr of a man. Sirius knew he had to switch tactics – drive a different knife in, even if it broke his own heart twice over to do so. He gathered every ounce of courage he had left: “…Where’s your ring, then?” he murmured.
It was the equivalent of deploying an atom bomb. Remus stared at him like he couldn’t believe the words had just left Sirius’s lips. After everything I’ve done, Sirius thought sardonically. “No…” Remus half-whispered, “No, you— you don’t get to ask me that. That is not fair. Why would I—?”
“I had mine to the last,” Sirius went on, under his breath, persevering despite the pang in his heart at torturing Remus like this; it was working, which meant he had to, had to… “I had it when… Lily and James… when that rat. I had it even when I thought you’d betrayed us. They confiscated it in Azkaban, with the rest of my belongings. I only lost it then.”
Remus was visibly on the verge of tears again. “I thought you’d killed them,” he hissed. “I— I tossed it— you’d killed them, how could I— I loved James, too! Lily was my friend first!”
Sirius had to bite down to stop his lip from shaking. Tasted copper on his tongue, fought every instinct that was begging him not to say what he did next: “Well. So much for unconditional.”
Remus flinched as though Sirius had struck him. His eyes widened in disbelief, lips parting like he was about to speak, but couldn’t find the words. Sirius watched the raw hurt flashing across his face: shock, betrayal, confusion, all tangled together. His chest rose and fell unevenly, as if he were struggling to breathe. His eyes shone brighter, the tremble in his hands unmistakeable.
For a moment, Sirius thought he’d done it, crossed the line. That Remus might go, leave him and his misery to rot on their own.
But instead, Remus gritted out, “I believed you were the spy too.”
His voice broke. He paused, ran frantic hands through his hair. “I fully believed… and I could have— should have told James. I didn’t, Sirius, I didn’t tell him. Or Lily— what else do you think that could possibly mean, then?”
An accusation that pierced right through Sirius’s heart, and he had to shut his eyes against his own pain.
“I never forgave myself for it when they… when we all believed you’d…” Barely a hiss, and almost a sob. “That’s why I could never— face Harry, after, why I took the job at Hogwarts when I… when the news broke that you… I wanted to put it right with my own hands.” Eyes heartbroken: “Kill you… then… then join you.”
Sorrow for Remus all but overwhelmed him. Sirius fought not to lift his trembling hands to his mouth – not to let his own tears show. “But I did,” he said, forcing as twisted and cruel a smile as he could. “I told James, when I suspected you. What do you think that means?”
“Stop it,” Remus pleaded quietly.
Sirius swallowed around the lump in his throat, struggled to maintain callousness: “Haven’t you ever wondered? Deep down? If it came to a choice, if I had to only pick one—”
“Stop.”
“—Who did I love more, you or James? You must have. You must have thought it sometimes.”
“Why are you being like this?”
“Well, I chose, Remus. Didn’t I? I chose.”
Remus’s fist struck the set of drawers beside him with a deafening thud. The old wood groaned under the impact, sending a few stray objects rattling to the floor.
Sirius didn’t flinch, didn’t pause. He whispered, “So you’re free, as well. To choose someone else. You shouldn’t have to look after me forever, Moony. It’s your turn to be looked after, now.”
“You can’t make me hate you, Sirius Black!” Anguished, stubborn, with all his heart behind it; even Sirius could tell.
Sirius shook his head forlornly. “Because you love me? You don’t. The boy you loved hasn’t existed for a long time.”
“Are you asking me not to love the man? How could I not?” Remus’s chest rose and fell with every word. “The way you try— so hard for Harry. You battle demons we couldn’t possibly imagine, after the hell you’ve been through, and yet you try. For him, for me, for a cause that’s half-broken us both— you’ve opened your doors to people that talk about you and judge you right under your own roof, that— that take over your house and then berate you in it, and even though we can all see how it crushes your spirit to be back here, you offered it anyway. You stay anyway.”
He made a helpless gesture with his hands. “You’ve given up your freedom, your comfort, everything for the Order. For Harry— no matter how much it must hurt, to see him and be reminded of James. Love, you’ve always been like this, convinced there’s nothing good about you while you prove over and over again with your actions that— and you think I’d somehow feel differently than I do? Everything about you, here, like this, right now, is incredible, how can you be so blind to yourself?”
Sirius pressed his lips together. Every muscle in his face tightened with sheer restraint. He cleared his throat, turned his face toward the window, where the light was quickly giving way to dusk. “Alright, well,” he rasped, as evenly as he could manage, “I don’t feel the same for you.”
The words fell flat between them, and even Sirius could hear their hollow ring. “I think it’s… best that you know that,” he added.
Remus was stunned into silence for a moment. Then he blinked. Disbelief creased his brow. “You’re lying.”
Sirius gave a short, humourless laugh, shaking his head. “I’m not. Look, Remus, you— you’ve got it all wrong. You’re building me up into something I’m not, someone I can’t be. You don’t know me anymore. Not really.”
He forced himself to meet Remus’s eyes directly. “I need you to let go of this… idea, of us. I’m not capable of it anymore. Love… companionship… whatever it is you want from me. I’m not.”
“Don’t say that,” Remus pleaded, taking half a step toward him.
Sirius shook his head again. “I’ve said enough.”
He half-twisted his body around just to turn away, an unspoken seal affirming the rejection. Remus’s voice was audibly quivering as he rasped, “We’re not Marauders anymore. Those days are gone— those boys are dead. If we aren’t lovers, either, then what are we?”
“…Nothing.” Sirius closed his eyes, ignoring the visceral pain that drove through him as he said it. “We’re nothing.”
Remus hissed, “Say it to my face.”
Sirius swallowed down the clogging in his throat. He inhaled, turned, and looked Remus in his over-bright eyes: “We’re nothing.”
Silence, as Remus held his gaze. Then his face crumpled, and he nodded, dropping his eyes to the floor, so that Sirius couldn’t quite see his expression, anymore. “…Right. Right,” he whispered, words as broken as they were enraged. “Just remember that you chose, Sirius. Not me. I wasn’t the one who gave up on us— I’ve never been the one to give up on us.”
Because Remus wasn’t looking, Sirius nodded, pained. It was true, and it was exactly why he had to do this. Make things right, one last time. Before he…
Remus had lifted his head, was passing a hand over his face. His eyes flicked in every direction but forward, either fighting tears, or avoiding Sirius’s, or both. Hoarsely, “I’m not… staying here, if we…”
Sirius schooled his expression into nothing. “I’ll move your things downstairs. Until you find another place. Not like I’ve got anything better to do with my time, anyway.”
The apathy and coldness that he’d feigned evidently got across, because Remus did look at him then, eyes flashing with barely-contained fury. “And don’t you fucking leave me one goddamned thing in that will of yours, either,” he spat.
“I wasn’t planning to,” Sirius lied, his eyes indifferent. He had been; Harry had enough by way of galleons already.
Remus’s face rippled with anger, and he might have outright yelled at Sirius if the door hadn’t creaked open right at that moment.
“Remus? Are you ready to head?” Nymphadora asked, peering inside. Sirius could see that she hadn’t heard a word: her expression was still as jovial as it had been downstairs. Utterly oblivious to it all, she skipped into the room. She’d found her scarf, evidently, an ostentatious, glittering thing thrown carelessly around her neck.
Her attention was momentarily on Sirius, friendly as ever, so she didn’t notice the visible effort with which Remus had to school himself as she entered. “It’s bollocks that you can’t come along, Sirius,” she clucked sympathetically. “Couldn’t you transform and go as a dog? Well, suppose the pub might not let you in, though, eh… and it wouldn’t be half as fun…”
Sirius watched, numb, as Remus set two protective hands on her shoulders. All but steering her away, as though even the sight of Sirius could be harmful to her. “Sirius isn’t interested,” he bit, the simmering rage beneath the words not quite under control yet.
He might as well have said, Sirius isn’t welcome. Even Nymphadora could hear it, evidently, because she twisted her head around to give him a confused look: “Everything alright?”
The words made Sirius’s heart clench, and he had to bite his tongue against the plea he wanted to scream out: Take care of him, please, please take care of him.
“Let’s go,” Remus muttered, and fairly pushed Nymphadora out of the room with him. He managed to slam the door, even with his hands occupied.
Sirius dropped all pretence of bravado. He was shaking uncontrollably as he brought his knees up on the mattress, burying his face in them, letting the tears spill over. He only bit back sobs out of sheer habit; instead what escaped him were half-hysterical laughs. Moony would be alright. Harry would be alright. And then, once he could be sure that Harry was safe and settled – out of the Dursleys’ clutches, among loved ones, done with all of this mess they’d found themselves in the middle of not quite by choice, not in any real sense – Sirius would take his final bow.
The underground, he thought. That might be funny, ironic for a Londoner, and just like Anna Karenina, a joke that Remus – years and years later, once he’d be done hating Sirius for it – would appreciate.
One last Marauderly laugh. Something for Remus to remember him by. Sirius was no saint. Sorry, Nymphadora, he thought placidly. She’d won, but he wouldn’t let her keep all of his heart.
If there’d be an after, Lily and James might not forgive him for abandoning Harry. But Reggie might be pleased to see him again. Pleased to be able to say “I told you so,” at any rate.
He just hoped they wouldn’t chuck him in the family mausoleum. Reg had been able to escape, lucky git, because they never did find a body.
His thoughts were quickly becoming a swarm of voices outside of his head. Sirius sighed, letting himself fall sideways, onto his pillow. When he found the strength to move, an eternity later, he slipped a hand underneath it and fished out his two-way mirror.
Molly was always hinting at the fact that Sirius ought not to contact Harry, of course, that it was unfair, if not actively putting the boy in danger. But he liked to have the mirror close regardless – just in case Harry reached out to him.
He held it against his chest, all but hugging it. The voices chorused that he was never supposed to exist anyway wasn’t meant to be born had cursed everyone in his life with his presence gotten away with living on for far too long— impressive, nothing left, no more grace.
He’d sleep. And someday soon, stop waking up at all.
Truth be told, it was only now that Sirius was deliberately keeping an eye out for his brother that he realised the extent to which Regulus managed to stay completely and utterly out of his way, at school. It’d been weeks since the start of term, and yet Sirius hadn’t spotted so much as a swish of black-and-green robes anywhere close to his person. It nagged at him. He felt he would not be able to put his awful summer to bed until he’d have gotten some form of comeuppance.
So when the opportunity finally presented itself, that Saturday, Sirius didn’t think twice before taking it.
“Are you sure you don’t want us to go with you?” asked James, for what felt like the millionth time. “We’d stay under the Cloak the whole time, and Wormy could lurk about as a rat.”
“Positively, Prongs, Christ Almighty,” Sirius rolled his eyes, half-fond and half-forbearing. “It’s only Uncle Alfie, mate, he’s not that bad. Anyway, even if he was, what’s he going to do? Hex me right in the middle of Madam Puddifoot’s in broad daylight?”
Appreciative chuckles from Remus and Peter. They were all strolling along the corridors, on their way out of the castle and toward Hogsmeade. It was a sunny morning, though a bit nippy, still. As sixth-years, they were free to leave for the village on their own, rather than having to queue up and be chaperoned there by Professor McGonagall like they used to.
“Can you blame me for being worried?” James insisted. “Last time you legged it and went off without us, Padfoot, it turned out you were messing about with Professor Nonce.”
“Prongs, some tact,” Remus chastised, but Sirius only shook his head and huffed amusement. He never really minded James’s blunt way.
“Look, I doubt I’d even be gone for very long,” he said. “Likely Uncle Alphard just wants to say the usual nonsense, you know – ‘You’ve still got family in me and Rommie, don’t forget to write,’ and all that. Shouldn’t be later than an hour, tops.”
“We can all meet at the Three Broomsticks around then,” suggested Peter, and Sirius pointed at him in acknowledgement.
“Exactly. Besides, we’ve got the mirrors.”
“Oh, alright,” James conceded with a tremendous sigh. “Well, give us a shout if you wind up changing your mind, anyway. Or send up sparks with your wand or something, I dunno.”
“Yes, mother.” Sirius snorted. “Are you lot going to be together the entire time, then? That’s a bit sad.”
Which made James deflate, disappointment in the slump of his shoulders. “Hardly my fault Evans won’t give a bloke a chance to find a backup date after turning him down…”
“You’re the one who waited until the day before to ask her out,” said Remus fairly.
“Sorry you’ve got to rough it with us,” Peter grumbled. “Since when was that a problem, anyway? It was fine when we were younger.”
Sirius wheezed, and James threw Pete an incredulous look: “Since our Quaffles dropped, Wormtail. We’ve already got two gays in this group, you don’t reckon four would be a bit superfluous?”
“Oi!” Sirius half-laughed, half-gasped, and Remus’s eyebrows shot up so high they met his hairline: “You’re asking to be hexed today, aren’t you, Mr Prongs.”
James grinned and had to dance out of Remus’s way, ducking behind Sirius while Remus attempted to swat at him. Sirius, busy shaking his head at their antics, almost didn’t notice the disaster that was fast approaching from the opposite direction. But he turned, for whatever reason, and his mood instantly soured: a few paces ahead Regulus was walking right toward them, evidently too focused on listening to his companion – that smarmy Rosier boy – to have realised this fact.
Sirius scowled. That burning feeling, frustration and embarrassment and rage, bubbled up in his chest, and without convening with his own friends, he deliberately charged forward.
It was easy; both Regulus and Rosier were too lost in conversation to react in time. Sirius rammed his shoulder into Regulus’s, hard, sending the lighter boy stumbling. All of his things fell to the floor, and matching grey eyes finally shot up to face Sirius, something wide and shocked and almost insultingly innocent in them.
It only made Sirius angrier. “Oops,” he said, aiming for nonchalance but knowing it came across more seething than anything. “Sorry. I’m partially blind to cowards.”
James, Remus, and Peter had caught up to him by then, flanking him as all four turned, so that there was something of a standoff between them and the Slytherin duo right there in the middle of the corridor now. A few curious students had paused to watch, plenty elbowing each other, snickering, anticipating fun.
The Rosier git was glowering right back, but the look in Regulus’s face said something different – as frustrated as Sirius felt. “…Xiōngzhǎng,” he began, which only made Sirius grit his teeth and curl his fists:
“Oh, have you got something to say to me, Regulus?” he bit, hand on his hip. “Why don’t you just say it in English, then? Or are you scared your new friends might not like what they hear?”
Regulus’s eyes hardened, too, lips thinning. Rosier, throwing Sirius a look like he was the dirt under the blond boy’s shoes, placed a hand on Regulus’s arm as if to steer him around: “Come on, cousin, ignore the blood traitor.”
“How about you fuck off, cousin, when no one’s addressing you?” Sirius shot back. Turning to Regulus again: “You’d have some audacity to call me the traitor between us.”
The colour drained from Regulus’s face, though tightly-reined fury sat in the tightness of his jaw, now, too. “Are you insinuating I betrayed this family?” he hissed. “Me? Who’s the one who left, who gave up his own flesh and blood to the Ministry?”
Sirius couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He would have lunged forward, if James and Peter didn’t grab him by an arm each. “Convenient of you to forget why!” he spat, pulse hammering in his ears as something as hollow as it was suffocating threatened to overwhelm him.
Regulus wouldn’t let him continue, raising his own voice, to retort: “Do you even care that they rounded us up like we were common criminals? They snapped mummy’s wand, deemed her unfit to— could you even begin to imagine what it would be like to have your magic taken from—”
“Regulus,” Rosier was tugging at him insistently now – airing the family’s dirty laundry out in public like this wasn’t exactly the Slytherin way. But Regulus’s face mirrored the betrayal that Sirius felt, and Sirius had to fight the urge to launch himself at his brother and fucking claw that look right off. He had it backwards, completely backwards, and there was no way to make him see—
“Good, then!” Sirius shot. “’Least I won’t have to worry about her practicing illegal curses on you. Not that you bother half as much when it’s me, do you?”
Something like shame finally did flicker in Regulus’s eyes, then, but Sirius had drawn conclusions too early – Regulus’s fists clenched, and he returned, “She’s not well, and you know it. This is a private matter that should have been resolved privately. You had no right to involve anybody else.”
There was a painful tugging at Sirius’s sternum. He had no idea what he wanted from his brother, suddenly, knowing Regulus would never understand. To him, Mother had only acted out of her state of mind, and if Regulus even considered it wrong at all, he wouldn’t believe it warranted punishment. No, Sirius was the one who should have known better, Sirius who oughtn’t provoke—
“Makes it so much easier to chalk everything up to that, doesn’t it?” he gritted out. “Mother’s unwell and that’s the only reason it’s all gone to shit for you lot. Whatever helps you sleep at night, Reggie.”
“I’m aware of the reason. I’m looking at him,” Regulus bit back. “And you can stop prying into our business as though it’s still any of your concern. You’re not a Black anymore. She’s taken you off the tapestry.”
Sirius felt the air leave his lungs as if he’d been punched. His mind spun, momentarily stunned by the news – he wasn’t a Black anymore? His name… gone?
He’d always thought that he’d known what that entailed, that he’d been expecting it. It was inevitable, the path that he was on. But to hear it now…
There was something uncomfortable gnawing at the pit of Sirius’s stomach, an agitation he wanted to, and yet couldn’t, ignore.
He could picture it clearly: the dim, suffocating drawing room of Grimmauld Place, walls lined with the heavy velvet curtains that always seemed to suck the light out of the room. The tapestry, sprawling and ancient, and Mother standing there, her pale, thin face twisted with that same manic fury she’d reserved for him on the day that he’d left.
Her wand, outstretched, shaking with rage, the tip alighting with magic as she pointed it toward his name. A single, violent flick. A burst of light. And just like that— gone. Burnt away, as if he’d never existed at all.
And Regulus? Had he been there? Standing quietly in the corner, watching it happen? Had he felt anything at all when it was done?
“…So stay away from me,” Regulus was saying, now. With a cold look at the others: “Ten points from Gryffindor for attempting to instigate a conflict. Now leave us alone.”
Remus must have opened his mouth to retort, because Regulus suddenly interjected, “You can’t take points from other prefects, Lupin.”
Sirius watched, unable to muster up words of his own, as Remus took half a step forward as if to shield him. “Rosier,” he said, tone calm, but threatening: “Ten points from Slytherin for failing to diffuse the situation as a bystander—”
Rosier flushed, “You meddling mixed-blood—”
“—And five more for disrespecting authority,” Remus continued evenly. His eyes remained on Regulus, one hand resting above the pocket where his wand would be in warning: “Try me, Black.”
Regulus scowled as well. With one last hateful look over his shoulder, he tugged his companion away, and the pair of them continued along the corridor.
Remus turned: “You alright?” he said at the same time as James, who’d reached out, clutching Sirius by a shoulder.
Sirius blinked his confusing, tangled mess of emotions away. “’Course I am,” he assured, with a half-indignant shrug. “Call that a retort, eh? Like I’d care that I’m off the stupid tapestry… good riddance, and fuckin’ finally, more like.”
James patted him where his hand still rested. Remus returned to his side as well, bumping their shoulders together briefly.
“Forget that wanker. I’m going to be late,” Sirius asserted. He gathered everything in him to restore his composure back to its typical insouciance; for their part, the others knew when to leave well enough alone by now, and didn’t press.
They all made their way out of the castle, swapping banter and idle conversation.
It was only after Sirius had said his goodbyes to them, and stood alone on the steps of Madam Puddifoot’s tea shop, that he let his façade fall. His thoughts were murky, painful epiphanies that nipped at the heels of one another, although as languidly as a rolling tide. Nothing chaotic about them – as though they knew they had Sirius cornered, anyway, and he couldn’t escape or ignore if he wanted to.
With that heavy feeling pressing down on his shoulders Sirius eased the shop door open. The place was full of patrons already – it usually was, when Hogwarts students visited – and he paused, searching for that familiar face.
Uncle Alphard did not look much like his siblings, or Sirius; he threw harder to the European side of the family, olive skin and larger facial features and a bit taller, even. He had salt-and-pepper hair, now, a decent length, just shy of his shoulders. Thick brows – that was some resemblance. He’d commandeered a table by the furthest window, currently standing and waving Sirius over.
Sirius spotted him, and made his way across the shop.
Theirs was an odd relationship. Alphard’s country house had always been a convenient place for the Blacks to chuck their children to, when they were off somewhere, and couldn’t be bothered. Sirius and Regulus had spent many a social season there, especially before Hogwarts, while the society set did whatever it was they did that little boys got in the way of, and Mother hid away— was hidden away, rather.
The man himself was an alright sort. Sirius had no idea if he believed the same things that the family did or not – he never talked politics, at least not that Sirius had ever heard – but his house and farm had always lacked that distinct, unsettling sensation that came with the presence of dark magic, so, there was that. He wasn’t particularly outgoing, but kind to the children, even if he didn’t quite seem to know how to entertain them, on his own. Mostly, in those days, he’d played the part of token adult supervision – but tended to let them amuse themselves as and how they liked, short of endangering anyone.
There’d been another man at Uncle Alphard’s, once, when Sirius was very, very little. This friendly, plump fellow called Edwin Dearborn. He actually played with them, but he was dead now. His and Alphard’s “companionship” had been understood, though no one named it outright.
Still, none of that meant that Sirius and his uncle were close, or that they knew each other as such, really knew each other, that is, and not just about each other. But Sirius could say the same of everyone he happened to be related to, so. Not entirely relevant.
He slid into the seat across from Alphard, offering a tight smile in return for the mirroring one he got. Alphard’s hand still hovered mid-air awkwardly, as if he wasn’t sure whether to clap Sirius on the shoulder or simply let the gesture die. Eventually, he withdrew it; rested his fingers neatly on the table’s edge instead.
“Good to see you again, Sirius,” he began, with the tell-tale air of one who’d rehearsed his lines beforehand. “Good of you to come… I wasn’t sure you would.”
Sirius blinked. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Alphard hesitated. There was something guarded about him, as if he was afraid of stepping wrong. “Things being what they are, I suppose,” he said.
Sirius nodded, mostly to himself. He’d never really just sat down with his uncle before, and the proximity made him revise his earlier appraisal: there was a slight family resemblance after all if you knew what to look for. The way Alphard’s hair parted along one side, rather than the middle, because it probably wouldn’t cooperate otherwise, just like Sirius’s… and Mother’s. And he had their long fingers, piano-player fingers. Storm-grey eyes, as well.
Sirius itched for a cigarette all of a sudden, and deciding that he was his own man now, he slipped his pack out of the inside pocket of his jacket, rapped it on the table to slide one out. “Do you mind?” he asked, casually pointing it in his uncle’s direction.
Alphard shrugged. Still, as Sirius lit up with his wand, Alphard obliged with the old, “Not a healthy vice, that.”
“Which one is?” Sirius huffed amusement around the paper between his lips.
Alphard smiled, conceding the point. “You look so much older without your uniform… has anyone ever told you?” In the tone of someone musing out loud without really thinking about it.
Sirius hummed noncommittally. Alphard continued, “But I suppose you are turning of age this year. November, wasn’t it?”
“Mm-hmm.” Sirius exhaled smoke. “So are you just making the rounds, or is this a special visit?”
Alphard tilted his head like he didn’t quite understand, and Sirius clarified, “Have you been ’round Cissy’s? Gonna say hullo to Regulus later, as well?”
“Ah. No.” Alphard’s smile thinned, rueful. “I doubt they’d be as appreciative of it. Tea?” (Picking the china teapot beside him up expectantly – his own cup was already full, Sirius noted.)
Sirius nodded yes, then watched his uncle pour him some. “Don’t tell me you’re one of us shunned, too, now,” he half-heartedly quipped.
Soft chuckling. “I don’t know about that… but birthday cards and the occasional thank-you note following presents aren’t… quite the same as the letters you and Andromeda send in response to mine.” When he glanced up, his eyes were twinkling. “We Slytherins can read between the lines.”
Sirius gave an obligatory, soundless laugh. He sort of regretted not writing his uncle more often, now – it was only ever in reply.
“You hear from Rommie a lot, then?”
“Oh, yes. She and her family had to stay over once – an emergency, long story.” He sipped his tea. “So I’ve visited, in turn. I take it you asking means she doesn’t write you?”
Sirius shook his head, flicked his cigarette over the nearby ashtray. “Does, sometimes. I haven’t been to hers, though. No idea where she lives. Haven’t seen her in general, since she ran off.”
“It’s to protect you,” Alphard assured him, evidently taking Sirius’s words for disappointment, which they weren’t really. “The rest of them can’t accuse you and your brother of, erm… colluding with her, if you don’t—”
Sirius smirked. “I think it’s more that what I don’t know can’t be tortured out of me, Uncle Alf. But cheers.”
Wry smile back. “We Slytherins are also rather fond of the old ‘two Doxies, one stone’ axiom.”
“Touché.” Sirius blew smoke into his tea just to watch it ripple. “Okay, special visit, then. Have you got lectures for me about making nice or keeping things civil, and all that?” Which would be a bit late, he thought sardonically, remembering Regulus’s glare even now.
“No. No.” Alphard’s expression turned quite sombre. “If you’ll pardon the pun, what they did to you was absolutely unforgiveable.”
Sirius nodded again, some appreciation. There was silence, for a minute, which didn’t surprise him: Alphard had never been much of a conversationalist, and when he did have something to say the man was perfectly comfortable taking his time to select his words. “You’re not like them, are you,” Sirius remarked idly, curling his free hand around his teacup. “I mean, I sort of knew it when Rommie first wrote to say you went and saw her married when none of the rest of us were allowed to, but it’s nice to see it’s not the entire bloodline that’s rotten.”
“It never was.” Alphard smiled thinly. “Forgive me, I should qualify that statement… the family has, erm… always been involved in things I’m not entirely convinced I ought to be proud of. But I haven’t seen that sort of cruelty turned on our own in the way that I have from, erm… well, from your…”
Sirius couldn’t seem to stop nodding. He traced a finger around the rim of his china, staring at it without really seeing it. “How come you never said anything, then?” he murmured.
The silence that followed was far more loaded, and Sirius didn’t glance up, didn’t have to. He gave his tea a wry smile instead. “Sorry, how very Gryffindor of me. You don’t do that, do you? It isn’t the proper thing.”
“Sirius—”
“It’s so funny, I was just saying this to Reggie a minute ago,” Sirius forged on, stubborn. “That it’s easy to condemn coming from mother, because she’s off her rocker and everyone knows it. Yeah? Poor old us, saddled with her, and what an embarrassment she is. Showing it all out in the open like that. Meanwhile Uncle Cygnus and Aunt Druella just adore their little princesses, don’t they. Bella’s proclivities are perfectly alright as long as she’s got channels for them that aren’t them or Cissy, and who cares if that Crouch kid cries himself to sleep at night? That’s a lovely old family after all, eh? Right respectable, they are.” When he brought his fingers to his lips again, he realised his cigarette was shaking. “Nobody’s business. God forbid anyone ever say anything.”
There was an audible exhale, though Sirius still didn’t feel like looking. “You must understand…” Alphard began, but Sirius only scratched a thumb across his forehead, cigarette dangling from its neighbouring fingers precariously.
“Why does mum hate me?” he asked.
He did glance at his uncle, then, who’d gone pale, and was now visibly confused.
With a bitter huff, Sirius clarified, “I get apathy. Like papa, right? He clearly didn’t want a family, as such, he only had to ’cause of heirs and all that. He’s never given a fuck about either of us, me or Reggie, but that’s not the same thing as hate, is it? You’ve got to have a reason to hate someone. And I don’t get—” He had to pause, swallow hard— “I don’t get what a kid could have possibly done to make her… you know? We covered Unforgiveable Curses, in class, recently, and… my mind just stuck on the bit where they said you’ve really got to mean it, when you use one.” He exhaled. “And don’t, don’t say it’s only the madness. Even that wants a reason. I know. Believe me, I know.”
Alphard gave him a long look. Shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Sirius,” he tried again, “There’s no… reason in the world that would ever be able to excuse what she—”
“Tell me.” Sirius gripped his teacup harder. “If you extending the proverbial hand of friendship like this actually means anything at all, please tell me.”
“I…” Something close to distress in his tone. “I know she’s my sister, but we weren’t… really raised with that sort of closeness, and… there are things even I wasn’t necessarily privy—”
“I look like her, don’t I,” Sirius interjected, morose. He knew this from ancient photographs and idle remarks; met his uncle’s eyes as he said it. He held the gaze, no matter how uncomfortable it clearly made the other man, until at last Alphard’s shoulders slumped.
“…More and more every day,” Alphard admitted, half a whisper.
Sirius had to look away, flicking his eyes this way and that to fend off the painful feeling. Once he was certain he had a tight rein on his voice, he said, “I don’t want to become her,” vehement, if half-fearful. “So I… I’ve got to know. Please. Anything.”
Alphard remained silent for a moment, his fingers still curled tight around the edge of his table. He took in a slow breath, eyes fixed on his plate of scones. When he finally spoke, it was audibly low and careful, like someone picking his way through a minefield. “It would only be conjecture,” he warned.
“Better than nothing,” Sirius returned.
Alphard nodded at the table. Hesitated, as if weighing his words. “There was a time…” he murmured, “When… I was meant to carry the family name forward. As the eldest son, it was expected of me. You know how it is, how it always was in this family. Marriage, heirs, blood purity above all else.” He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “But I didn’t want any of that… I had someone. A man.” His voice faltered slightly. “We were together for a while. It wasn’t some sordid affair; I loved him. I wanted a life with him, but at the time, that wasn’t an option. The… the sort of thing that… could be tolerated as a passing boyhood fancy, but not… not a serious consideration.”
Sirius felt a bit distant, and surreptitiously pinched himself, forcing his awareness not to retreat.
“I refused to marry,” Alphard was saying now, more firmly after having cleared his throat. “They tried, they pushed, they threatened disinheritance, but I… well, I fought back. And in the end… I suppose because I was still the eldest son, regardless of… and because my father was more interested in preserving the line, than in my personal life. They allowed me to live as I pleased. I still had the family name, the wealth, everything but their… association. Their company. I didn’t have to pretend any more than I already did in public.”
He paused again, and Sirius could feel the shift coming, the part of the story that he’d been dreading.
“Walburga… wasn’t so lucky. She didn’t want it, any of it – the marriage, the children, the life of a dutiful wife. She was never given the option to refuse. It wasn’t up to her. She was arranged to marry another Black, your father, so the name could still… and she couldn’t do anything about it.”
Sirius’s fist curled, nails biting into palm. His other hand trembled as he took another drag. “But Uncle Cygnus…”
Alphard shook his head. “Druella couldn’t produce a single son,” he explained, rather hoarse.
Sirius exhaled smoke. Said nothing at all.
“She tried to fight it, at first,” Alphard continued softly, something like regret in his voice. “But, Orion… he wasn’t like us. Cygnus and I, that is. He was domineering, cold, and utterly committed to the idea of family purity. He wouldn’t let her be anything other than what she was supposed to be – merely someone to produce heirs. She couldn’t leave. Couldn’t live outside that role. Lost her sanity to it, and… I imagine that’s why he imprisoned her in that house. Even more than he already had.”
His eyes were haunted when he met Sirius’s gaze again.
“She, erm… she didn’t want… you, Sirius. To her… you and Regulus were more chains. Constant reminders of the life she didn’t choose. I… I suppose she takes it out on you, because she can’t on them. Your father. My father.” Alphard’s gaze wavered slightly, and he looked away again. “That doesn’t make it right. It never will. But… that’s why. That’s why she is the way she is.”
There was a melancholy sort of resignation sitting in Sirius’s stomach. He welcomed it, no matter how it squeezed at his throat. Clarity, at last.
“…Thank you,” he mumbled. “I needed to know.”
“She doesn’t hate you because of who you are,” Alphard added, little more than a whisper. “She hates what you represent. The life she couldn’t escape.”
Sirius chuckled around his cigarette. “No, she hates me,” he drawled. “If you’re right, then both me and Reg are bars in her cage. But she dotes on him. Didn’t always, mind. After I got Sorted into Gryffindor and he went and chose Slytherin like the obedient little Black he is, however…”
“It’s not, it’s not that,” Alphard insisted, leaning forward in his chair. “To my understanding, Regulus and that house-elf that raised her are the only ones who offer her some sort of—”
“I’ll not apologise for it, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Sirius snapped, eyes flashing.
“No, no. No, of course not,” Alphard held a placating hand up. “Forgive me, I’m… not the most adept with words. You don’t owe her… that, really anything, Sirius…” With a pensive look, “Rather – I think it’s I who owes you an apology.”
Sirius deflated. That empty feeling returned in place of the anger. He shrugged, taking yet another drag of smoke. “What for?” On the exhale. “I understand your position. I’ve got a boyfriend, too.”
There was sharp surprise on Alphard’s face that quickly morphed into something wretched, sympathy and remorse all at once. “…Have you,” he murmured, rather brittle.
More silence, and Sirius finally picked up his tea, taking gulps rather than sips. Bland. He’d forgotten the sugar.
“I am sorry, Sirius,” Alphard finally spoke again. “I’ve never been good with children… on top of which I suppose I was trying to ignore the family’s existence altogether. Truthfully, I came here to let you know that I’d, I’d very much welcome it, if you… should like to stay in touch. I’m sure the Potters are wonderful people, but if you were ever… missing family…”
“I’ve got family.” Sirius forced a tight smile. “But thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”
He wasn’t even sure if he meant it or not, himself.
Alphard still looked caught between concern and misery. “Well—”
“Talking of which,” Sirius cut him off abruptly, as he set his teacup down, “I’ve made plans at the Three Broomsticks, so. If we’re done here, could we chit-chat some other time?”
Alphard’s fingers curled around the rim of his cup, now, four of them nervously tapping the china and drawing Sirius’s eye. He didn’t speak, but there was something in his posture, a hesitance, as if he wanted to prolong the conversation, but didn’t quite know how. The steam from his tea curled upward, the only movement between them, and Sirius sat on edge, already half-turned in his chair, ready to leave.
Alphard shifted in his own seat. His lips twitched like he was about to say something, but no sound came.
Sirius huffed quietly. He brushed a stray lock of hair from his face as he pushed back his chair.
“Of course,” Alphard said at last, acquiescent to the signal.
“Right,” Sirius muttered; stood up and shrugged his jacket into place. “I’ll see ya, then.”
He turned, his chair scraping against the floor, and made for the exit, not bothering to glance back as he pushed it open. The cool air from the street rushed in, hitting his face like a slap. There was a tightness in his chest, a hollow feeling gnawing at him, growing heavier with every footfall. The thought of heading to the pub, of pretending to laugh and banter with his friends, suddenly felt exhausting.
He stopped for a moment. Stared down the road. He could just about spot the castle looming in the distance… and without another thought, Sirius shoved his hands into his pockets, and started in its direction, rather than the street that would take him to company.
Really he’d intended to send Andromeda a letter. He’d even said as much to James when James inevitably contacted him on the mirror, wondering where he was. Sirius had said he was ill – not a lie. His head hurt a bit. He’d said he was ill and that he wanted to write Andromeda a letter, and he’d done it and everything, asked her what it meant to be blasted off the tapestry, whether she and therefore he were still Blacks.
But then he’d gotten all the way to the Owlery, and spotted Aldebaran perched among the other birds. The sight of his brother’s (were they even brothers anymore?) owl had brought an odd, if familiar, feeling: like he was a fly caught in treacle, limbs too heavy to move.
Sometimes… very occasionally, when things were particularly dire… Sirius could hear his thoughts outside of himself. It used to frighten him, as a child, when it first happened, but then Rommie had taken his hand and explained in that unimpressed way of hers that it was only that his head was too full. Only his own thoughts spilling over because they needed somewhere to go.
He sat down in a corner of the Owlery, because there was no one else about, and he didn’t feel like walking all of a sudden. And then he didn’t really feel like being human, either, so he shifted into a dog. That made the noise stop, and everything else simpler. Less heavy, less draining.
He didn’t know how long he’d been curled up there. Eventually there came footsteps, the crunch of straw. The weight of the bunch beneath him shifted as someone else sat down, and a gentle hand settled on his head, petting, caressing.
“—Map really does come in handy,” said Remus, serene as ever. “Not that you missed much. Mostly we shopped around and then had butterbeers. I thought about buying you something, but, I wasn’t sure what. You don’t reckon boys give each other flowers, do you? I wouldn’t know what to do with those, personally. And of course you aren’t as fond of chocolate as I am.”
His voice was incredibly soft, barely louder than a whisper. Soothing. Sirius remembered the first time they’d done this, shortly after his Sorting. He’d locked himself in the bathroom, because… because quite honestly he’d wanted the entire world to disappear. James had panicked. Peter had panicked. But Remus… Remus’s voice had wafted in from the other side of the door, baffling for how calm it was.
“Hullo, Sirius. I hope you don’t mind if I finish my essay just here. I’ve told James and Pete not to get Professor McGonagall after all, so don’t worry. Merlin, I’m having so much trouble with all of these dates, aren’t you? The goblin revolutions, I mean. I thought I’d nip into the library, but then…”
And he’d gone on and on and on, a persistent reminder that there was still a world outside of that room. Outside of Sirius’s head.
Eventually Sirius had felt ready to return to it, and stood. Opened the door, discovered Remus sitting right there, right on the floor on the other side. Remus had smiled up at him warmly:
“Ah. Hiya. Fancy a bite to eat?”
The memory lent him enough strength to shift back, at the moment. Sirius thought he didn’t mind being human if he could do it in Remus’s arms.
His head was still on Remus’s lap, and Remus gave a brief noise of surprise when it changed from a dog’s. “Hullo, love.” Sirius could hear the smile in his voice. “I feel a bit like the princess and the frog now.”
Sirius exhaled a silent laugh by Remus’s thigh. “The werewolf and the dog,” he quipped, if still hoarse.
Soft chuckling, and careful hands smoothing out his hair. Then Remus eased his knees up higher, lifting Sirius closer with them. Chapped lips brushed against the side of Sirius’s face.
Sirius closed his eyes to savour it. He turned, so he could look up at Remus’s face, aware his own held both awe and melancholy. “How do you do that?” he marvelled, reaching a hand out, just able to brush Remus’s chin before he gave up and let it fall again.
He didn’t even need to clarify, evidently; Remus understood. Remus said, “I reckon it already feels big and awful enough without people around you labouring the point. Probably more useful to hear about everything else… to know the world hasn’t ended, even if it might feel like it has.”
Something as painful as it was adoring squeezed at Sirius’s heart. “You’re magical,” he whispered.
Remus’s smile was so tender, so sympathetic. “Aren’t we all?”
Sirius exhaled wryly. He shook his head as far as he could. “You’re more. The most.”
Quiet laughter as Remus swept his fringe away from his forehead. “Poor old Padfoot. The mood has taken your grammar.”
Sirius huffed. His lips quirked up in spite of everything. “Where’d you learn to?” he asked, not really expecting a frank answer, but Remus obliged.
“When I was little, there was a… a rather close call, at one of the places we used to live. Dad got paranoid, after it. He’d charm the doors locked as soon as he left for work. …That was before Hogwarts – before he’d agreed to mum getting a job too. So we’d both be locked in while he was gone, essentially.”
Incredulous, Sirius furrowed his brows.
Remus went on, impossibly mild, “I think I’d have panicked about it more if she wasn’t there. Wasn’t herself. She’d just go about the day like nothing was wrong, y’know? Or we’d swap stories – make up nicer worlds. Worlds that weren’t as scary. Come to think of it, she might have been panicked, too. Maybe that’s why she did it.”
“She should have left him a long time ago,” Sirius couldn’t help saying, and he amended, “Sorry. Is that alright for me to…?”
Remus only hummed. Shrugged. “Nothing I haven’t thought myself,” he answered. “I suppose she wanted me to have a family. And she does love him, when it comes down to it.”
Sirius swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. He closed his eyes, overwhelmed. “I think… I think maybe just because you love someone it doesn’t mean you ought to be with them. I— think it might be alright to, to love them, and leave. For your own good…”
He gave a little sigh, trying, and failing, not to think of Regulus.
Damn it. “I dunno, maybe I’m just selfish.”
Remus cupped his cheek. “I don’t disagree,” he murmured. “You can love someone from a distance. Surely.”
Sirius nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and because if Moony said so then it must be true.
He lifted his head off of Remus’s lap, rested it on Remus’s shoulder instead. “Do you believe in fate?” he ventured, at length, apropos of almost nothing.
Remus dropped his own head on top of Sirius’s. “Do you?” he echoed.
“Yeah.” Sirius slid his hand along Remus’s arm, entwined their fingers together, squeezed a little. “The trouble is, people talk about fate like it works for you, for your happiness. Which, I mean, that’s a bit presumptuous, innit? Can’t all of us have happy stories. What if, like, what if you’re meant to be a tragedy? And you… what, just live in denial about it? That’s mad, don’t you think?”
“Mm.” Remus squeezed back briefly. “I think I do believe in it, then. Your way.”
Odd how the words didn’t erase the melancholy, but all the same, somehow made it a bit easier to bear.
They sat in silence, for a while, and then there was the smack of Remus’s lips as he parted them again, “D’you know what, though?” he said. “I like that… even if that’s what it might be, like as a big picture, an overall thing… a tragedy, that is… right now it’s quite lovely. Sitting here with you.”
A feeling swelled, and Sirius tilted his head, staring up at him. Lost for words.
Remus smiled, soft and understanding. “And I like that we do have a little power to make it even better if we wanted. Nip into the kitchens, grab a hot chocolate. Curl up by the fire rather than this straw. Do you see? It might be awful again tomorrow, but it’s nice that it’s not all awful all the time.”
He was an angel, Sirius decided. He pushed closer, desperate to borrow some of that inexplicable light. “Yeah,” he breathed, awed. “Yeah.”
Remus exhaled a silent laugh. Reached out and tucked a lock of Sirius’s hair behind his ear. Sirius blurted out, “I shouldn’t have been born.”
Remus’s eyes searched his. There was something so steady in those deep browns it was otherworldly. “Me too,” he said.
Sirius swallowed. “I’m sort of doing wrong just by that, I think.”
“Me too,” Remus repeated. His hand dropped from Sirius’s face once more, taking Sirius’s, tracing circles with his thumb. “Are you glad you’re here? Regardless?”
“…Not always,” Sirius confessed. “But right now… right now I am.”
Remus smiled, a slow and breathtaking thing. “Me too.”
Sirius lurched forward, he couldn’t help himself. Wrapped both arms around Remus’s neck and shoulders and hugged him so tightly he heard the breath escape Remus in a sharp exhale.
“Stay with me,” he begged, a desperate hiss. “Moony— Moony, please. Stay with me.”
Remus turned his head slightly, so their cheeks touched. His hands slid along Sirius’s back, patting. “Of course, love.” Sirius felt the words – a rumble in Remus’s chest – more than heard them. “As long as you’d like.”
And a smile finally did warm up Sirius’s face, then, relieved and hopeful. Even if it wasn’t entirely certain.
Notes:
…You ever think about the implications of Sirius having already prepared a will at the ❀ ripe old ❀ age of about thirty-five-ish and cry even harder than the last time I asked you to think about the implications of something? Because it couldn’t have been that he’d expected to die in battle, seeing as he initially wasn’t allowed to join the fight.
Man. Pain and suffering on planet earth.
It’s time for some timeline notes once again (and, please help me out by correcting me if I have my details or maths wrong). According to the HP Lexicon timeline, the last time Sirius and Harry spoke before the Battle of the Department of Mysteries – that time he asked Sirius and Remus about Snape’s Worst Memory – was around April of 1996. The flash-forward here is supposed to be set somewhere between then and Sirius’s death, which happens in June. It’s also supposed to be before Tonks confesses to Remus (whilst they were on a mission per the Pottermore thing). JKR specifies that said confession occurred after a whole year of will-they-won’t-they for the pair, but also implies that it happened before Sirius died. (I’m guessing she had her maths wrong – we’re all aware she’s not with the numbers – seeing as the Order wasn’t reassembled until the summer of 1995. Either that, or Remus and Tonks met before the second Order.)
Taking all that into account, you could more definitively place this flash-forward around May of 1996, in order to have ample time between the Wolfstar breakup and Remadora getting together (their false start, rather, but YKWIM). I like that timeframe, because it would also vibe with the fanon of Against the Moon, which writes Tonks as a “Beltane child.” Readers that have also read that fic might have noticed that a few other things in mine line up with it – it just tickles me to. Also as a rare shipper of both (Remus has two hands!), this works to remove any cheating vibes between them – the concrete kind, anyway. Uh, Remus can’t help being an indecisive Pisces? (← Jokes. Joking.)
Speaking of Remus’s Pottermore feature, I couldn’t include the Remadora dialogue from it because Sirius wasn’t there to overhear that, obviously, but I kept the general sentiment of jealousy. It’s really funny how every time JKR tries to retcon any possibility of Wolfstar being canon she accidentally creates more subtext, LMAO. Remus’s jealousy there could easily be interpreted both ways.
I don’t really subscribe to the headcanon that Sirius lost some of his memories in Azkaban, because throughout GoF and OotP he demonstrates that he can clearly recall a lot of things from the past, down to a random senior like Bertha Jorkins. I think the line about Dementors feeding on people’s happy memories isn’t literal; it probably just means that people find it difficult to remind themselves of said memories whenever Dementors happen to be around – similar to what depression does, seeing as Dementors are supposed to be metaphors for depression to begin with.
Most fics tend to lean heavier on Sirius’s suspicion of Remus (regarding being the spy) because angst potential, I know, but since we’re trying to be as canon compliant as possible here, I’m not erasing the canon fact that the suspicion was very much mutual.
Apparently there weren’t separate designated smoking areas in public places until the later ’70s to ’80s, hence Sirius being free to in a regular tea shop here, LMAO. Anyway, even if it had been the norm for the time already, I doubt the wizarding world would have had them. I get the vibe they probably don’t know what cigarettes are… though they might have pipes?
Ron says in HBP that Sirius and Tonks never met before the Order, which I’m assuming he must have heard either direct from one of them or from Remus, so yeah, all that about Andromeda.
Chapter 8
Notes:
If I could bottle up the joy your feedback gives me, I’d never have a bad day again. Thank you for making this feel special.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
—But the thing about power (Severus came to realise, too late) was that it required solidifying to really matter. He’d acquired his only recently, and on the back of someone else’s; both made it unsteady, like attempting to grasp sand. Several blows had been dealt it, as it was – his failure with Lupin; his momentary lapse in judgement that had led him to confess to Lily so publically, an act that had carelessly placed him under scrutiny among his peers; and always, Potter, thrice-damned Potter, humiliating him and undermining his hard-earned credibility yet again.
Severus had been banking on that newspaper to restore his status among the cream of Slytherin. And so when the first edition came out, at last – the first week of October, 1976 – it was with utter relief that he read and re-read one loaded headline, reason enough to request a meeting:
Should Muggle Studies Be Mandatory? A Call for Educational Reform…
It was a piece advocating for Muggle Studies to become a core subject, and not an elective. Severus basked in the alleviation of his anxiety; it would be easy to call this a dangerous, intentional push toward normalising Muggle culture. Easy to reinforce their beliefs that the wizarding world was in danger of becoming tainted. He could use it to instigate something – anything at all – and, he hoped, maintain his standing as a result. Who was to say? If it went particularly well, his position might even be elevated. He’d hoped he would be the unspoken leader when their turn came, when they’d be seventh-years. Alpheus was the likelier candidate, Severus being only half-blood, but still… it wasn’t entirely impossible…
Except that then, the night of the meeting had finally arrived— and that blasted fifth-year, Evan Rosier, had brought Regulus Black along with him.
The shift in hierarchy was immediately, insultingly palpable. Normally, the seventh-years held all the authority. Rookwood had graduated, of course, and was rumoured to be angling for a good, advantageous position in the Ministry to help combat the iron-fisted policies of the new Minister for Magic and that blood traitor, Crouch, from the inside. Some of their other immediate seniors, Alecto Carrow, Herbert Crabbe, and Philemon Goyle, were confirmed to have been granted the Mark, according to Lucius.
Natural dynamics would have had Maximilian Wilkes at the top of the food chain, as it were, with them having left school. And in name, he was – it was him Severus approached to convene the rest and discuss the situation at hand; him who sat at the head of the table they were gathered around, in one corner of the common room.
But then Rosier had approached them… with Black in tow. Instantly, Wilkes, Nott, and even Isabella dissolved into mortifying sycophancy.
“Master Black,” Isabella smiled, irritatingly obsequious. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“At last.” Wilkes smirked, and actually deigned to stand when he extended his hand out to the boy. “We welcome you, brother.”
Regulus harrumphed, but took it. Nobody could manage utter disdain in their expression in the manner that a Black could, Severus thought privately, scornfully. It irked him, that Regulus looked so much more like his brother than like Narcissa or Bellatrix. Felt almost as though that other Black was present, regarding Severus with derision, like he was hardly worth acknowledging.
“My cousin is only here to observe,” said Rosier, with boastful emphasis on the word cousin. “He’s still… not quite convinced that our way is the most effective way to bring about the revolution. I’d hoped we might be able to change his mind, tonight.”
“But why not, Regulus?” Even Alpheus’s tone had turned affable. “Do you not believe that the Dark Lord—?”
“The Dark Lord is just in his cause. I’ll thank you not to cast aspersions on my beliefs.” Regulus’s voice was monotonous, his lips a thin line. “I am merely concerned about the amount of blood, including pure, blood, that is being spilt in his name. However, I would be mistaken to condemn that harder than I condemn the circumstances which demand it. And I do.”
“Indeed, the violence is unfortunate,” Alpheus granted, convincing absolutely nobody. “But it’s a necessary evil to combat the greater evil, as you say. Well— welcome.”
“Please, sit,” Nott gestured at the chair a seat across from him, next to Severus. Regulus paused, visibly affronted as his lip curled at Severus:
“…Next to the mixed-blood?” he asked, and not even addressed to Severus, but rather Rosier.
Severus felt a hot flush travel electric along his body. There were several chuckles around the table, all ostensibly nervous but there was something genuine underlying some. Severus could see it in the entertained quirk of Rosier’s lip, the vindication on Isabella’s face.
“Come, now, Severus aligns with his superior bloodline,” said Wilkes, though the sparkle in his eyes belied the sentiment. “He’s proven it… and Lucius Malfoy speaks highly of him.”
“My cousin Lucius?” Regulus arched an eyebrow as he sat, Rosier having walked him around to the opposite side of the table instead. Severus thought his cheeks would set on fire; the meaning was plain. No matter how much Lucius approved of Severus, it would never be comparable to Regulus’s familial ties to him via Narcissa.
And he had Bellatrix Lestrange for a cousin, as well. Bellatrix, who was rumoured to be quickly rising in the ranks of the inner circle, quickly becoming Voldemort’s right hand…
There was nothing for it. Severus had to employ the same tactics that he had with Lucius: ingratiate himself to Regulus, somehow. Clearly it was he who held the weight now, tipped the scales.
He forced a smile. “I understand your reluctance, given the unfortunate accident of my birth,” he said, in as self-effacing a tone as he could manage. “But, I assure you, I have no allegiance to the Muggle world. My Muggle father thought himself superior to my mother, a witch, and it was his oppression of her that opened my eyes to the reality of—”
“And are all your discussions quite so aimless, Maximilian?” Regulus turned to Wilkes as though Severus hadn’t even spoken. “Because I’m not after a social club, if that’s what this is.”
Severus felt something crawl up his spine, something too close to humiliation to be bearable. Wilkes, meanwhile, smirked, answering Regulus: “No, assuredly not. Severus, you found something in that newspaper?”
“…I… I did.” Severus had to clear his throat, compose himself. Damn it all. He had to come up with a way to make Regulus overlook his blood status— perhaps this might prove his dedication to the cause, he thought, smoothing out the paper in question, the copy he’d brought along with him.
“Look at this,” he said, in a warning tone, as he held it up to his audience, indicating the headline he’d found. “Blatant propaganda, exactly as I feared. That Muggle-loving excuse of a professor is clearly plotting some coordinated campaign to poison the minds of our kind—”
“Your kind?” Regulus interrupted, eyebrows arched sharply high.
Severus had to swallow down mortification, forge on despite the heat causing a bizarre sweat to break out on the back of his neck. “Wizards…” He cleared his throat. “A campaign to brainwash wizards. They, er, they want to rewrite our education – dilute the very essence of what it means to be magical, and then have us revere their pathetic, non-magical society.”
“I’m confused.” Regulus held up a palm, halting Severus as surely as if he’d been tapping a gavel. “As I understand it, it’s that Mudblood lover of yours who’s behind this rag, and you, yourself, took Muggle Studies.”
Thankfully, Severus did not have to speak up for himself. Avery said, “It would seem the Mudblood girl bewitched him, actually. Slipped him a love potion.”
“Oh?” But Regulus seemed utterly unimpressed. “I was under the impression that you were quite the gifted potioneer, Snape. It’s almost surprising, really, that you wouldn’t have detected such a crude attempt at manipulation. Then again,” lips quirking very, very slightly, “I suppose even the best of us can be caught off guard. More baffling that Lily Evans would be so short-sighted. I mean, if you’re going to take the trouble of brewing a love potion, one would think it would be… with certain prospects in mind.”
Condescending grey eyes swept over Severus, up-and-down. “Well. Who could fathom the machinations of a Mudblood brain. I’d have assumed that a girl as conniving as you report would, er… use such talent to capture herself a pure-blood of distinguished pedigree, that’s all. No offence – only rumour had it that she had her sights set on that blood traitor, Potter, as well.” With a glib hand gesture, “Perhaps she was thinking with her heart, not her head… as odd as that would be, given that you claim you associated with her because of this potion.”
Severus could feel every eye around the table turned toward him. The back of his neck was cold, now, clammy. He managed, “We’d been friendly as children, you see, so I-I suppose she may have developed… feelings…”
“Friendly?” Regulus echoed. “While decrying the Muggle world in the same breath? Hmm. What a… radical… shift in perspective.”
“But that was in the past, a matter of lust, wasn’t it, Severus?” Alpheus clapped him on the back – amiably, although there was a glint in his eyes and his smirk was thoroughly entertained. “No man is entirely immune to that.”
Regulus reached for the goblet of water in front of him. He idly murmured, behind it, “There are those who would lie with animals, as well, but we don’t talk about such lust as if it’s natural.”
And he took a sip.
Severus had no idea what to say, how to salvage this. Across from him, both Rosier and Isabella were tittering, visibly fighting to stay silent. Wilkes, Nott, and Alpheus exchanged smug looks— Severus couldn’t even be grateful for Avery’s typical obliviousness, always worth nothing.
“B-Be that as it may,” he tried again, “The point remains that I no longer associate with her, nor do I still take Muggle Studies. I must insist, the issue at hand is far more important than debate – surely you can see how insidious this is, what potential it has?”
“Easily righted.” Regulus waved dismissively. Turning to Wilkes, “If I may offer suggestions at all, Maximilian, as a spectator?”
Wilkes leaned forward in his seat, on the verge of outright enthusiasm. “Please,” he said.
Regulus nodded. “You’ll have noticed, I’m sure, that the ousting of Jenkins as Minister for Magic has proven to be a blessing in disguise for your cause.”
Confused murmuring. Isabella ventured, “But… Harold Minchum is the worst of blood traitors… it’s only been his first year in office and he’s already championed policy after policy that makes it difficult—”
“Precisely.” Regulus inclined his head toward her. “He and Bartemius Crouch are sparing nothing to deter the Dark Lord’s followers. So much so that it’s starting to look a lot like persecution. At a time like this, even the fence-sitters fall under scrutiny just for being pure-bloods that don’t outright spew hatred against their own kind. Now, more than ever, sympathy for the cause would have great potential to spread.”
The murmurs turned appreciative. Not one person was paying attention to Severus, now, and he fought back panic, scrambled for an in that would give him the better counterplot—
“You can apply the same principle to this paper.” Regulus nodded at the thing, abandoned on the table in front of Severus. “Choose a skilled enough writer, someone aligned with you, but not at risk of being suspected. Have them submit an article just toeing the line of plausible deniability. Something inflammatory, something bound to make those Muggle-lovers squirm, whilst perfectly palatable to normal witches and wizards. Vaughn would veto its publication, and you’d have it – a reason to claim bias, a reason for protest…”
“…A rallying point,” Wilkes finished for him, grinning wide. “Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.”
“Are you sure we can’t convince you to join us more often?” Rosier smirked. “Could do with more of your good sense, frankly.”
Severus was at a loss for words. It really was an ingenious plot, and he suddenly found himself with nothing else to offer. He had no choice but to force a smile as well, though he was sure it’d look more like a grimace. “Indeed,” he managed. “Excellent, erm… excellent idea. I… suppose that’s that taken care of.”
Regulus didn’t even turn. Flattery, evidently, was not the way to go with him. Severus had to find a different angle, not like with Lucius.
“Buck up, Severus,” said Alpheus, a mischievous note beneath the words, “I’m sure your solution would have been perfectly compelling. However, this is more efficient.”
“Then we’ve got some time to spare,” Isabella smiled a simpering smile at Regulus. “Get to know one another?”
Of course, Severus realised. Lucius had mentioned that the eldest Black had been disowned. It followed, then, that Regulus was the new heir. Of course people would be ingratiating themselves even more than he’d have already inspired as a Black. Pure-blood girls hoping to marry upward, pure-blood boys wanting an alliance with one of the most powerful families alive…
“You might. Have time. I don’t,” said Regulus. He’d turned toward Rosier, a longsuffering look on his face that said, Must I?
Rosier grinned crookedly. “Come, cousin, it won’t do to be so unsociable. Good to mingle, once in a while. With your own ilk.”
“We wouldn’t dream of keeping you from your commitments,” Isabella batted her eyelashes languidly. “I’d just like to offer my sympathies, if I may – regarding that dreadful incident, over the summer. The nerve of it— the state of things! That the Ministry would even dare cross the threshold of the house of Black unsummoned, let alone on the pretext of searching you like common criminals. And poor, dear Aunt Walburga… we are somewhat related, you know, on mother’s uncle’s cousin’s side… you must be devastated.”
“Yes,” Severus gritted out, forcefully injecting as much sympathy as possible. “How treacherous of your brother to turn them in.”
He hadn’t anticipated it, but too late: it’d been the wrong thing to say. Regulus’s eyes snapped toward him sharply. “What about my brother?” he demanded.
Severus jerked, taken aback. He’d been under the impression that the pair despised each other.
“I’m… sorry, do I have something mistaken?” he managed. “The Malfoys implied that it was your brother who—”
“—Has had his mind so poisoned by blood traitors and Gryffindor House that he left his home and his family, and survives Merlin knows how.” Regulus narrowed his eyes at Severus in warning. “Weren’t you only just talking of your concern for our kind being brainwashed by the Muggle-lovers? Is there a reason you’ve suddenly backpedalled to treat our tragedy as anything but that?”
Severus could feel the blood drain. “N-No, I…”
“Quite right,” Isabella clucked fawningly. “Poor, dear Sirius.”
“I’m sorry, Maximilian, is this the sort of society you’re fostering here?” Regulus glowered at Wilkes. “Where mixed-bloods have the gall to offer their opinions on private matters concerning the noblest of bloodlines completely unsolicited?”
“Of course not.” Wilkes was glaring at Severus, in turn, now. “Natural order is our dictum. Severus, apologise at once.”
Mortification and anger set Severus’s entire body ablaze. “…Forgive me,” he muttered, averting his eyes. “I spoke out of turn.”
“Humph,” was all that Regulus returned. Nobody defended Severus this time, not even Avery. The new pecking order had evidently been firmly established, and somehow… in the span of a few minutes… Severus had found himself at the very bottom.
He seethed with it, but there was nothing he could do. No angle he could exploit. Regulus appeared to simply hate him, for whatever reason.
Rosier said, “Perhaps an adjournment would be wise after all,” thinly-veiled amusement in it, and as if his words had been a command, everybody began to relax, stretch, rise from their seats. Severus was rooted in place by his own reeling mind, still frantically searching for an escape, some way to claw back his power— it had been too vindictive, too personal to be incidental, had he done something to offend the Black? Was it really only blood prejudice? He—
And then Regulus was standing right in front of him, hand extended.
Severus stared. None of the others were nearby, now, most of them milling toward the dormitories, although Rosier stood waiting for Regulus a few paces away.
“I suppose we are ideologically allied, at the very least,” Regulus said, still monotonous. “I’d rather not quarrel.”
Regulus’s expression was unreadable. Suddenly realising that he was sitting down while a pure-blood elite stood over him, Severus leapt to his feet, not wanting to antagonise him further.
“I-I…” But he couldn’t think of what to say. He settled for simply taking the hand offered him, instead.
Another mistake. Quick as lightning, Regulus clamped down on his fingers, hard. Yanked Severus closer, close enough that no one else would hear him.
“…Allow me to make it completely clear where we stand with one another, you uppity mixed-blood,” he hissed, “Sirius doesn’t like you, therefore I don’t like you. There is no amount of flattery, persuasion, or the shameless bribery that your kind resort to that will ever convince me otherwise. I don’t know how you’ve managed to insinuate yourself among my cousins but do not delude yourself into thinking it might follow that the same tricks could work on me.”
Severus tried to pull his hand back, but Regulus gripped tightly.
“And if a filthy bottom-feeding prestige hunter like yourself ever presumes to speak of my brother in that manner in my presence ever again,” Regulus squinted threateningly, “You will face far more lasting consequences than a duel or a brawl, and be lucky if Lucius or Cissy or Bella ever deign to continue associating with you. Are we understood?”
Severus had no choice but to nod.
Regulus released him. His expression cleared into insouciant apathy again.
He patted Severus’s shoulder. “Pleasure to formally make your acquaintance,” his voice a normal volume once more.
Frozen in place, Severus could only listen as his footsteps trod away. He’d been right. He’d been right. Regulus hated him – on his brother’s account. Not something Severus could correct, could even bear to consider correcting. And the others no longer had to lower themselves to placating a half-blood like him now that they had a more direct connection to the Malfoys and Lestranges. A Black – how could he possibly hope to compete?
He brought a trembling thumb up to circle his lips, heart hammering.
Sania Shah, James decided, was the perfect date for him at the moment, because she was, in every way but literally, a “holiday girl.”
A holiday girl – trademark pending – was one who, like the lovely ladies James had met and spent his time with (among other things) in Europe, was not looking for anything out of a date other than a lark or a shag, depending. Girls on holiday did not seem to be after boyfriends, only boys and friends. This suited James perfectly, because he could have a bit of fun, forget about Lily for as long as it lasted, and they could get their jollies too, and when all was said and done he didn’t have to worry about hurt feelings, broken hearts.
He hadn’t expected to encounter a girl like that at school, but the evening of September’s Hogsmeade weekend (having been abandoned by Sirius and Remus yet again, and because Pete’s idea of fun was a few riveting rounds of Gobstones), James had been accosted by some of the Gryffindor girls in their year – Bonnie, Maeve, and Sania – who’d no doubt witnessed his plight, and consequently took him and Peter along with them out of the common room and off to an illicit party in the Hufflepuff basement.
Those badgers knew a fair bit about having a good time behind the faculty’s backs, as it turned out, and one thing led to another, and before the end of the night James found himself sneaking Sania up into the Gryffindor boys’ dorms, not wanting to bother with charming the other staircase. And Sania had said it herself, the morning after – “I’m not really after a steady, but if you’re ever bored again…” – and so here they were, a month later, snogging under the stands on the Quidditch pitch.
Really he had no reason to complain about his lot. Sania was quite fit, a fact that had not gone unnoticed by most of the male population of Hogwarts, enough that she had a bit of a reputation. James (unlike other pure-blood boys belonging to a certain background that still harboured certain notions of genteelness), didn’t mind this at all; as a matter of fact he thought it was the best way to be. Honest. Upfront.
The perfect date, he reiterated to himself, and absolutely no reason to complain…
But…
Plump lips parted from his, now, with a little smack. Sania blinked up at him, quizzical. She wore… whatever it was called, eye makeup, Sania did, which made her browns look a lot bigger than they probably were. “Alright?” she asked, at whatever she saw in his face; he wasn’t sure himself. James slid his hands out from under her shirt, cupped her waist, pulled her closer by a thigh:
“Yeah,” exhaled with a questioning half-a-smile, “Why?”
“I dunno.” Sania offered him a crooked smile of her own, around the lip she had caught between her teeth. “You seem a bit distracted.”
“Do I?” James hummed. There was no reason to be; Sania was, er, talented, and nice enough besides, and got on with his mates, and didn’t even expect him to start making her any promises. Evidently she found it absurd too; she ran firm hands through his hair, until they rested by his shoulders, then looped around his neck:
“That’s not on,” in a teasing lilt. “What about me isn’t worth your attention, James Potter? If you don’t say it I’ll be cross.”
“Nothing,” he answered truthfully. Nothing about her wasn’t worth attention: she was comely, outgoing, fun…
“Just thought I ought to hit the showers if I don’t want to be late for Potions,” he settled for, giving her a smile back. Not quite a lie, anyway; the Quidditch season had only just kicked off, and James had assembled the Gryffindor team for a brief discussion during the free period they all happened to share – a bit after lunch on Wednesdays. Not enough time for a proper practice, so they’d only talked about upcoming trials, who needed swapping when, news from or about the other teams; then a bit of low-stakes flying, some throws. Sania had come down to watch, hence the current, er, dalliance beneath the stands. A shower before returning to afternoon classes couldn’t hurt.
“Oh right, is that the time?” Sania gave a surprised noise of her own, checking her watch, dropping all flirtation. “Bugger. I’ve got to get to choir practice, too, Professor Flitwick can never start without the solos. I’ll see ya?”
And she leaned up to give him a peck on the cheek. As quick as that, she’d hastily smoothed out her robes, ducked out of the stands. No messy, emotional latching-on at all, exactly the sort of arrangement James had been after— so why, oh why was there a frustrating ball of dissatisfaction sat at the pit of his stomach?
With a sigh, James followed Sania’s lead, making for the changing rooms. He barely processed the usual routine, nor the trek back to the castle, down to the Potions dungeon. Sirius, who’d left the pitch as soon as the meeting wrapped up, was already inside, next to Pete per usual.
“What’s the matter with you?” His best friend asked instantly, one eyebrow quirked, because of course he noticed something off. James sighed again, taking his place behind the pair:
“Wish I knew. Bit bored, I think.” He shrugged, then bent to open the cabinet beneath his workstation, started fishing out his supplies.
“Ooh, should we do something to liven up the class?” Peter asked enthusiastically. “Haven’t hit Sluggy in a while. The old firecracker-in-cauldron, d’you reckon?”
“Come off it, Pete, that’s so first year.” Sirius rolled his eyes. “You’d think with the map and all we’d have come up with more sophisticated pranks by now.”
“Hmm,” was all James had to contribute. Slughorn turned up just then, anyway, so they all faced front, stopped talking. He’d brought along vials that were already full, this afternoon, and set a potion each on top of the front-row workstations; three in total.
“Hullo, everyone,” he greeted, with his typical jovial smile, and hands now clasped behind his back. As he opened his mouth to continue, however, he seemed to lose his train of thought, having visibly caught something, eye on the familiar head of auburn hair at the very front of James’s row: “Ah, Miss Evans, no working alone today, I’m afraid. This particular test isn’t going to be fair without a partner.” Then, lifting his head and making a forward-waving gesture at James: “Could you oblige again, Mr Potter?”
Heart suddenly lighter, James swept his things off his station and into his cauldron, then carted it all off toward the front.
“Evans,” he smiled, sliding in next to Lily. She looked up with a hesitant smile of her own. Her pretty red locks caught the light behind her as she turned, tracing her silhouette in distant amber.
“…Potter.” As lowly as him, and with that scrutinising, up-and-down flick of her bright eyes that James was by now more than used to. “No chattering if you man the front station, mind.”
“Boring,” James whispered back with a grin, “Next time he pairs us up you should be the one who swaps again.”
“Why would I do that, when the outcomes are more favourable here?” She arched an eyebrow, brilliant greens dancing. “You’ll behave, I can get my work done without being distracted by your antics, and we’ll both be better potioneers for it.”
“Ah, so you’re not averse to the idea in general, then – only the placement.” He smirked. “Fair enough, I’ll just move my things into your cabinet, from next class on. Best be ready, if Sluggy is so set on us working together.”
She huffed, half-heartedly swatting at him with the back of a hand, but her lips were still quirked up. “Let’s see if we can get through one lesson without you ruining my potion first. Or else I’m going to tell Professor Slughorn I don’t want this again, I swear I will.”
“You’d miss me and you know it,” James countered, which made her roll her eyes, despite the amused exhale that escaped her. Smiling himself, he held one hand up: “On my best behaviour. I promise.”
Slughorn – who’d finished searching the class for any other lone stragglers, and had returned to the front – announced, “If you could open your vials, please.”
All of the students who had front stations obeyed. Lily reached for theirs, and as soon as the cork popped James knew what it was: mother-of-pearl sheen, distinctive swirls of gas…
“Amortentia,” he and Lily said at the same time.
“Ha! Indeed. That was quick,” Slughorn beamed approvingly. “One of the most potent love potions in existence – careful not to spill. Has anybody else identified theirs?”
James tuned out the halting guesses of the other rows (so clearly Veritaserum and Polyjuice, he thought impatiently), and surreptitiously took a whiff just as Lily returned the vial back onto the countertop as far from them as possible. He smelled ink and parchment and that crisp, detergent-y scent of fresh laundry and green apples and nothing that reminded him of any girl he’d been with – he wondered if Lily lived close to an orchard.
That frustration returned, and he whispered to her, “What do you smell, then?” —managing, at least, to make it sound like he was only teasing.
“Don’t be predictable,” she returned, unimpressed; which only made James want to pester for it more.
“Unbearable amounts of grease?” Alluding to stupid old Snivellus, and then he remembered that irritating Hufflepuff git, whatever his name was, “Or— what’s that thing those hippy types douse themselves with— patchouli?”
“Not funny, and none of your business,” Lily insisted. Not actually wanting to antagonise her, just to shake that feeling off, James quieted.
The other rows had finally gotten theirs, and Slughorn resumed his lecture – “Now, as you’ve all likely gathered, these three potions – Amortentia, Veritaserum, and Polyjuice Potion – are some of the most sophisticated in the wizarding world.” He began to pace slowly in front of their stations. “Each one requires not only the technical skill to brew them, but a deep understanding of the ingredients involved. They are all, in fact, indicative of the level we expect you to reach by the time you sit your NEWTs.”
He paused, letting his words settle. “By now, you ought to be thinking not only about how to brew potions, but about why, and how, each ingredient interacts with the others; the subtle changes that occur as you go, and what every step contributes to the final product.”
With a wave of his hand, “So! Today, I would like each of you to make educated guesses about the ingredients and formula for brewing the potion assigned to your row. And no peeping in your textbooks!” He winked at them. “Think of this as an exercise in logic and intuition. You’ve studied the theory for years now, let’s see what you remember. You may, of course, confer with your partners; I don’t expect anyone to be able to do this on their own.”
There was groaning from some, excited murmuring out of others. James watched Lily slip out a fresh piece of parchment from her book-bag, then set it in the middle of their counter: “How do you want to do this?” she asked. “Discuss it first? Or should we try and work out our own formulas separately, and then compare?”
“Second thing,” James decided. He fished out some parchment too, tapping his quill against it as he considered the task at hand. The base ingredient for Amortentia… likely something enhancing the drinker’s emotional susceptibility… true of any love potion though, so what would set this one apart… the scent profiles? Those probably had to do with pheromones… aphrodisiac types… and there’d be a mild stimulant as well…
He jotted down the usual suspects first: basil, damiana, valerian… well, pearl dust, obviously, the shine… would use process of elimination later… then it was a matter of working out quantities…
Lily finished hers a lot quicker than he, setting her quill down hardly fifteen minutes later. James blinked at her: “Cor, already?”
She chuckled. “Here, let me have a look.” Easing his parchment out from under his elbow. James tried not to self-consciously squirm as her eyes swept over it.
“Hmm. I see what’s happened.” She set the parchment down again and tapped it. “Solid logic… if this was Professor McGonagall’s class, rather than Slughorn’s.”
“Sorry?” James squinted at his writing, which made her chuckle under her breath:
“You’re going about this like a Transfiguration problem,” she clarified. “Potions formulae aren’t the same.”
Intrigued, James straightened. “What’d you mean?”
Lily slid the parchment closer toward him, pointing at the items on his list line by line. “You’re thinking in terms of effects and transformations. You’ve got the right idea – but, in Transfiguration, it’s all about directly altering the object itself, see, so when you do it that way, you wind up focusing too much on the outcome, not the process.”
She paused to pick up her quill. “Think of Potions a bit more like, like Chemistry. You know, interactions, reactions, combinations; not just what each ingredient can do on its own. You can’t just add things that individually produce the right end effect without considering how and if they’d mix.”
James tilted his head. “Right… I think I’m following…”
Lily nodded. “Here, take basil, for example. It is used in potions for increasing receptivity, yes, but it reacts too quickly. It would release its properties before the potion has time to develop any distinctive scent, let alone the individualised ones that Amortentia induces. You’d need something slower… er, rose oil, let’s say… to let the emotional effect build gradually, and then linger. See what I mean?”
Her quill quickly crossed it out, then moved on to the next item. “Valerian is alright for a general calming effect, but here? It’s too sedative. You don’t want to dull the senses, with Amortentia – you want them heightened. That’s why something like powdered moonstone might be better. It’s got that affinity for emotional states, but it amplifies perception rather than dampening it.”
James scratched the back of his head, frowning slightly. “Yeah, okay, I see… I’m thinking in terms of what Amortentia does, you’re thinking more how it does it.”
“Exactly,” she said with a smile. “I suppose Transfiguration is more like Physics – straightforward laws, cause and effect – but Potions is er… fluid. You’ve got to think about how the ingredients will interact over time, like balancing volatile chemicals. Each step builds upon the last, and the wrong combination at the wrong stage could change everything.”
“So – keep the destination in mind, but think less in straight lines and more… bendy bits, for how to get there,” James mirrored her smile crookedly.
“Parts, not wholes,” Lily agreed. She slid her own parchment closer, overlapping with his, evidently to let him peruse; James did, and grinned – thank Merlin for Maths.
“Brilliant, I won’t be completely useless,” he said, pointing at the neat squiggles of her writing. “You haven’t balanced the equations. Please say I can balance the equations.”
“Oh, alright,” Lily huffed, amused. Pleased, James leaned over and set to it, using his own quill. Lost in the simple pleasure of doing work that he enjoyed, he didn’t notice how close their heads had gotten in the process of bending together until he lifted his— and promptly startled at seeing Lily’s forehead barely inches from his own, close enough to touch.
He fairly leapt apart, heart thudding in its cage, and had to clear his throat quite a bit or he’d have choked.
Evidently more oblivious, Lily only glanced up a while later, with a slight frown, furrowed brows: “What is that oil?” she asked, rather abruptly.
James skimmed the parchment: “Which? Rose?”
“No, no. Not the ingredients.” Lily straightened. Her eyes looked him over, head to toe. “Your oil, whatever you use it for. I-I noticed it last year – when you lent me your handkerchief – but it’s just, I don’t think I’ve encountered it before… certainly not while cooking, and it isn’t petrol or engine oil either… it’s, erm, driving me a bit mad that I can’t place it, I-I suppose.” With something self-conscious in her expression.
James stared at her for a long time. It made her fidget, her cheeks turning pinkish like she regretted saying anything at all, and it was that, if anything, that made James turn back around, eye on his parchment again.
The smile had fallen from his face, but he obliged, “Coconut oil. Ma swears by it – but most Indian mums do, I reckon. Uses it for everything… cooking… balms… and as hair oil, for me.”
“Oh.” In a tone that said, that would explain that. James exhaled wryly to himself; without turning to look at her, he murmured, “…There’s no chance at all that you’re going to say yes if I ever asked you out again, is there, Lily.” More a statement than a question.
Lily made a startled noise, but said, “What, er, brought this on?”
James did glance up, then. He fixed sombre eyes on her, knowing he didn’t need to clarify.
Lily’s rosy cheeks turned a deeper red, and she averted her own gaze, something almost as sad as James felt tugging her lips downward.
“I’d, erm… I’d rather… I think it’s… best if we stay friends like this. James.”
“Yeah.” James swallowed hard, had to pause and take a deep inhale, then managed a smile again. “Yeah, thought so. Forget I said that. Good luck with your patchouli bloke. Or the giant squid.”
Lily chuckled appreciatively at the reminder of last year’s row, and silence fell between them – on James’s end heavy, on Lily’s simply awkward.
The class trotted along to its end fairly steadily, after that, and even though Slughorn was so impressed with the result of their collaborative effort that they each won ten points for Gryffindor, James couldn’t muster up any enthusiasm about it.
He lingered, pretending to take that much longer to clear up, so that Lily would exit the classroom first. Then he finally started toward where Sirius and Peter were waiting, hovering just outside the door.
Remus – who’d been approaching from the opposite end of the corridor, probably just there to walk with Sirius, even though they would have reunited in the dormitory anyway – reached them at the same time as James did. Sirius all but bounced toward him, and James watched, feeling rather detached, as Remus gave him a fond smile, wrapped a hand around his shoulder. For his part, Sirius fished out a handkerchief and lifted it toward Remus’s face:
“Amortentia,” he declared.
James idly wondered when Sirius had even found the chance to nick a bit of the potion, and for that matter, how. Remus (understandably) jerked backward, wide-eyed: “Not so close!”
“It’s harmless without ingesting!” Sirius insisted, bumping their shoulders affectionately. “Go on, what’s it smell like? Please?”
Chuckling and shaking his head, Remus pulled Sirius closer. “Cigarettes,” he answered, low and half-abashed. “Engine oil. Leather. Dogs?”
James, who was still walking a step behind the pair, noted the uncharacteristic flush that coloured Sirius’s neck, the way Sirius’s eyes went round and his mouth fell open. “You’re lying,” he said – sounding awed and sceptical at the same time.
Remus laughed self-consciously. “I’m not!” Hushed again, “Well, what about you, what do you…?”
Sirius grinned a giddy grin. In one breath, “Chocolate and Earl Grey and the forest floor and that odd woolly-smell you know when you snap an old jumper out and…”
“You’re lying,” said Remus, his expression equally shocked and disbelieving.
How sweet, James thought sulkily, how bloody sweet. He sighed – evidently quite loudly, because all three of his friends turned; Sirius and Remus over their shoulders, Peter, beside him, just a swivelling to the left.
“What’s the matter with Prongs?” Remus blinked.
“That’s what I said,” Sirius hummed.
“Thought pairing up with Lily would put you to rights,” Peter observed. “Don’t tell me you rowed again?”
“Didn’t.” James sighed once more. Making up his mind, he jogged forward, barrelling in between Sirius and Remus on purpose. Peter hurried to keep up – now walking by Remus’s other side.
“Listen, stop hogging Moony all to yourself for a bit, I need him,” James said to Sirius; then, in Remus’s general direction: “You and Lily are still pretty good mates, aren’t you, Moony?”
“Sure, I’d say so,” Remus answered, blinking. “Why?”
James set his hands on each of his friends’ shoulders and tugged them closer petulantly. “Well, help me decipher what in Merlin’s name is going on in that head of hers, then. So Slughorn gives us a couple of potions to reverse-engineer, right, and our row gets Amortentia, as Padfoot so helpfully demonstrated, and the vial of it is sat there on our counter, right, me and Lily’s I mean, because we were at the front and all.”
“Right,” Remus echoed.
James waved in a helpless gesture. “To cut a long story short, she asks me what hair oil I use. Not being able to place the smell of it, she says.”
Remus cocked his head. “So?”
With another heavy sigh, James explained, “So I’ve just been in the showers. I’m not wearing any at the moment.”
“And you’re sure that’s what she said?” Remus demanded. They were sequestered in their dorm, now, James cross-legged on his bed, Sirius sprawled out on his back at his feet, Remus pacing the floor in front of them. Peter was sitting on the edge of his own mattress (he’d taken the bed beside James’s, now, having swapped with Sirius at the start of term), munching on crisps and looking incredibly bored. Well, their Wormy only had a bit of growing up to do, James mused, and then he’d understand how utterly earth-shattering his crisis was.
“Quite,” he answered Remus, now, leaning back on his elbows and directing a morose expression at the canopy above him. “She’d rather we stay friends, and won’t ever go out with me.”
“But— but even if she’s not aware, it’s you Amortentia makes her think of!”
“I know, mate.”
“It’s obviously to do with Snivellus,” Pete contributed around a mouthful. “They might not be friends anymore, but she was still angrier than we’ve ever seen about it all, last year, weren’t she.”
“Oh, please. She was angry with him, not Prongs, she just didn’t want to admit it to herself. Hypocrite,” Sirius snapped. James opened his mouth to protest, but Remus got there first:
“Can we not slag off Lily, now, thanks.” He stopped pacing for a minute, crossing his arms. “You’ve apologised for that, haven’t you, Prongs?”
“I mean, I tried. I’m not sure she believed it,” James sighed. “I can’t really put this right, can I? Short of apologising to Snape himself, I fuckin’ guess.”
“Don’t you dare.” Sirius lifted a warning finger up so abruptly he could have scratched James’s chin if James didn’t jerk away. “Are you really about to forget everything that dickhead has ever done, or tried to do—” (With a pointed nod in Moony’s direction,) “All for a—”
Remus cleared his throat, eyebrows shooting up, and Sirius rolled his eyes. “—A brilliant, beautiful, godsend of a girl,” he finished sarcastically. “For fuck’s sake, Moony.”
“Not like I could even if I did want to,” James frowned. “What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, mate, sorry about the debagging you incident, that was maybe taking it too far, but I do stand by all the rest of it, ’cause you’re kind of a cunt, and you’ve got dodgy beliefs, and I just really don’t like you.’”
Sirius snorted, and even Remus had to concede the point, visibly deflating.
“No, you’re right. There’s too much to walk back at this point,” he sighed. “Some of it was wrong and some of it was in kind… there’s no apologising for one without apologising for the other.”
“It wouldn’t even be a proper apology, if you only did it for some girl,” huffed Sirius, with a mutinous expression at nothing beside himself. “Honestly, Prongs. You shouldn’t change yourself just to get her—”
“It’s not that, you don’t get it.” With a frustrated exhale, James let himself fall backward, onto his pillow. The words must have been more incensed than he’d thought, because the next instant, Sirius had materialised by his side, his frown changed into something less annoyed and more concerned. Remus came to sit on the bed, too, and Peter stood leaning against the nearest post.
Shoving the upset down so he wouldn’t inadvertently snap at his friends again, James looped an idle hand around Sirius’s shoulder: “I’m not changing myself to get her to like me. She does like me. And that’s not even me thinking too much of myself, is it, Moony?” Tilting his head up at Remus, who in turn nodded confirmation quite vehemently.
“She really does, Sirius,” with a firm look at his boyfriend, brooking no argument. “If all that hadn’t happened, last year, I’ve no doubt they’d have gotten together already.”
“She’s got a funny way of showing it,” Sirius scowled.
“You really, really don’t get it.” James shook his head glumly. “Don’t you see what this means? She likes me, but she doesn’t want to. It’s my fault, Pads, that’s what that adds up to. I could’ve – we could’ve – but I did what I did and now it’s too late because the shit with us and Snape is too far gone to fix and—” He had to pause, the words lodging in his throat.
“Blimey, you’re actually that upset about this, aren’t you,” Peter marvelled, sounding genuinely surprised; James draped one arm over his eyes, tried to school his expression of whatever Peter had found there.
He heard Sirius challenge, “What’s so special about her, anyway? Plenty of other fish in the sea, Prongsie – which you ought to know, seeing as you’ve got a different one hanging off your arm every other day of late.”
“That’s what I thought,” James huffed frustration. “That I could just— muck about with someone else, and then forget. It doesn’t work. None of them are her – no matter how fit, or sweet, or funny, or… there’s just something about her… about us, together, really… that can’t be… replaced, like that.”
He mumbled, feeling rather faraway, “You can’t just add things that individually produce the right end effect without considering how and if they’d mix.”
Frowning, Sirius insisted, “You just haven’t tried enough. Someone out there’s bound to have what you’re looking for in Evans, speaking purely statistically—”
“I doubt that, love,” Remus’s voice countered softly. “If it was me… if there were a hundred people with your looks, and your interests, and even your quirks and personality… but if it isn’t you, I’m certain I wouldn’t feel this way about any of them.”
That silenced Sirius, understandably, and Remus’s hand came down to give James’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’m sorry, James. Maybe I could—”
“—No. No meddling. Thanks, Moony, but she’s made herself quite clear,” James sighed. He emerged from behind his arm, and shrugged. “Gotta respect that, haven’t we… I’m the bloomin’ prat that managed to find the perfect girl and then scare her off. Just gotta live with that, now.”
“I still say you’re being too hard on yourself.” Sirius rolled over onto his stomach; craned his neck to meet James’s eyes, with a stubborn look in his own. “What’s there to regret about standing up for Moony or Wormtail or Muggle-borns? Or us giving as good as we get?”
“It wasn’t all that, now, was it,” Remus pointed out.
Sirius squinted at him. “…Are we having a row? Because if our first row as a couple is over Prongs’s jilted romances and Snivellus, I’m going to have to reassess my entire life, darling dearest.”
Even James couldn’t help but chuckle at that, and Remus was smiling too, although he reached across and shoved Sirius by the head regardless – “Be kind,” he chided. “Prongs is heartsick.”
“He is being kind, in his own daft way,” James managed a little smile of his own. He pushed himself into a sit again. Sirius sent him a look that spelt gratitude, for the understanding, and James inclined his head, like, obviously, you idiot.
Now that he could, Remus leaned sideways and curled a hand around James’s shoulder. “You know I love you,” Sirius echoed, as well, “Which is exactly why I reckon the best thing to do now is move on. You said it yourself – it’s done, innit.”
James felt, more than saw, Remus shaking his head no. “My gut feeling is that Lily’ll come around someday. You belong together. You just do.”
“Funny that, Moons, I’d have thought you’d say the more sensible thing, as usual,” James twisted his head around to give him half a smile. “Telling me I ought to, I dunno, be mature about this or whatever.”
“You’re being frighteningly mature already. I was half about to ask if my mate’s been replaced by some sort of changeling,” Remus ribbed, although his expression was kind. He patted James’s shoulder. “Well… suppose I do know a thing or two about liking someone quite a bit and believing it’d never actually happen.” Turning toward Sirius again, his smile mellowed into pure affection.
Sirius beamed back; Peter gave a sigh. “All this couple talk is giving me a headache,” he sulked. “Right, you lot sort this out, I’m clearly not qualified. Off to bed, then – g’night.”
“See ya, Pete…”
And Peter made his way toward the bathroom.
“…You can do that, Prongs,” Remus conceded. His hand stretched forward, idly cupping Sirius’s face. Sirius tilted his head up, into the touch, probably unconsciously. “Erm… sort of, erm, accept it… that she really is special… and she doesn’t feel the same way… but you’re friends now, and you’ll always have that, and if you genuinely care about her, then that’s not a lesser thing at all— all that matters is you get to be close.”
“Moony,” Sirius’s brow furrowed in concern even though his smile remained, and he sounded half-chastising, half-remorseful; Remus tugged him forward, playfully, the pair of them grinning at each other in that way that said they were, for a minute, lost in their own world regardless of their surroundings.
“’Cause if you really like her, and not just fancy her,” Remus went on, though his eyes were on Sirius now, their hands interlocked as Sirius lifted up, pushed close, “Then if she’s happy, you’re happy… whether or not that happens to be with you.”
James smiled wistfully at the cosy picture his dearest friends made, relieved all of a sudden that he’d sorted out his feelings about them in his own head, so they didn’t feel uncomfortable being themselves around him, now – like it ought to be, among Marauders. “I’d just like to have what you two have,” he confessed, self-consciously.
As though he’d inadvertently popped their little bubble, both their heads turned toward him, both faces equally surprised. Then they glanced at each other again, and James could see that some sort of understanding passed between them. Their eyes twinkled with a unanimous mischief— like when they plotted pranks—
He should have seen it coming, but didn’t, and couldn’t react – Sirius pounced, and suddenly two sets of lips were planting noisy kisses, more raspberries than anything, against each of James’s cheeks. James squawked and laughed at the same time, shoving them both away:
“Wankers! I didn’t mean it like that!”
Sirius and Remus had dissolved into uncontrollable mirth, too; Sirius now wrapped around James’s left arm, Remus still at his right, still clutching him by the shoulders. It was certainly a balm to the spirit, anyway, and even though it couldn’t quite dispel James’s heartache, it did wonders for comfort.
“Right – that’s that, then,” he announced, once he’d gotten his breath back, and adjusted the glasses they’d almost knocked off his face. “No point crying over spilt potions and all. I’ve just got to stop… getting in my own way, from now on.”
“That bit, I’ll never understand,” said Sirius. “I thought it was a point of Gryffindor pride that we stand by our values and fight for them. No?”
“It takes courage to admit your values were skewed to begin with as well,” Remus returned, with a knowing smile. “And you ought to know best on that, Mr White Sheep of the Black family.”
“Flatterer,” Sirius huffed. “I’d have thought that if she really liked him, she’d accept him just as he is, that’s all.”
James turned toward him with a wry smile. “…You reckon what I am is some tosser who can’t control himself and not start trouble for the hell of it, do you, Pads?”
Sirius coloured. “That’s not… no, come on, you know I meant…”
Chuckling, James reached out and tousled Sirius’s hair. “I’ll sound like a prig, but I’d like to be the James she fancies,” he hummed. “Not to make her like me. Rather because of it. Y’know?”
His friends were eerily quiet, making him feel overly conscious of his honesty, but when he looked, he found them both gawking at him with twin looks he couldn’t quite decipher – although he’d seen it before. It was the way they tended to look at one another.
Wordlessly, Remus tugged him closer with the arm he still had looped around James. Sirius outright hugged him, throwing both arms across his middle and squeezing: “She doesn’t fuckin’ know what she’s passing up,” he grumbled against James’s chest.
James exhaled amusement. He returned Sirius’s embrace with one hand around his elbow, and Pete happened to amble back toward the beds just then, drawing up short:
“Er, what have I walked into?”
“Get in here, Wormy,” Remus grinned, extending his free hand out. Peter recoiled:
“I’ll keep my testosterone, thanks!”
“Corpus Trahere,” James drawled lazily, with a flick of his wand in Pete’s general direction— Peter came flying toward them, yelping as he landed with a thump on the mattress.
Much laughter and tussling as they all struggled to fit on one bed. When James finally found a lull to talk, he said, “Point being, we’ve got to shape up, lads. No more hexing the Slytherins—”
“Unless provoked,” Sirius interjected.
“—Or baiting Snape—”
“Unless provoked,” Sirius interjected again.
“—Only good, clean fun.” James nodded decisively. “Lily was right, and probably my not getting to date her even though she fancies me is some sort of karmic lesson I’ve got to show the gods that I can learn. Right. Padfoot, stop stirring the cauldron.”
“Oi!”
“You just leave him to me,” Remus smirked. “Good on you, Prongs. Really.”
“Suppose it’s going to be quite dull for a bit, then,” Peter sighed.
“Not if I’ve got anything to say about it,” Sirius returned, indignant. “I’ll go along with your new rules if that’s what you want, Prongsie, if you’ll promise to try and leave Evans behind you, now. We’re going to plan lots and lots of fun and you won’t have a spare second to mope.”
James smiled, even as Sirius shuffled over to the foot of the bed on his knees as if he was taking centre stage.
Sirius raised a finger. “Wormtail’s birthday falls on the next moon, unfortunately, but we can still do something the week after.”
“I count romping in the forest as a party anyway,” Peter grinned – then faltered, turning to Remus: “Er, if that’s not insensitive to say, Moony.”
Remus chuckled. “No, I agree.”
“We could have a Halloween do,” James suggested, relatively cheerier now. “A proper big one. Fancy dress and everything. Invite everybody.”
“Excellent,” Sirius snapped two fingers at him. “Then there’s my birthday, of course…”
“And if you still wanted to spend the winter holiday at ours, mum did say you could,” Remus contributed. “I’ll write her again to be sure, but I doubt she’d have changed her mind.”
“That’s all of first term sorted,” James smiled, stretching lazily. “I appreciate you lot, you know that, don’t you?”
“You’d better,” Sirius huffed. He reached across and flicked James on the forehead.
Notes:
Forgot to clarify this in the last instalment but: the reason why Sirius and Regulus are only a year apart (in school years, that is) in this is because I see Regulus as a Virgo (or better yet a Leo-Virgo cusp, for the poetry of it all), so a summer baby.
STG Jily evolved into a STEM power couple without my conscious interference. It’s kinda giving slay though.
I don’t know if it’s as weird to you guys as it sometimes is to me that Remus is a voice of reason to the point that he reads more like an adult than a teenager in this series, RIP… it’s because I keep canon compliance in mind so dogmatically, I think, so I tend to channel Professor Lupin more, as opposed to the kid he might have been. Oh, well. Just keep in mind Sirius’s words in OotP, that Remus “was the good boy,” and that he “made us [Sirius and James] feel ashamed of ourselves sometimes.” So it’s not completely implausible, I guess.
IMPORTANT QUESTION: Folks, a quick update – I only just started working on Part III (autumn), because things are about to get more plot-heavy, and, I needed to refresh my memory with the books and movies first (not my fault JKR can’t write memorably for shit!).
Because of that, there’s going to be a bit of a wait between the end of Part II and the start of Part III either way, so – I’d like to hear from you: would you rather I start posting chapters twice a week now, knowing it’ll mean a longer wait between Part II and III? Or are you good with our usual Friday uploads, which would make the wait for Part III shorter?
Drop your vote in the comments! I’ll go with the majority. If it’s a tie, I’ll ask again next chapter. If no one says anything, I’ll just assume Fridays are fine.
Let me know!
Chapter 9
Notes:
We officially have a new posting schedule! Tuesdays and Fridays. Thank you for your support.
Chapter TW: Period-typical bi/ace erasure.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Prospero Hopkins was, by all accounts, a perfectly ordinary fourteen-year-old wizard. He came from a pure-blood family, or pure as far as anyone knew at least, but not any of the old houses – a normal, mundane family of six; not too rich, and not too poor. For entire generations, the Hopkinses had been living in a tiny village on the north Norfolk coast, a settlement accommodating about two or three other wizarding homes. They were one of those pure-blood families that – as a holdover from the mass concealment of magic after the imposition of the Statute of Secrecy – kept to themselves and their own society, apart from their Muggle neighbours.
Had they been upper-class, this wouldn’t have necessarily meant a restricted social circle – wealthy pure-bloods had their balls and garden parties and hunting seasons and whatever-have-yous, making the choice to remain separate from the Muggle world (should one choose it) feasible enough.
The Hopkinses being so very ordinary, however, Paz (as he was affectionately known) grew up with rather a dearth of peers. His parents wouldn’t let him play with the Muggle children, and the other wizarding families in his area had none his own age. His two elder sisters, having finished their schooling, were now employed in the position that their parents preferred (being the more respectable option for pure-blood women): as governesses in grander houses than theirs. That meant they no longer lived at home, and Paz didn’t like his brother, who was a bit of a bully.
So, Hogwarts, for Paz, was a welcome change of pace. Even though he wasn’t outgoing enough to have made a lot of friends, he still cherished his singular one, Benjamin Webber, very dearly. They’d developed an easy camaraderie despite the fact that they were both in different houses – Paz, a Slytherin; Ben, a Hufflepuff. They mostly spent their free time together, meals and lulls between classes, Paz not being that against solitude in lessons themselves or in the dorms.
This year, however – 1976, their fourth year at Hogwarts – Ben had started seeing a girl from his own house. Thankfully this did not mean that the two of them no longer spent time together… but it did mean that Paz had to adjust to the new addition to their duo, all of a sudden.
Because as nice as Margot Donnelly was, she also happened to be Muggle-born, and a lot more attuned to the Muggle world than Paz was. Ben, being half-blood, could keep up with her various interests and references; Paz, on the other hand…
“The effects were brilliant,” Ben was saying at the minute. He, Paz, and Margot had a free period together; being a sunny day, they’d decided to spend it on the courtyard, sprawled among the grass. Ben’s eyes were alight as he talked, and Paz wished he’d had the foresight to bring a book along or something – he couldn’t follow the conversation at all. “And you should have seen the way they did the chase scenes,” Ben went on, “They’ve got this character on a motorbike and— oh, what was it called?”
“Easy, that’s Easy Rider, innit?” said Margot, waving as if this was common knowledge. “Brilliant one, that. Saw it with me mum last summer.”
Paz was already lost. A motorbike as he understood it was some sort of Muggle contraption, one of the vehicles they had instead of broomsticks. He tried to keep up with Ben’s excitement, but felt himself growing more confused with every rapid word they exchanged.
Still, wanting to join in, he tentatively asked, “So Easy Rider is some sort of play, then?” For, drawing on what he knew of stage productions from the magical world, that’s what it sounded like.
Margot snorted, too quickly for it to be entirely polite. “A play? Nah, it’s a film! Haven’t you ever heard of Dennis Hopper?”
“He’s really cool,” said Ben, beaming at Paz. The smile he gave his friend was encouraging, but it didn’t take away from how clearly puzzled his girl, on the other hand, looked. “It’s a bit hard to explain film actors, but he’s fantastic. A real rebel!”
A rebel? The word sounded silly to Paz, something the novels his sisters used to read would call some scoundrel on the run. But he nodded along, unwilling to admit just how little he understood.
They went on, Ben leaning closer to Margot, his usual loud, confident manner emerging. He seemed to talk faster, around her, laugh a little harder. “You know,” he went on, “We ought to bring Paz along to see something like that sometime. Imagine him at the cinema!”
Margot laughed. (Was it meant to be condescending? Paz couldn’t tell.) “It’d be a whole new experience for him, evidently,” she said. And there might have been ‘banter’ (as Ben called this sort of thing) in her tone, but Paz thought he could hear a note of amused pity as well.
Paz swallowed and gave a tentative smile. He felt foolish. “That, er, sounds fun,” he replied, though in truth he could barely imagine what a cinema entailed. Couldn’t discern whether they were laughing at him, his naïveté, or not.
He felt, for the first time, out of place with his own friend. Worlds away, alone in his embarrassment, even though the three sat right next to each other.
“That’s what you’re looking for, Warin,” whispered Alpheus Mulciber to his own companion, a few paces away from this group. The two older Slytherins were leaning against one of the pillars of the open corridor that surrounded the courtyard. Mulciber indicated their three juniors with a smirk and slight tilt of the head; Warin Avery, beside him, nodded in rapt attention.
“An emotional weakness, you see,” Mulciber went on, just as quietly, “Makes things easier… like a lever of sorts. It can be achieved without it, of course, but the effect lasts far longer.”
He had his wand tucked between his crossed arms, the tip of it surreptitiously pointed in the direction of the still-oblivious Paz. “I don’t know that I’m all that convinced by Black’s plot as yet. Or if this rag is worth so much of our attention, really,” Mulciber muttered, “Not that it matters. It’s a good opportunity to practice – watch closely.”
So Avery watched.
Mulciber tilted his wand ever so slightly lower.
“Imperio,” he whispered.
As Paz listened on to his friends’ conversation – completely left out of it, now – he began to feel a distant, rather dreamy sensation. Why, exactly, was he being treated like the odd one for not understanding a culture that wasn’t his own? Margot was the intruder upon theirs, and Paz was sure she wouldn’t know the first thing about pure-blood norms, either. He’d bet galleons that she wouldn’t even be able to identify a Beedle the Bard story.
Muggle-borns could be so annoying, really, couldn’t they?
“The Loss of Tradition: Has Hogwarts Forgotten Its Roots?
“There was a time when Hogwarts was a place where students of all backgrounds could revel in the unique customs that make our world so distinct. I’m reminded of the old holidays we used to celebrate with pride, ones rich in tradition and meaning – such as Merlin’s Day, a holiday honouring the great sorcerer Merlin, whose legacy is so eminent that it spans not only the British Isles, but the entire wizarding community worldwide.
“And yet, I fear such observances are slipping away, disappearing in favour of more ‘inclusive’ celebrations that don’t reflect our history.
“Halloween, itself a Muggle corruption of a now-lost wizarding holiday, has evolved as well. Some alumni still remember how our proud institution once commemorated it with respect for the old traditions of wizarding families involving ancient spells and rituals passed down through generations; all marking a time when the magical and non-magical worlds could converge in peace. These customs, once preserved for centuries, are now little more than curiosities for aging academics. Instead, we see more and more of the school’s time and resources dedicated to more ‘modern’ festivities, which often don’t capture the essence of Hogwarts.
“It’s true that students entering our world from the Muggle one bring new perspectives, but, cultural exchange should go both ways. Many of us have been encouraged to join in Muggle-inspired holidays and customs, learning to appreciate the diversity that students from Muggle backgrounds usher in. But, does it seem fair that our own customs are not met with the same enthusiasm? Wouldn’t it be more balanced to celebrate a few of our own traditional holidays?
“After all, Hogwarts was built on the legacies of wizards, who likely celebrated Merlin’s Day and the original All Hallows’ Eve, rather than the modernised Halloween and Christmas, or Valentine’s (which has no root in magical traditions at all!). Why not give these the same attention we give to newer holidays?
“By sharing the rich traditions of the wizarding world with everyone at Hogwarts, we could foster a genuine exchange of ideas and values. Let us honour the past in a way that unites us all, and reminds us why Hogwarts was founded: to respect and preserve the rich heritage we collectively share.”
Having read all this aloud to her gobsmacked audience, Lily set the piece of parchment down and scanned the faces around the table with nervous eyes.
“You’re right, Lil,” Greta spoke up first, mouth half-open, horrified, “It’s riddled with double entendre, isn’t it? Why, it makes it sound as if pure-bloods were being banned from celebrating their heritage!”
“And ‘students from Muggle backgrounds?’ What else is that supposed to mean but half-bloods and Muggle-borns?” Kieran Stebbins, another Ravenclaw in their year, agreed, scandalised.
“I know,” Lily shook her head with a sigh. “What d’you reckon we should do? Refusing to publish it sounds a bit too much like censorship for my liking, but it’s clearly inflammatory.”
“Who even wrote it?” Greta demanded, heated, snatching the parchment from where Lily had left it. But of course she found the same frustrating detail that Lily had; or rather, that Lily hadn’t: the author had submitted the article anonymously.
Wracking her brain for ideas, Lily tapped restlessly at the wood of the table in front of her. The office of the school newspaper did seem a bit busier this month than it had been in September – likely owing to the first edition of The Quillman having gone out, just like Professor Vaughn had predicted. But they still hadn’t received as many applications as Lily had hoped for, and the team remained a small one. So small, in fact, that no one had really settled into distinct roles as yet. The paper still needed “all hands on deck” as it were, so everyone did whatever they could, when and wherever it was required.
Still, at least officially, Lily was supposed to be the section editor for the opinion column. Meaning, in other words, that this explosive little piece fell firmly under her purview.
She shook her head, resigned, unsure what to make of any of it. “Let’s just wait for Professor Vaughn to get here,” she suggested. “She ought to see this, first.”
“Yeah,” Greta conceded, though her lips were still a thin line, and her eyes hadn’t left the incriminating piece of parchment. She seemed too preoccupied to be distracted with another topic, and Kieran – who’d returned to reviewing the Quidditch report, after Lily’s pronouncement – was now similarly absorbed.
As the silence settled, Lily glanced around for something else to do, in the meantime, whilst they waited for their editor-in-chief to arrive. Her gaze drifted across the office, a cosy but cluttered space tucked away behind the old Transfiguration classroom, abandoned since the last century. Stacks of paper, enchanted quills, and overflowing inkwells were scattered across nearly every surface, and at the opposite end of the room Sania and Bonnie – who were both adept at Charms – were deep in a task of their own: magically erasing old editions of the paper that hadn’t been picked up, so that the parchment could be reused for the next printing.
Decision made, Lily reached for a nearby stack that had yet to be charmed and picked it up. “I’m taking these over to Sania and Bonnie,” she announced, mostly for Greta and Kieran’s benefit, though both seemed too focused on their own work to respond.
Balancing the weight of the parchment in her arms, Lily left the table, and wove her way through the close clusters of desks and shelves crammed into the little room. She could see Sania busy chatting away, only half her concentration on her wand, which she twirled almost lazily, in sweeping half-circles over the leaflets that Bonnie passed her – evidently just that skilled at nonverbal magic by now. Lily smiled to herself, impressed. She could tell by their rather giddy tittering that Sania and Bonnie were either swapping delicious gossip or talking about boys; par for the norm when Sania Shah was involved.
“—And he’s so dishy,” Sania gushed, sure enough, when Lily got close enough to overhear. “I mean with Sirius, it’s like, you know, he’s like, beautiful, right? Like, that doesn’t even seem like a weird descriptor at all, does it? He is, for a bloke.”
“He is,” Bonnie giggled her agreement. “A fancy sculpture come to life, I’d say.”
“Exactly!” Sania snapped her free fingers at her friend. “But James though, he’s just— I dunno how to explain it, I suppose it’s like, if you saw the two of them in photos— the Muggle sort— he might seem a bit less fanciable than Sirius, but if you met in real life, it’s no contest, innit? It’s everything else that complements the looks, I reckon, that… that attitude, the… swagger…”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say he’s lacking in the looks department either,” Bonnie chortled. “It’s just that he gets pitted against Sirius, which is pure unfair.”
“I don’t disagree,” Sania sang, half-bouncing in place, and smiling so wide now that Lily could see all her teeth from a distance. “I’ve always wondered what it was that made his smile so fuckin’ adorable. Turns out he’s got dimples right here and here!” Pointing to each of the corners of her lips. “And his front teeth are sort of, like, chipped. Odd how that adds to it, but Merlin, it does… oh, and his eyes, Sweet Circe. Doe’s eyes, y’know? So cute and wide and innocent for someone so wicked.” Laughing.
“Sanu!” Bonnie gasped around a grin. “You’re only describing the close-up views, ya tart.”
“Can’t help it if I’ve got front-row seats,” Sania ribbed, feigning a flip of her hair, and then dissolving into laughter along with Bonnie.
Lily could feel her cheeks warm. She’d all but closed the distance, by now, which made Sania and Bonnie halt their conversation abruptly. She didn’t like that; it set a funny feeling ablaze in her chest, something bizarrely like pinched nerves. “More for you two,” she said, a bit louder and cheerier than she’d meant to, as if announcing her presence would make it less obvious that she’d heard it all.
She set the stack of papers down on the table in front of Bonnie. Sania, however, was evidently quite the Gryffindor: not one for artifice. She leaned forward and grabbed Lily by the wrist, “Lil – oh Merlin, I’ve been wanting to talk to you for ages,” she said, the words rushed out, and her expression bordering on anxious. Lowering her voice slightly, “You’re not bothered about me and James, are you? ’Cause I gathered you don’t fancy him anymore or anything like that, but still, if it’s weird at all, I completely get it, and you should tell me.”
“No, why would I be?” Lily, a bit taken aback by the honesty, chuckled, hoping it didn’t sound as nervous as she felt. “Not like we were ever actually dating. Anyway, what is this, the fifties?”
“Okay, but I just don’t want you to do the thing where you act like you’re alright if you’re really not,” Sania insisted, all in one breath. She looked so worried it made Lily feel embarrassed.
“When have I ever been that sort of person?” (Thankfully, she managed to make it dismissive, even rolling her eyes.) “If I had a problem, I’d say it. I promise. And it wouldn’t be right – any of my business – even if I did.”
That made Sania relax at last. She fairly beamed at Lily as she released her grip. “It’s just a bit of fun, anyway,” she grinned. “We’re not, like, boyfriend and girlfriend or anything.”
“Not yet,” Bonnie hummed, with a shrug.
Lily genuinely laughed at that, and even Sania exhaled a longsuffering breath. “Yes, we’re aware you’re behind the times, Bee, but it is possible for a girl and a boy to just be mates, y’know.”
Bonnie scrunched her nose up sceptically. “Hmm, is it, really?”
“Me and Remus?” Lily pointed out.
“That’s different. Remus is… you know.” Bonnie countered with a dismissive little wave of her free hand. “How do the Muggles put it? A friend of Mrs King’s?”
Lily blinked, startled; “He never is,” escaped her, before she could register how it only made her sound like her aunts, which elicited a bark of a laugh – half at that, half at Bonnie’s insinuation.
And now both Bonnie and Sania were giving her dubious looks. “Lil, look at him,” Bonnie half-sighed, half-chuckled. “And then look at James, yeah?”
“Or any other boy,” Sania agreed, with a tilt of the head. “He probably is, babes. He’s got a lot of girl-friends at this point – girls that are friends. Hasn’t snagged one of ’em, has he.”
“Maybe he’s just picky,” Lily suggested, although it was half-hearted; Remus being gay actually made a lot of sense now that she considered it. “Besides, apparently he is seeing somebody—”
“—Only, back at home, not at Hogwarts?” Bonnie finished for her, amused. “Mm-hmm, sure, Lily. That is definitely the case, not just what they all say.”
“You haven’t got a problem with that, have you?” asked Sania, sounding surprised.
Lily shook her head. “’Course not. No, you’ve got a fair point, come to think of it.” She hummed. “Still, though, doesn’t mean Sania can’t… do what it is she does.”
“Live a little?” Sania grinned.
“I didn’t even mean it like that anyway,” Bonnie huffed in forbearing amusement. “It’s just that James can be really charming, you’ve no idea. I’ve been to loads of society things with him, and I swear it’s like a matter of principle for him to make every girl feel… er… appreciated.”
Lily set a fist on her hip. “He’s a terrible flirt, is what you mean?”
Bonnie smirked. “I’m only saying, if there’s anyone who could be a match for our resident ice-queen…”
“Ugh!” Sania gasped, faux-indignant. “Well, I accept your challenge, thanks very much. Bet you proper galleons I’d get bored before he does. The day I’d ever be interested in ‘settling down’ is far off, and even when it does come ’round, it won’t be with a well-off South Asian lad, cheers.” This, with a derisive snort. “Yeah, that’d be exactly what I want – to make ma and baba happy with my choices.” (Sarcastically.)
Lily and Bonnie laughed that awkward laugh that was unsure whether or not it was permitted. “I hear you,” Bonnie chuckled. “He and I might have considered it, too, if our families wouldn’t wet themselves. The rate we’re going, the Potters and Marchbankses and Longbottoms and Weasleys are gonna go the way of the Blacks – all the intermarrying, I mean.”
Even shriller, more scandalised chortling. “Are you meant to be talking about James like that at all?” Lily teased, wanting to make light of it, so the others could be sure she wasn’t fazed. “Might I remind you, you’ve got a bloke right there.” Half-nodding in the direction she’d come from, where Kieran was still sat at the meeting table.
“‘What is this, the fifties?’” Bonnie quoted back at her, unimpressed.
More laughter and ribbing, and then they were interrupted by noise outside the door, the unmistakeable, heavy swish of it being pushed open with clumsy force. Lily turned – it was James (with his usual uncanny timing, she thought sardonically), entering the room backward, being as he was busy bracing a large box, Sirius helping him lug it inside at the other end.
Professor Vaughn sauntered in after them. “Where’d you want it, prof?” asked Sirius, squinting at the various desks.
“Just here will do,” Professor Vaughn gestured to the one closest them all. “Thank you, boys.”
While Sirius and James set down their cargo, Lily rushed over. “Professor Vaughn?” she called. “You’ll want to have a look at one of the drafts we received. Greta’s got it right there…”
“Oh?” Vaughn arched her eyebrows at the urgency Lily knew was on her face, and without another word started for the meeting table. James, in the meantime, had meandered off a bit, in the direction Lily had just left, toward Sania and Bonnie.
Lily couldn’t help turning her head slightly, curious. James, having reached Sania, smiled his crooked smile, and bowed at the waist rather grandly. He had one hand behind his back, one raised. As Lily watched, a little flower materialised between his thumb and forefinger:
“For you,” he declared.
“O-Oh,” Sania blinked. She turned vaguely pinkish as she plucked it. “Erm, cheers. How’d you manage that?”
James, who’d straightened, gave an impish wink. “Magic. The Muggle sort.” He didn’t even seem to notice that he’d caught Sania on the wrong foot; his grin completely devoid of flirtation as he turned his attention toward Bonnie as well: “Would you girls be able to come to a party on Halloween?” In a theatrical whisper. “Dungeons. Not the Slytherin ones. It’ll be grand. Turn up, okay?”
Only briefly pausing to get their confirmation, he bounced back toward Sirius and Lily, that smile fixed on her now. “You should, too, Evans,” he said. “That way you’ll be complicit and can’t play the prefect on us.”
“As if I would’ve been able to anyway.” Lily rolled her eyes. “I’ll think about it, Potter. Who else are you inviting?”
“Everyone but the straights.” (Sania wasn’t wrong about those dimples, Lily thought…)
“Begs the question of why he’s inviting you, but, here we are,” Sirius drawled, sounding rather bored. Before Lily could even gather enough of her wits to respond, however, he went on, casual as you please, “Are you bringing your hippy bloke along, or have we got to ask him ourselves, too?”
Lily scowled at him. He really was an ill-mannered, ill-tempered rotter, Sirius Black. “He’s not—” she began, but stopped herself. It didn’t take a genius to work out that Sirius was miffed at her because of her row with James, last year, and she’d be playing right into his hands if she showed even a hint of care for James, even as a friend. Pretending that she had a boyfriend might be just the thing…
“Don’t see how it’s any of your business, that,” she said coolly. She tilted her chin up ever so slightly in challenge, and returned her fist to her hip. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got more important things to see about than gossip and party planning.” But she afforded James a friendlier goodbye: “Later, then, Potter.”
“See ya, Evans.”
Lily turned, and marched off toward the meeting table, refusing to look over her shoulder again. Professor Vaughn now had the article in her hands, and was reading it with pursed lips. Even at a distance, Lily could see Vaughn’s eyes flitting back and forth at lightning speed. “Ah, Miss Evans,” she greeted when Lily approached, “I, er, see what you mean. Has this been discussed?”
“We thought we’d wait for your verdict, professor,” said Kieran.
Vaughn nodded absently, eyes still fixed on the parchment. “…This could certainly stir up trouble,” she muttered, “But we don’t want to set a precedent for censorship, either.”
“I thought so, too,” Lily echoed morosely. Still, it was a relief to return to matters of actual consequence, rather than whatever was going on in Sania’s corner.
“Well. This won’t be the last time we’ll be faced with something like this,” said Vaughn decisively. “We’ll have to sort out a proper policy, I think. Put that reminder in for the next meeting, would you, Mr Stebbins? Best we have the entire team present for this discussion. As many perspectives as possible.”
“Yes, professor.”
“As for right now…” Vaughn squinted at nothing ahead, idly tapping the piece of parchment against her palm.
“The fact that our pot-stirrer hasn’t named themselves might just work to our advantage,” Greta spoke up. “We could keep mum, do nothing with it at all. Pretend we’d lost the article, like, and they wouldn’t even be able to question it without owning up.”
“Hardly the sort of journalistic integrity we want as our standard,” Vaughn chastised, if good-naturedly. “No, I’d suggest we put up a notice asking them to claim their submission, as our editors have… er… notes for them. We should give them the benefit of the doubt, allow them to rephrase parts of it with more… tact, before rejecting it outright.”
“Yes, professor.” Lily was already reaching for a spare piece of parchment, scribbling out rough points for said notice.
“…Do you think this could be deliberate, professor?” Greta asked with a frown. “Someone forcing your hand?”
“Why would that be?” Lily blinked.
But when she looked, she thought Vaughn did look troubled by the notion.
For one, entire, blissful day, Lily thought that was that. They’d put their notice up – a simple request for the writer of the article to step forward in order to be given their revisions, worded with impressive civility given how Lily actually felt about the piece. Per usual, the notice had been pinned to every board the school had, covering more than enough ground to suss out their mystery contributor, whoever it may have been.
And then she’d been accosted on the way to breakfast the following morning.
“Lil! Oh, Lil, it’s awful, have you seen?” Bonnie – visibly out of breath, having caught Lily, Mary, and Marlene on the steps of Gryffindor Tower – gasped out.
“Seen whit?” Marlene demanded. Rhetorically, because without another word they all rushed out of the common room, Bonnie leading the way.
She stopped in front of the first notice board they came across. “Look!” Pointing insistently up at it, although that hadn’t been necessary – no one would have possibly missed it.
Right under Lily’s poster, someone had pinned their own piece of parchment. A very familiar piece of parchment, given how long Lily had spent perusing it not a day prior: the damning article.
It wasn’t what drew the eye first, however. Slightly above and to the right of it, there were charmed, floating letters in the air, coloured so brightly that they’d never escape attention.
THIS IS WHAT THEY DON’T WANT YOU TO SEE.
Lily felt her stomach sink even as she followed the others down the corridor. Her mind raced ahead to what was likely awaiting them in the Great Hall – sure enough, there was a certain weight in the air, the tension before gossip hit fever pitch, as they descended the staircase. By the time they reached the grand doors to the hall, the frenzied chatter of every student she passed had dulled to a simmering murmur that nonetheless bled into every corner of the space.
It was packed – but unlike most mornings, no one was laughing or jostling for seats. Instead, groups were huddled close, whispering urgently and casting furtive glances at the staff table. Lily’s eyes narrowed as she deliberately listened for snippets of conversation, particularly from the Slytherin table, where expressions visibly ranged from affronted to furious.
“…Can’t believe they’re censoring us, as if it’s some Muggle-run institution…”
“It was perfectly harmless, what revisions did they mean? This is about controlling the narrative, that’s all…”
Lily and her friends exchanged tense glances. The rest of the girls from their year were sitting across from them, too, this morning, every face slightly pale as they waited and clutched at their toasts.
It was clear that everyone had read the article by now, probably more people than would have if it’d been published. And it’d struck a chord – a dangerous one, at that. Lily knew Hogwarts had never exactly been a bastion of unity, but there had always been unspoken lines that no one crossed. This, however, felt like a spark at the edge of a tinderbox.
And then, just as they’d all settled somewhat, a familiar figure rose at the staff table. Professor Vaughn stood tall and poised, her stern gaze sweeping over the hall. As her eyes settled on the Slytherin table, there was a hush that spread over the room and doused any remaining whispers. Vaughn managed to sound composed enough, although there was a hard edge to her tone that called attention, all the same:
“I understand that certain opinions are circulating about the recent actions taken by us, the editorial team of The Quillman,” she began, hands clasped neatly in front of her. “Let me clarify: the decision to request revisions to this article had nothing to do with silencing opinions or preventing free expression. Hogwarts has, and always will, support a wide array of perspectives, provided they are delivered in a manner that is both constructive and respectful of the entire student body.”
She paused, allowing her emphasis to sink in as murmurs rippled across the tables. The Slytherins exchanged pointed looks, most of their expressions sceptical.
“The issue here,” Vaughn continued, firmly, “Was the inflammatory nature of the language chosen. It isn’t only about what was said, but how it was said. We cannot, in good conscience, publish anything that risks creating hostility between students especially if it would endanger certain groups within our community. Our responsibility is to ensure a safe environment for all – and I urge everyone not to let their emotions get the better of them, but rather to consider who among your own friends might have been directly harmed by the content and tone of this article.”
A few of the Slytherins scoffed loudly, and even the more neutral-looking expressions were muttering under their breaths, loud enough to earn a disapproving glare from Professor McGonagall. Vaughn did not flinch, but rather looked out across the tables with unwavering resolve.
“Publishing opinions is not an open invitation to attack others,” she concluded with a steely gaze. “Any article – any article – must be presented in a way that fosters discussion, not division. This is a school newspaper, not a platform for reckless rhetoric.”
With that, she sat back down. The hall was silent for all of a second; following which, the chatter started up again with new fervour. Every table buzzed, some deep in discussion, some nodding in agreement, others murmuring dissent.
The Slytherin table in particular remained uncharacteristically lively. A few students rolled their eyes; others muttered furiously, glaring at the staff table.
Lily took in a breath and could not let it go. It felt like the anonymous writer had gotten exactly what they’d wanted: a conflict out in the open, with every side picking apart their own truths.
“This isn’t over, is it?” Maeve, opposite her, whispered, in an echo of Lily’s own thoughts.
Lily shook her head. Fixed her eyes on the other side of the hall still. “No. Nowhere close,” she muttered.
She’d been right. Hardly a day later, Lily was ambushed again – this time before she’d even gotten out of bed.
There was an insistent knocking – banging, really – on their dormitory door. Swearing under her breath, Marlene got up to yank it open: “Wh—?”
“Come quick.” It was one of their fourth-year juniors, Farhana Rashid, completely flushed and wide-eyed under her hijab. “Just got back from Astronomy and saw it. Lily, you especially.”
“Bloody hell, again?” Lily frowned, but scrambled out of bed as well, hastily pulling a cloak on.
Mary and Marlene followed suit. With a nagging sense of déjà vu, Lily led them out of the common room yet once more, shadowing Farhana along the corridor, down the stairs, and out into the Entrance Hall.
The culprit hadn’t even bothered with notice boards, this time. There was parchment pasted onto every spare inch of the walls.
Just like the last time, floating letters above the door to the Great Hall declared: PROFESSOR SERENA VAUGHN DUBS RATIONAL INQUIRY “TOO RADICAL” BUT ENCOURAGES THIS.
“How dae they manage it?” Marlene demanded of no one in particular, face gone red with indignation. “There’s patrols, hex-deflections— when an’ how would they even—?”
“Oh no!” Mary, who’d hurried ahead of them and read the contents of the vandalism, squeaked. “Oh no, oh no, oh no— Lily, your essay! Your name!”
“My what?” Lily rushed to her side.
Sure enough, she found— duplicated and plastered across every available surface of the Entrance Hall— the essay that she’d turned in for Muggle Studies the previous year.
Her blood ran cold. Her name on it was, indeed, intact, plain for everyone to see.
“Not just yours.” Farhana was pointing at some of the parchment. “Here – this one’s Sirius’s.”
Lily jogged over to Farhana. Another essay with Sirius’s name on it was among the lot. Lily could hardly read what it was on, too frantic. “Anyone else’s?” she demanded, at a loss for what else to do, as she skimmed the rest— but no, from a cursory glance it would seem only hers and Sirius’s had been nicked, multiplied, and publically exposed—
Someone must have sounded the alarm, because other students were beginning to trickle down the stairs as well. The crowd was growing by the second, people craning their necks and jostling one another to get a look at the latest spectacle. Low whispers quickly grew into agitated chatter, and by now, it was clear that practically every house was represented among the audience.
Lily and her friends had retreated into the mob, by that point – a tactical decision, it wouldn’t be wise to stand out at the minute… she ought to go and get a teacher, she thought, as a prefect… just as she was turning around to suggest as much to Marlene, however, there was a sudden push from behind that caught her attention.
The Marauders were shoving their way forward. Sirius’s expression, in particular, was downright mutinous. He stormed right up to the nearest piece of parchment bearing his name, scowling as he scanned it. Lily watched him, heart pounding, and as he finished reading he turned right back around. His sharp grey eyes glinted with a defiant spark.
With his friends a few paces behind him, and the rest of the crowd circling, it looked almost like Sirius had taken centre stage. He looked it, too; face daring anyone to speak up as he met each and every eye without fear, folding his arms. “So?” he challenged; it rang out across the space. “What about it?”
A few mutters rippled through the crowd but no one immediately responded. Sirius’s stance was too bold, his gaze too piercing. There was a threat in his voice, a sort of brazen confidence that silenced anyone who might have been foolish enough to answer back.
“If this is what you want to call radical,” Sirius declared, as he furiously tapped the parchment behind him without even turning to look at it, “Then, fine. I’ll take that title gladly. I’ll be as radical as you like if it means saying out loud that there’s no meaningful difference between wizards and Muggles – certainly none that gives us any right to call ourselves superior! In fact, if you buy into that nonsense about ‘genetics’ and ‘speciesism’ and all that rot – then you’re the ones out of touch. I stand by every single word I wrote here. And if anybody here’s got a problem with that—” He paused, pointedly, to hold the threat beneath the words— “You’re more than welcome to try me.”
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Sirius, utterly undeterred, slipped a hand into his robes pocket. It emerged with— Lily observed this with half-incredulous admiration— not even a quill, but a Muggle felt-tip.
He turned around and deliberately circled his own name in the bright ink of the pen.
When he whirled once more, it was so swift and aggressive that even Lily thought he’d drawn his wand, and several people closest the front took reflexive steps backward.
“So who is it, then?” he shouted. “Who’s threatened by equality? Step forward, eh? Let’s make it interesting.”
No one did, of course. There was a charged silence punctuated only by the rustling of robes as students either shifted uncomfortably or stared, transfixed. Lily could practically feel the pulse of excitement in the air.
Sirius let out a huff, visibly unimpressed. He sneered as he crossed his arms once more: “Thought so.”
“Let me through,” Professor McGonagall’s voice interrupted, parting the crowd blocking her path as surely as if she’d uttered a spell. She hurried to the front, took one sweeping glance at it all, and blanched in a manner that Lily had never really seen out of her before.
She took a lot longer than Lily would have expected, from her usually self-assured Head of House, but at length McGonagall turned around and ordered everyone to disperse.
“Back to your dormitories, please, it’s not yet time for breakfast. We’ll see to this. If anyone has any information about what’s happened here, alert a member of staff immediately…”
And just like that, it was over – at least for now. Lily exchanged a bewildered look with her friends, but they had no choice but to obey their Head. Remus and the rest of them caught up, while they walked back in the direction of Gryffindor Tower, and he tapped Lily on the shoulder.
He leaned in and whispered: “We got rid of your name while they were distracted by Sirius. Don’t worry – James is really handy with erasure charms. Had to master them for a, er… project of ours, last year.”
Relief and gratitude made Lily deflate, and she sent the boys a wide-eyed look with her startled smile. “Oh, Merlin. Thanks…”
“No worries,” Peter beamed back, and even Sirius – though he wasn’t actually meeting her eyes, just squinting at nothing in particular, ahead of him, with that by-now familiar air of brooding – said, as quietly as the rest, “Suppose it’s the sort of thing I can get away with proudly owning up to more than you could. Well – careful, yeah?”
And then he walked ahead. Peter followed after him. Remus gave her one last smile and a pat on the back, too, and then he hurried to catch up to them.
James lingered, so she tilted her head toward him and whispered: “I really don’t understand Sirius, sometimes…” Taking a hard stance against blood supremacy in one breath, then antagonising her the next…
James exhaled a laugh. “I do so love these moments where we stumble across things we hadn’t known we had in common before.”
Lily couldn’t help snorting, too, amused in spite of herself.
“Give us a shout if you need us,” he continued lowly; even (quite chivalrously) turning toward Mary and Marlene: “Goes for all of you girls. Any time.”
“Don’t you worry about us,” Mary whispered back, with a dark look on her face. At Lily and Marlene: “I reckon we ought to start up duelling practice again.”
“We should,” Lily conceded, “But I doubt we’d be the ones who’d need to go as far as all that.”
“What d’you mean?” Mary blinked.
“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?” Lily turned to each of the faces closest her, finding sombre understanding only in James’s – he’d caught on, as well, evidently.
“I doubt they were targeting me or Sirius for who we are, just what we wrote. We got caught in the crossfire,” she clarified. “Whoever’s behind this… they’re after Professor Vaughn.”
“Or at least her reputation,” James agreed grimly.
Still, the knowledge of it didn’t keep the Muggle-born, and to a lesser extent half-blood, population of Hogwarts from being rather on edge, that week. The most resolution they received was an angry lecture from Professor McGonagall about the essays – about violating the school’s code of conduct and the writers’ privacies. But her indignation itself was a dead giveaway that even the staff hadn’t been able to suss out the culprit, let alone censure them. It meant that the vulnerable among them didn’t know who to trust; Lily found that, she and her friends were no longer the only ones teaching themselves self-defence. Professor Bordastrega’s lessons helped, and even Lily – like most other sixth and seventh-years – had to assist the juniors that approached her for advice whenever she could.
The atmosphere became decidedly mobilised, in other words: students jumping at their own shadows, sticking to their groups, avoiding hardliners and fence-sitters like the plague – even if only over rumours. It got to the point that, as soon as Professor Dumbledore returned to the school, that Friday, the first thing he set to was damage control.
Lily suspected that was the case, anyway – why he made the speech that he did. Their headmaster wasn’t always present at Hogwarts – being the most talented wizard of the age demanded a lot from him. Lily didn’t know if he spent his time outside of the school aiding the Ministry, or in more academic pursuits – writing another article for Transfiguration Today, or something – but it always seemed to take up most of his schedule; he could usually be spotted at the Great Hall for meals only some of the week.
That particular dinner, however, he stood at the staff table like he would have done for announcements at the start or end of term.
“Before we begin,” he said, “I would like to address something that has clearly captured the thoughts of many of you this past week. It has come to my attention that there was some… spirited debate surrounding an article recently published about Hogwarts’ observance of holidays, particularly those rooted in Muggle traditions. It is, of course, only natural that such discussions arise in a school as wonderfully diverse as ours, with students from many backgrounds and heritages.”
He paused. His eyes twinkled as they swept across the space, seeming to meet the gaze of every student, individually. Lily was surprised by the warmth in it, a stark contrast to both Professor Vaughn and Professor McGonagall’s reactions. “However,” he continued, “I would caution each of you most sincerely to be mindful of how easy it can be, for simple disagreements to spiral into something much larger, something that risks sowing division among us. We must remember that Hogwarts has always been a place where all are welcome, and all traditions honoured – as long as we hold to the values of respect and unity.”
Predictably, there was a murmur through the hall, but Dumbledore simply raised a hand, quelling it immediately. “It is clear that some have felt that certain celebrations dear to them have been overlooked, and I would agree that it is important that all feel seen and valued. With that in mind, I am pleased to announce that, this year, we will be hosting a special Halloween celebration, in the manner of traditional wizarding customs.”
The corners of his mouth lifted in a slight smile as he continued, “This means we will have the chance to partake in some of the oldest, most time-honoured elements of wizarding culture, and I believe this celebration will be one that all of you will remember. After all, Halloween has a special place in both our magical history and in the traditions of our beloved wizarding families. I trust you will enjoy it – perhaps even learn something new.”
His gaze softened as he looked back at the students, who were listening in rapt silence. “I have always believed – and I think many of you share this view – that Hogwarts thrives because of its openness to new perspectives and old customs alike. We grow strongest when we celebrate both what unites us and what makes each of us unique. Remember that, my dear students.”
With a nod and a slight bow of his head, he concluded, “And now, let us begin our meal.”
He took his seat, and Lily instantly turned toward the Slytherin table. Most of them were already whispering among themselves, but several of the faces she could see did seem caught between satisfaction and something more uncertain.
“That was odd,” said Maeve, who had taken the bench across from Lily again. “Surely he, of all people, ought to have twigged that it was never really about the holidays?”
“Nah, that’s the point,” said Marlene, flashing a triumphant grin. “Dumbledore’s takin’ the article at face value, an’ he even tossed a wee bone tae the ‘preservin’ tradition’ lot. Now they cannae moan aboot it anymore, and if they do, they’ll have tae come right out wi’ it, plain as day. Spew hate, instead of hidin’ behind aw that clever talk. But they won’t dae that, will they? No’ in this climate – Ministry’d come down on ’em like a ton o’ bricks.”
“You’re right,” realised Sania, wide-eyed. “Cor, that’s clever, that.”
The discussion continued for quite a while, resulting in a lively dinner. By the time Lily, Mary, and Marlene strolled out of the Great Hall together, Lily’s mind was still buzzing with the exhilaration of a much-needed diminuendo, an odd sort of relief, more along the lines of having popped a balloon fit to burst than the satisfaction of comeuppance. Even that was better than nothing, after all.
The three of them were still busy discoursing, on the way back to the common room, when Lily felt a tap on her shoulder.
She turned. It was Adrian Masefield, nodding at her unsmilingly. He wasn’t on his own, this evening – his usual companion, Reginald Cattermole, walked with him.
“Hi,” said Adrian, and Lily echoed the greeting, a little perplexed. She’d been under the impression that their first date, a month ago, had been a bust – they’d spent barely half an hour together in total, strolling the village, and Adrian had done most of the talking. Lily hadn’t understood half the things he waffled on about, and, decidedly bored, eventually said her goodbyes to find her own friends.
Well, that didn’t necessarily mean they were no longer friendly, she supposed. “You alright?” she obliged, with a brief, plastic smile.
“Fine,” Adrian drawled. Tilting his head slightly, “So, are you going to the Halloween party?”
Lily blinked. “Well, Professor Dumbledore only just announced it, I dunno if—”
“No, I meant the Marauders’,” Adrian clarified. His mouth curved into a small, smug smile, as though simply mentioning this had elevated him to some insider status.
Lily arched an eyebrow. “You’re already thinking about that? With everything that’s gone on this week?”
Adrian leaned back, with a quiet, condescending chuckle. “Precisely because of everything that’s happened, actually – I see it as an act of defiance. I mean, the school’s celebration is practically guaranteed to be steeped in blood supremacist undertones. Boycotting it for the Marauders’ would be a sort of protest, wouldn’t you say?”
Lily paused, caught off guard by this particular angle. Adrian went on, either not noticing, or not caring. “I’m certainly not the only one thinking of it like that. I’ve just heard a few others saying as much.” He nodded, as if to emphasise the profound weight he thought his words had.
Lily chewed at the inside of her cheek, considering this. But he did have a point – she couldn’t deny that she’d be uneasy at the school party, that she’d inevitably look sideways at anybody who did attend it with glee. Given the lines in the sand which that article had drawn, unwittingly or not.
She glanced back at Adrian, who was watching her with an air of intense expectation. “Yeah, that… makes sense,” she admitted, with a slow, reluctant nod. “I’ll think about it.”
A vague glimmer materialised in his eyes. “If you do decide to,” he said, leaning a bit closer, “I thought we could go together? People already seem to think we would, any-road. Not that I mind either way. All gossip.”
“Oh. Sure,” Lily replied – automatically, with a polite smile. She had no strong feelings about it, but agreeing seemed easier – it was always nice, to have a partner at the ready, for dances and drinks and holding purses and such. Besides, if it did get as unbearable as their Hogsmeade date, she could always just ditch him for her friends again.
“Cool.” Adrian nodded once more. He tilted his head toward his companion, who’d turned a bright shade of red, and was standing rigid as a statue: “Reginald hasn’t got a date either. Would any of your friends be interested?”
This with an expectant quirk of one eyebrow at Mary and Marlene.
Lily hid an amused breath. She turned to them as well, biting around a smirk.
“Er, no thanks,” said Mar, predictably. “I like goin’ on me own.”
Mary, very obviously caught off guard, and looking as if she’d rather disappear, managed a tiny, “O-Oh, erm… I’ll… think about it.”
It was clear that she’d only said it to be polite, looking mortified, now, as though she was already trying to think up ways to back out of it later without hurting anybody’s feelings. Typical Mary, Lily thought, with a fond little smile of sympathy.
Adrian – entirely oblivious to the awkwardness – nodded his approval. “Cool,” he echoed. Reginald, meanwhile, gave Mary a shy, sidelong glance. The blush deepened, and his smile trembled so much his lips spasmed. Endearing, Lily granted.
“Reginald, wasn’t it?” she ducked around Adrian and asked politely. “This is Mary… Marlene… I’m Lily.”
Reginald squeaked out something like, “Know who you are,” although the garbled words took a bit of deciphering.
Lily watched this with faint amusement. Before she could say anything more, however, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned, and spotted the familiar figure that was approaching from the opposite direction: half his face obscured by a hand, his eyes fixed on the floor – Severus.
He looked worse than she’d ever seen him – hunched over, as though he was trying to hide behind his own shoulder. One hand covered half his face. His skin had taken on an ashy hue, and he was staring doggedly downward, walking briskly, as if hoping to escape notice. Something twisted in Lily’s stomach, her earlier amusement melting away into worry. Despite everything that had happened between them, the sight of him in such an obvious state made her heart clench with concern.
Just as he passed their group, she couldn’t help herself. “Sev?” she called, inadvertently interrupting the chatter around her.
Severus halted. For a moment he seemed to freeze in place. Then, slowly, he turned, wide-eyed, to face her.
For that brief instant, a flicker of emotion crossed his face; a vulnerable thing, surprise and something else she couldn’t quite name.
But then, just as quickly, his features hardened. “Don’t talk to me,” he spat— and then he turned sharply on his heel, storming off along the corridor.
Lily stood rooted to the spot as well now, a strange, hollow feeling in her chest. Rather than hurt, what she felt was pure shock: when he’d turned, she’d caught a closer look at him and noticed something alarming.
His fingers and upper lip had been streaked with blood, a bright line against his olive skin – a nosebleed.
“Did you see that?” she half-demanded, a bit frantic as she turned to her companions. “He… he’s bleeding. D’you think he’s hurt?”
Mary sent her an odd look. “Why do you care?” she asked.
Lily had no answer for her. Her eyes darted back down the corridor where Severus had disappeared. It wasn’t as though she’d forgiven him, but that didn’t mean…
She shook her head. Turned back around, forcing herself not to look back. “…Come oan,” Marlene murmured. “We’ll miss curfew if we keep standin’ around here.”
“…Yeah,” Lily managed; and so the group continued determinedly onward.
Notes:
(“Straights” as in straight-edge/square, not “straights” as in heteros, LMAO.)
I feel like Dumbledore wouldn’t have been as hands-on with the inner workings at Hogwarts as he was when Harry went (because obviously with Harry that was a calculated choice on his part). He’d have been pretty busy with Order business at the time, and it would (partly) explain why he canonically never found out about half the things the Marauders got up to right under his nose. (I mean, I’m sure they were also just that clever, but y’know.)
Chapter 10
Notes:
You could be doing anything right now, but you’re here, reading this. Appreciates you muchly.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The night had drawn out, the world softened by the approach of dawn. The wolf began its lumbering path back toward the Place, the wretched Place that smelled like human, but where it could – it knew – could sleep. For its legs felt heavier now, stiff and bruised from the night’s frenzied running and tearing. Still, the wolf was not alone. There were the Others, that smelled like Pack, the stag and the rat and the dark one, his Companion, trotting faithfully alongside him. Each step close, every movement in sync. The wolf’s ears flicked back, listening to the soft footfalls, the familiar scent that trailed from nose to heart.
Occasionally he stopped, and so did the dark one. They shared languid touch, nuzzling each other’s fur in silent reassurance. The wolf felt a warmth in this presence, a strange contentment that neither thought nor instinct could explain. But he was tired. Bone-deep and aching. His body strained, as if some part of him was stretched too thin under the flesh – instinct told him it was time to hide, to rest, to find the Place, where he could be quiet and still.
Eventually they reached it. The wolf stumbled toward the foreign structure. The stag and the rat paused behind him, as he did. They could not come with him, but his Companion could, climbing up the thing made of the carcass of a tree together. Paws pressed heavily into the wooden floor as the wolf lay down amid dust and shadows. His Companion lay beside him, warm fur pressed close, and the wolf let himself sink into that steady, calming scent.
The dark one nuzzled his snout against the wolf’s neck; the wolf nuzzled back. Snout sliding over snout and the deep twin rumbles of contentment, entwined.
It was enough to lull him, but as he began to drift, something deep and awful stirred within the wolf, a pull he could not fight. A pain that began as a tremor in his spine, then spreading, hot and relentless through every nerve. It tore through his bones, reshaping, fracturing; as if he was being turned inside out. Each muscle burnt as they snapped and reformed, like his own body was trying to escape itself.
The wolf let out a sharp, wounded cry that dissolved into something half-human. He could feel the shape of hands where paws had just been, the ghost of limbs that didn’t exist yet— his vision swam with dancing spots of black and red, senses muddled in a brutal clash of animal and boy.
Frightened, agonised boy.
Claws retracted painfully, replaced by fingers clawing against rough floor— a raw ache in his jaw as sharp teeth became blunt— he couldn’t stop screaming. A soft, warm nudge pressed against his face; a rough tongue brushed against his cheek in gentle licks. Sirius – still the dark-furred dog – whimpered in a language Remus couldn’t fully grasp, but felt somewhere deep, somewhere the wolf recognised and trusted.
The transformation ebbed and surged. Each wave of pain forced him into something more fragile. The wolf in him was fading – leaving only the exposed edges of Remus behind.
But there was that soft, rotund body easing itself between his arms. No balm to his tortured limbs, but enough for his soul, as the creature nuzzled and licked and embraced.
Finally, gasping, Remus lay still, skin now bare and scraped raw from the transformation. His body shivered with aftershocks of pain. A dull ache lingered in every bone and muscle.
He felt the warmth of fur leaving him, replaced by a softer, gentler touch. A hand brushed over his forehead; fingers threaded through his damp hair. He struggled to open his eyes, but, it was near-impossible, exhaustion pulling at him heavily. A darkness closed in around the edges of his mind.
In the haze, he was only dimly aware of Sirius’s face, human once again, hovering above him. Sirius’s eyes were very bright – too bright to be dry, and little drops did indeed rain onto Remus’s tenderised flesh like the warning drizzle before a proper downpour.
Sirius was murmuring something softly. His voice broke. Remus could barely register the words, but they sounded like a prayer, an apology, a promise—
“…Love you… I love you, Remus… I love you…”
He couldn’t grasp their meaning, but the sound washed over him, soothing to his heart even as consciousness slipped even further from his hold.
The pain eased, but that last, soft whisper lingered, and he drifted into a deep, consuming sleep.
When he came to again, Sirius was the first thing he saw. It was familiar, brought back the early years, when – as soon as Remus had been deposited onto the bed in the quarantine room, and Madam Pomfrey had finished emergency aid and left – his dear friend would emerge out of seemingly thin air, having crouched by the bed the entire time, beneath James’s Invisibility Cloak.
And then tender hands would carefully wipe blood and sweat off his face, like they were doing right now. There’d be whispered niceties, even if Remus had no strength to respond.
Sirius wasn’t talking, at the minute, however. His face was still deeply sad, and tear-tracks still painted parallel lines along it.
An answering pang echoed in Remus’s chest. He forced cracked lips apart, rasped, “I’m… I’m sor—”
“Don’t you dare,” Sirius chastised, barely any sound to the words. He brought up the hand, Remus’s hand, that he’d been running soft cloth along, and pressed firm lips to it.
“You’re never going through that alone again,” he hissed.
Remus swallowed around the lump in his throat. Any lingering doubt he had that he’d imagined the words that Sirius had whispered in the Shack was immediately dispelled; he understood, after all. Felt the exact same way.
Wasn’t that all love was, in the end? Your pain, my pain. Your happiness, my happiness.
He waited for the recoil, for his mind to argue. Sirius couldn’t possibly love him.
But it did not. Somewhere deep inside Remus knew it was true, and believed it, and strangely enough it ached. Not the sharp pain of a heartbreak, but pain nonetheless, even though it sat with the gratitude – he wanted to lurch up and embrace Sirius, but his body was still too weakened.
He settled for moving the fingers still in Sirius’s grip as far as he could, instead. Caressing the edge of Sirius’s cheek: “Don’t cry, love.”
A startled laugh escaped Sirius, half a sob, although he was smiling now, all melancholic affection. “How could I not, you tosser?” he whispered back. “I didn’t know it was so bad. You should’ve said. From the start.”
Of course Remus had, but he didn’t want to labour the point. A half-fond and half-unhappy smile pulled at his own lips now. He’d said all that’d been pressing, so didn’t torture his bruised throat any further.
Careful hands returned to their ministrations, then Sirius leaned down and kissed him on the forehead:
“Need anything? Water? Potions?”
Remus shook his head no, slowly, mindful of the painful twinges along his neck and shoulders. Closed his eyes, signalling that he only wanted sleep.
Sirius understood, and simply set his own head down beside Remus’s. Vaguely Remus worried about what an uncomfortable position it must be, kneeling on the floor like that, but Sirius started humming something under his breath, a wistful little tune Remus couldn’t place…
It tugged him gently toward oblivion again.
The second time he woke up, there were more voices murmuring around him. He couldn’t fight a smile, even before his eyes fluttered open: James and Peter had, sure enough, come down by then, and Remus could still feel Sirius at his side, seated sideways on the bed now, one hand clutching Remus’s, the other curled around the opposite shoulder.
“Oops – morning, there, Sleeping Beauty,” James grinned, having noticed that he’d stirred. “We weren’t making a racket, were we?”
“When are you ever not?” Remus ribbed obligingly, only because he’d long learnt that it was what boys did, rather than voice appreciation the way he’d have actually liked to.
Scattered chuckling; Peter leaned in and asked, “You alright?”
“Yeah…”
“Here, let’s sit you up,” Sirius smiled, and helped him do just that, rearranging the pillows behind him.
Remus relaxed against these. Sirius still had the Cloak draped around his shoulders, so that he looked like some strange apparition that had a front without a back, making Remus lift a quizzical eyebrow and venture, “Erm, Pads, why—?”
“No idea who you’re talking to, mate,” said James, with exaggerated nonchalance. “There’s no one here but us.”
Remus’s smile stretched. “No?”
“No, he’s a lazy bugger, your Padfoot,” Sirius nodded sagely. “Fast asleep in the dormitory, wouldn’t you know it? Couldn’t be bothered to come down.”
“That’s a shame,” Remus huffed, shaking his head in fond amusement.
Sirius grinned. “This way I can stay a bit longer once this lot leaves. I don’t see why madam doesn’t just let me, anyway – Saturday, innit?”
“Because we’re supposed to be spending it studying,” Peter answered, morosely. He did, in fact, have homework spread out on the bed by Remus’s knees, beside which he was perched on the smaller stool. “I dunno how you can stay on top of it and still have time for all the usual, it’s mad the amount they set us lately.”
“Who says I’m on top of it?” Sirius shrugged, blasé, then curled up closer to Remus with a little smirk. “More important things in life, though, aren’t there?”
Remus smiled back, relishing in the way Sirius leaned down and bumped their noses against each other.
“Ugh, you pups are sickening,” James groaned, audibly miffed not to have their undivided attention. “C’mon, leave the romancing for when we’re gone. Fancy a round of chess, Mr Moony?”
“Sure.” It always took up quite a while, when he played James, and often had to end on a forced draw or a stalemate, purely for lack of time. But it was just the thing for a lazy morning stuck in the Hospital Wing, though, when Remus didn’t have the energy to do much else.
Cheered again, James fished out their usual set from the cabinet. Sirius made himself more comfortable, twisting to face forward, back against the headboard: “Team up?” he asked Remus, in a fake whisper that more than carried to James, who scowled.
“How’s that fair?”
“Because Mr Padfoot isn’t actually here, you see,” Remus answered sagely.
Some tussling, some laughter. Eventually they settled into their game. It didn’t really make that much of a difference, two against one – James was not an easy opponent to defeat, and Remus himself was no slacker at chess.
Madam Pomfrey turned up halfway through, necessitating that Sirius scurry under the Cloak again. “Will you boys be picnicking up here?” she asked with that rare, pleasant smile that only they really got out of her.
“Nah, we’ll be off in a bit,” answered James with a grin back; Peter echoed this more deferentially.
She gave Remus his potions and another quick check, then returned to the main ward. James and Peter said their goodbyes, too, following after her.
As soon as the door shut, Sirius re-emerged. Remus couldn’t stop smiling at him, which earned him a quick, close-lipped peck on it.
“Hullo again,” Sirius sang, “D’you want to sleep some more? Or chat?”
Truthfully, Remus’s body was pleading for further rest, but he didn’t want to lose the sound of Sirius’s voice, either. “You could read?” he requested, for a compromise.
“Got ya.” And Sirius reached into his book-bag for the novel they were currently midway along. This was familiar, too; Sirius often read aloud to him, when he was too tired to do anything else. Remus was certain Sirius thought it was the entertainment that Remus craved, but really it was Sirius’s voice, which was genuinely a lovely thing. He could even sing quite well, Sirius could, and when he read aloud like this Remus insisted on poetry or plays whenever they were on hand, because it really was a voice fit for the stage.
He didn’t know how he’d gotten away with it for so long; neither of them typically gravitated toward that sort of reading material. Remus liked stories, preferably fantastical stories, that carried him away from their own rotten world toward better ones, or at least ones that had more of a logic to them. Sirius didn’t prefer stories as much as his introspective, navel-gazey contemporary works (it really did feel like Sirius snatched new novels up as soon as they were published, yet another perk of living in London Remus supposed), but when he did bother with less cerebral fare he liked a bit of horror.
Which Remus knew because he often gifted them to Sirius. The thought made him muse about the sheer number of times he’d walked out of charity shops with books he’d never have read for himself, only because he knew Sirius would like them. And on the heels of that thought came the realisation that Sirius did the same, really – how many records had he gifted Remus, by artists or in genres Sirius didn’t actually prefer?
What a magical thing, to have so often gone… here’s the thing that you like, in the thing that I like. Let me show you my world, and then would you share it with me?
Love? Was it? Probably. Felt accurate. Remus reached a hand up to toy with Sirius’s hair while Sirius read, earning a fond little quirk of the lips although Sirius’s eyes stayed fixed on the pages. He wanted to say it, too, but had a sneaking suspicion that he hadn’t actually been meant to have heard the words from that morning. Sirius had likely thought he was too out of it to hear, let alone remember.
Anyway, he wasn’t sure he knew how. Not with words, at least not his own. Never was any good with them. He wished they were at his house, surrounded by Mum’s poetry books. This feeling of utter gratitude could probably only be captured by the greats, not his clumsy tongue.
Still, as he watched the morning sunlight waltz along the sculpted edges of Sirius’s face, not really taking in the words that Sirius read as much as the melody of them, he couldn’t help but lift a finger again, brushing against Sirius’s jaw. Hard knuckle slid upon soft skin.
“You’re so lovely,” he murmured, half-awed. Was this really something that he got to have – keep – so closely, now? By Merlin…
Sirius sort of choked on his sentence, shooting Remus a wide-eyed look. It made Remus feel rather self-conscious, as well, but he smiled nonetheless, charmed by the way half of Sirius’s head then disappeared behind his book. Sirius’s eyes, peeping above it, were dancing, and there were spots of colour on his cheek. “You weren’t even listening to half of that, were you?” he chided half-heartedly, instead of acknowledging the little compliment.
Remus chuckled. “Sorry.”
“Pointless,” Sirius huffed, without actual bite to it. Fleetingly, he squeezed Remus’s hand, and Remus understood it was a sort of unspoken thank-you.
Then he carried on reading. Remus smiled, deciding to tuck this feeling away for now, until he could find a better time to bring it up.
For the better part of the rest of October Sirius more than made good on his promise to James, occupying every single one of their days with some form of entertainment or the other. If they weren’t pulling pranks, they were making plans for the big Halloween party. Remus observed, gratefully, that this had the double effect of distracting both James and Sirius himself from their upsets – whether or not Sirius realised it. He was spared his fits of melancholy for quite a while; so long in fact that, when the letter from Andromeda arrived, it was rather a rude reminder that things weren’t all hunky-dory.
The owls arrived at breakfast, like they usually did. When one hovered above Sirius’s head, Remus didn’t blink twice: Sirius had taken out subscriptions to Sounds, Melody Maker, and NME, that year, taking full advantage of no longer having to answer to a Muggle-hating family. “I missed Bohemian Rhapsody, men,” he’d explained, the first time the rest of them had given his parcels a curious once-over. “I still can’t believe I missed Bohemian-fuckin’-Rhapsody. I’m not risking anything like that again, let me tell you…”
And so Remus thought nothing of it – at least not until Sirius had stacked his magazines away, and an unassuming brown envelope slipped out from underneath one. “Oh,” Sirius blinked, just as surprised, when he bent to pick it up. He turned it over, frowning at the back of it.
Remus, noticing this, ventured, “Your Uncle Alphard?”
“No. Andromeda,” said Sirius, distractedly.
He opened it. Remus politely turned his attention to James and Peter instead; if there was anything noteworthy in the letter, Sirius would tell them himself. Still, he couldn’t help that vague, half awareness of Sirius – where he was relative to Remus’s immediate surroundings, what he was up to – that never really left him. James’s eyes briefly flicked toward Sirius as well where he and Pete sat across from them, but he continued waffling on about the upcoming Gryffindor vs Slytherin match, either as mindful about Sirius’s privacy as Remus was, or hesitant to set him off by prying, considering the unpredictable state Sirius had been in since the summer— since last year, really.
Eventually, and with a great sigh, Sirius set the piece of parchment aside. “Well, gents,” he announced, “It’s official. Rommie hasn’t got the faintest whether or not I can still call myself a Black, because she took Tonks’s name after they disowned her. What she does know for sure is that dear old papa’s closed my vault at Gringotts. I’m destitute. Penniless.”
This delivered in a tone of exaggerated melodrama, letting Remus know that Sirius would prefer to make light of it, at least for now. Still, he couldn’t help but to run sympathetic knuckles along Sirius’s spine, up-then-down.
“What’d you mean, destitute?” James frowned, garbled around a mouthful of breakfast. “I’ve got more than enough money for us all.”
Remus couldn’t quite hide a wince, and even the bark of laughter Sirius gave sounded a bit nervous. “Prongs—”
“Nuh-uh. No. There’s no such thing as pride between us four, I’m not having it,” James insisted, pointing his fork at both Sirius and Remus. “We swore when we were kids that we’d be just like the Inseparables – sharing everything. Which does mean everything.”
“The what?” Peter blinked.
“Musketeers,” Remus supplied, rather distracted thinking up ways to get Sirius out of this awkwardness – steer the conversation toward safer waters.
“When did we ‘swear?’” he settled for, though of course he remembered. “You make it sound like we took a proper oath. Binding.”
“We did!” James gawked at him, half-indignant. “We took a blood vow?”
That made Remus genuinely laugh, almost choking on his pumpkin juice. “Come off it, Prongs.”
James’s eyebrows shot up high above his glasses. “I can’t believe you didn’t think that was serious.”
“We were eleven!” Remus laughed. “We were playing.”
“Ohh.” (Peter, having an epiphany.) “When we did the thing with the knife and the holding hands. Right.”
“Imagine the rumours if someone overheard that,” Sirius drawled, idly chucking exactly two breadcrumbs at Peter’s nose.
“It was real,” James insisted. “You lot sound like those toffs who go abroad to do research and write nonsense about blood magic being baseless rubbish belonging to savage cultures. How they think only the Muggles have a concept of racialism I don’t know.” He huffed. “Blood magic is even less studied than dark magic. We don’t know how it works!”
“So you admit it might not,” Remus pointed out.
James crossed his arms stubbornly. “I know what I felt and it was a vow.”
“Fine, then what did we vow?” Remus challenged, amused. “Because I seem to recall it was something stupidly vague like—”
“—To be Marauders!” James finished for him, even shoving four emphasising fingers at Remus. “Yeah. Exactly.”
Remus chortled. “What does that even mean?”
“You know what it means!”
“If it was a vow, then, by definition, it should be breakable,” Peter chimed in, busy licking his fingers off one at a time. “How d’you violate being a Marauder?”
“You’ve got to always be up to no good,” said Sirius, faux-solemnly. “Otherwise the magic will kill us all, because of course if it’s binding then it won’t just do with one pledger.”
“Ah, then Wormy and I are already ghosts,” Remus lamented.
“So young. Such a shame.” Sirius clucked his tongue and shook his head.
“Laugh all you want right now, but we’ll see who’ll be laughing when the magic appears.” James tilted his chin up loftily. But he grabbed another piece of toast and didn’t labour the point.
“Talking of Les Inséparables,” said Sirius, quite clearly seizing upon this tangent, “We all know what our getups for the Halloween-whatever are going to be, right?”
“Obviously.” James waved, dismissive. “Already put in an order with Malkin’s.”
“D’you hear that, Mr Wormtail?” Remus feigned a sigh at Peter. “Without even bothering to check with us.”
“Shameful,” Peter agreed around his bun. “We should mutiny, eh?”
“Merlin – would you look at this?” Sirius had picked up his letter again, gesturing at a lengthy block of writing that Remus couldn’t actually read from where he was sitting; though of course that wasn’t the point, for Sirius set it facedown on the table again immediately after. “Rommie’s become one of those mums that don’t shut up about their brats. Most of this is about her. Two lines in reply to me at best.”
“Has she got a name?” asked Peter politely.
Sirius barked out a laugh. “Nymphadora. Poor thing – she’s gonna grow up wondering why her parents hated her that much.”
They all couldn’t help grimacing as well; Peter said, “I can think up at least three different ways to take the piss out of that already.”
“Well, dad got saddled with a cringe-worthy name, too, and thanks to that he wound up learning to sock people early.” James, sagely. “Maybe it’ll make her tough.”
“Heads-up, Prongs,” said Remus, noticing Sania Shah approaching their end of the table.
James turned around and saw her too, so he twisted properly, flashed her a grin. Sirius, meanwhile, leaned in close to Remus and whispered, “Was it always that uncomfortable?” with a wince, both sheepish and embarrassed all at once.
Remus understood he was referring to James’s offer, and chuckled. “Now you know how Pete and I feel.”
“Bloody hell. There’ll always be that part of him, won’t there? The, erm, I dunno. Guilelessness.”
“Potter Pan,” Remus reminded, by way of explanation.
He placed a hand against Sirius’s back with a smile. “But I do agree you shouldn’t worry, my darling. Nine OWLs, remember? You could have any Ministry post you wanted.”
“Mm, I think I’ll need to talk to Professor McGonagall again,” Sirius conceded. “Shouldn’t have been so blasé about it all.”
“You’ll be fine.”
“Oi, rude to whisper around other people, you know,” Peter spoke up, miffed.
Remus and Sirius separated; “Sorry, Pete,” Remus offered sheepishly.
“Missed me, did you?” Sirius ribbed – then promptly returned to tossing bits of food at Peter with glee.
Of course, planning got derailed by the mysterious troublemaker posting inflammatory statements all around the school for a while, setting half the student body on edge. Remus quietly agreed with his friends – that this was only a pot-stirrer, concerning but ultimately toothless – but most other people fretted, afraid it would spark some sort of larger confrontation, though what sort could take hold at Hogwarts of all places Remus wasn’t sure. The Marauders had tried to keep an eye out for suspicious movements using the map regardless, but, it would seem the culprit was at the very least smart enough to quit while they were ahead: there was no further provocation after their second “exposé.” Besides, Sirius quite cleverly deduced that they weren’t working alone, considering the evidence, and it was harder to find a pattern of movement among multiple people rather than one.
Anyway, their laxity was proven right by Dumbledore’s quick thinking, though that did bring a rather unexpected consequence: now everyone was saying that the Marauders’ party would be the better one of the two, for those who didn’t support blood supremacist rhetoric.
“You lot are going to have quite the task,” said Lily, on their evening patrol, and with some amusement. “I don’t reckon you planned for this much interest, did you?”
“Well, no,” Remus admitted, smiling back, “But we’ll manage. They like a challenge, those two.” Sirius and James, he meant.
He could see the by-now familiar spark of curiosity in Lily’s eyes. “How’re you going to pull it off, then?” she queried. “Getting around Filch and the teachers and all – never mind finding enough food, smuggling in drinks, managing the crowd…”
“We’ve got friends in odd places.” Remus winked. Namely, the kitchens – they quite literally had befriended a couple of house-elves years ago. Besides which Madam Rosmerta always indulged James and Sirius, and Remus was working on the logistics of the rest. That was his job, logistics. That was how most of their hijinks tended to go: Sirius would declare that he was bored – his way of admitting to melancholy – which would prompt James to come up with some daft idea, and Remus would (sighing all the while) engineer it into steps they could actually take, and Pete would point out all the ways it could go wrong to minute detail, which then helped them prepare backup plan after backup plan. Quite the operation, really.
“Sounds like James will be right in his element,” Lily half-smiled, half-scoffed. “Charming the socks off half the school to get his way.”
There was something painfully fond about the way she’d said it that Remus suspected she wasn’t even aware of. It made him feel a pang of sympathy for both his friends; it was plain that she liked him, and of course he was utterly besotted with her. Why they couldn’t let it happen, Remus would never understand.
James had asked him not to meddle, and Remus did see the logic in that: if Lily wound up thinking that Remus was only friendly with her to help James get a date, she’d (understandably) never forgive either of them.
But that didn’t mean he wasn’t tempted to. Remus would never be able to love James in the same straightforward way that Sirius did – his feelings would always be coloured by a bit of envy, it couldn’t be helped. Not over James’s wealth of privilege, but, the utter ease that he went through life with. James had never needed to learn to think twice before a word or action for fear of backlash, let alone violence, so he simply didn’t. And on the heels of that came his, his fundamental innocence, his unshakeable belief in a bright future— bright life, at large, for them all.
The sort of belief that led to taking some silly boyhood game for a serious “blood vow.” Neither Remus nor Sirius believed in the Neverland James dreamt them – had lived far too much life for their inconsiderable years to do that. But Sirius indulged it; quite fiercely in fact, and with a protective instinct, like James’s bubble shouldn’t ever be burst. For the most part Remus did feel the same way, but… sometimes… sometimes. Sometimes reality got too close to let him be anything but annoyed by wishful delusion.
Then there was the fact that he knew… even as he knew that Sirius did mean that he loved him… that, nonetheless, Sirius loved James more. Would always love James more.
Just like he knew that there would always be things James had the power to do to help and protect Sirius that Remus couldn’t even hope to, no matter how desperately he wished he did.
Despite the envy, however, James was too dear of a friend to let it trump Remus’s far stronger feelings – all the gratitude, the affection, even a protectiveness not dissimilar to Sirius’s. Remus did love him, in the end, and he and Sirius would certainly agree on this:
James Potter deserved to have everything he wanted.
He eyed Lily out of his peripheral vision as they continued along the darkened corridors. On top of it, he was sure James would be good to her – for her – too. They were kindred spirits in ways that Remus clocked even from his small glimpses of it; he couldn’t imagine how much truer that was the times the pair of them were on their own. Lily just hadn’t had the chance to see it, yet, to really see it. Hadn’t gotten to know James like only a Marauder could.
But she’d gotten so close. What about Lily wasn’t Marauderly, at this point? She knew his secret. She even knew about the incident last year, with Snape. There was very little left, if she only… if he could just… nudge…
James had said not to meddle. Remus bit his tongue. Well, he wouldn’t be meddling if he only wanted her to befriend James, he thought. Nothing more, just a chance to see James in that light.
“I’ve really got to commend you, though,” he said, carefully, with a slight smirk. “Getting him under control like that – I’ve been trying for years, and here it only took a talking-to out of you.”
He was absurdly grateful that Lily and James shared the same naïveté; she fell for the bait, turning around, perplexed. “Getting him under control?” she repeated.
Remus feigned confusion as well. “You didn’t know? He’s asked us to stop hexing people for no good reason.”
“…Has he.” Lily turned to face forward again, her expression guarded – but she hadn’t had Remus’s years of practice at closing it off entirely. He could tell she was troubled.
“That would explain why your pranks have been so much sillier lately,” was the neutral response she settled for: affable. “That’s good, then. And you do get so much more creative now you’ve realised you can be funny without hurting others.”
“Touché,” Remus smiled.
“Not you, you, of course, Remus. General you.”
“They ought to bring back thee and thou.”
Lily laughed. “But, you know, this party, though,” she said – an abrupt change of subject Remus had anticipated. “Did you really have to make it fancy dress? I can’t decide on one.” In a huff.
Remus chuckled. “Sorry, that wasn’t up to me. James wanted…” And then an idea struck him, slowly and then all at once. He turned, so Lily wouldn’t see the epiphany in his widening eyes.
“No plans for it at all so far?” he asked, cautiously.
“No,” Lily sighed. “I’d wanted to just match Marlene and Mary’s, but Mary still hasn’t decided whether or not she even wants to go, and Marlene’s said she’ll be a vampire, which I think is rather insensitive, so we had a bit of a row.”
“Oh, dear.”
“No, no, we bicker all the time, don’t worry. Still won’t be matching hers, though,” with a stubborn exhale that made Remus smile.
“I won’t hold it against you if you came as a werewolf.”
“Stop,” Lily laughed, nudging him.
He chuckled as well. “Won’t you match with your date? Or aren’t you bringing one?”
“I might.” And Lily sounded sardonic about it. “But, Adrian’s decided to just turn up in whatever he likes. His plan is to get away with it by telling people he’s a ‘walking metaphor.’” Snorting, and then mimicking an inflection that was presumably this ‘Adrian’s:’ “‘It’s not something that can be explained; only experienced.’”
Remus scrunched up his nose. “A walking metaphor for what?”
“Pretention,” Lily snorted, earning laughter.
Deciding that the atmosphere was warm enough for it, Remus took the plunge. “If you really haven’t got an idea…” he began, lip between his teeth, “Could I make a suggestion?”
“You?” Lily turned to face him; she looked amused and delighted at the same time. “Oh, I’ve got to hear this.”
Smirking back, Remus leaned down and whispered in her ear.
When he straightened, Lily was giving him a wide-eyed look. “Are you sure?” she asked. “I mean, I’m assuming that means you lot are going as…”
“Yeah,” Remus nodded with a crooked smile. “Exactly. But you don’t have to if you don’t want to, it’s only a suggestion. If you’ve got nothing else, y’know.”
Lily narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously, and for a moment Remus worried that she’d uncovered his intentions, mind instantly switching tactics to salvage this for James. But, no. Instead, Lily said, “This is a prank, isn’t it. You’re pranking them, and you’re roping me in for your accomplice.”
Remus laughed, partly relieved, partly entertained. “Got me,” he fibbed. “It’d be so funny, don’t you think?”
“Hmm, yeah,” she smirked, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “And I bet Sirius would be quite peeved.”
“Never you mind about Sirius,” said Remus, with an amused exhale. “His bark is worse than his bite, I promise.”
“Unless your name happens to be Severus Snape?” Lily arched an eyebrow, making him colour.
“O-Oh, well, that…”
But she nudged her shoulder against his affectionately. “I’ll consider it,” she huffed. “But don’t expect me to hang around, Lupin, I’ve got friends of my own. I’ll help you startle them, but that’s it.”
Remus sent her half a grin. So there, not meddling at all. He’d only provided a stage – the rest would be up to James.
“Aren’t I your friend as well?” he feigned hurt. “You’re saying Lily the Social Butterfly can’t spare me five minutes at a party to say hullo?”
“I didn’t say that!” Lily laughed, swatting him on the back.
Remus nudged her, too. Felt quite satisfied with the sense that he’d put something always meant to be right again.
“All’s in order,” Pip announced, giving Remus two thumbs-up – and then going the extra mile by doing a somersault, landing on his head, and flashing two big-toes-up, too.
His brother shot him an unimpressed look while he cartwheeled right side up again, and Remus stifled laughter.
“Thanks, guys,” he smiled. “We owe you as always.”
“Lupin mustn’t just say so!” Flopsy insisted, leaning up as far as his little legs would let him. He held out two impatient hands, squeezed his fingers open and closed demandingly. “Lupin must do what’s promised as well.”
“When don’t I ever?” Remus returned – then fished two soda-cans out of his robes pockets. The house-elves garbled with glee, yanking their payment off of Remus’s hands without so much as a pause. Muggle snacks and drinks were so rare to them that the Marauders might as well have paid with diamonds, every time they did this in exchange for the kitchen staff’s help.
Of course, with the injustice that was house-elf enslavement, if this had been anywhere else in the wizarding world, they’d never have accepted payment to begin with. But Hogwarts paid them for their services, and had thus become something of a haven for house-elves like Pip and Flopsy – those looking to escape the norms of broader society without being violently attacked for it.
Remus wished he could do more, but of course barely had any sway in said society himself. An earnest, “Thanks again,” was the most he could say as he waved and got up off his knees. “And don’t forget, you’re more than welcome to come and join us later.”
“Later!” their high-pitched voices agreed, a bit garbled as they were already slurping around their straws.
Shaking his head fondly, Remus turned around and left the kitchens the way he’d entered. Wizard supremacists would be the cause of their own undoing, the way they overlooked the magic of other magical beings, he marvelled. It was amazing how the house-elves could do things like the favour the Marauders had asked: secure the dungeons against unwanted guests. For they were fae creatures, at the end of the day, and like many other fae, they knew ward-lore. Bounded invitations.
Just like most fae couldn’t enter a house without having been explicitly invited, the house-elves had the ability to use that sort of ward-magic to help the Marauders, with parties. Anybody trying to go near the dungeons later tonight without a clear invitation would only find themselves essentially Confunded – forgetting what they were there for, then turning around and leaving.
Merlin help the wizards when the day of their long-overdue uprising eventually came, Remus thought.
He waited outside the portrait-door for Peter to emerge, as well, and he did, a few minutes after. “Bounty bars worked,” he declared. “Got five of ’em to agree to help lug the cartons from the Three Broomsticks in later.”
“Brill.” Remus patted him on the shoulder, and the pair of them left the corridor.
James and Sirius were approaching from the opposite direction, as if on cue. “Peeves is going to keep Filch busy for the entire evening,” James grinned. “We’ll owe him, but I reckon this should be worth a detention or two, whatever that poltergeist’s got up his sleeve.”
“Everything ready on your end?” Sirius asked Remus and Pete, who nodded confirmation. Sirius went on, impatiently, “Excellent, let’s head back, I need to finalise the music selection.”
He was in a great mood, Remus observed, pleased. In no time at all, they were in the dormitory again, wrapping up last-minute ends, the clock chiming dinner before they knew it. Their cue to get into costume and sneak downstairs – no Cloak necessary, for they’d ensured Filch would have his hands full, and every student who wasn’t in on the plan would be at the Great Hall, for the school-sanctioned celebration.
Remus helped the others see to their, er, various deliveries via one of the Hogsmeade passages, and then the party was officially on.
“—And don’t forget!” Sirius shouted from the makeshift platform they’d set their charmed PA setup on, his voice amplified by a Sonorus, “Anybody who rats us out can expect equal retribution. Believe me, you don’t want that!” (This greeted by jeers of agreement from the crowd.) “Alright, fuckers, enjoy!”
He hopped off. The music took over for him, playing on its own thanks to his charmwork. It was entirely Muggle rock, which Remus realised unwittingly furthered the sense that their party was a protest against the one in full swing upstairs.
The dungeons had been utterly transformed. Low flickering lights glowed from enchanted jack-o’-lanterns that floated just below the arched stone ceiling. Their carved faces leered and grinned as they cast jagged shadows across the walls. Bats – both real and illusionary (Remus was quite pleased with his handiwork on that front) – fluttered about, occasionally swooping low to startle an unsuspecting guest. Strings of enchanted spider’s webs, glimmering faintly in shades of green and violet, crisscrossed the corners like ghostly garlands.
A faint mist curled along the floor, coiling around ankles. Several cauldrons bubbled merrily, filled with dry ice and potioned brews that gave off spicy-sweet scents: cinnamon, clove, something gingery. The usually bare, cold stone walls had been charmed to display haunting illusions: skeletal hands clawing upward, ghostly figures drifting in and out of view. Every so often, the keening wail of a banshee would erupt, eliciting gleeful shivers from the crowd.
Tables lined the perimeter, groaning under the weight of snacks and drinks smuggled in, courtesy of Madam Rosmerta: Pumpkin Pasties, Chocolate Cauldrons, Liquorice Wands, cans and bottles of butterbeer, and even (under a strict “ask Sirius and maybe you’ll get a sip” policy) a few of firewhisky. At the centre, a punch bowl burbled with neon-green contents that glowed faintly and, thanks to one of Sirius’s charms, occasionally let out soft cackles or disembodied groans.
The dungeon teemed with costumed students, their getups ranging from expertly transfigured masterpieces to – clearly – last-minute scrambles involving bedsheets and optimism. A particularly impressive group dressed as Inferi delighted in lurching out from the shadows with exaggerated movements and vacant stares, earning shrieks and laughter in equal parts.
Remus watched it all with the detachedness of a host for a bit. He milled about, just like the other three were, to make sure all was well. He got quite a few compliments on the costume – they all had, really – most with an almost overzealous application of the word “dashing.”
And then, as things settled, he noticed Sirius, James, and Peter commandeering a perch by the music system, ready to enjoy the party as well.
Smiling to himself, Remus pushed further into the crowd instead of joining his friends. He peered over the mass of twisting bodies for a glimpse of familiar red hair.
He’d expected to find Lily among the dancers – she loved to dance, after all – but, instead, spotted her leaning against a far wall with her date, arms loosely crossed, expression drifting toward polite disinterest. She’d outdone herself with Remus’s earlier request: her auburn hair was swept into an elegant twist with little curls that framed her face just so, and she wore a flowing red gown trimmed with dark lace and silver accents that caught the party lights with every little movement. A black mask sat perched atop her head, leaving her green eyes exposed, bored and searching the crowd as if calculating the quickest path to escape.
Her date, Adrian Masefield, had one arm propped against the wall beside her head, the other gesturing expansively. He was wearing what appeared to be a haphazard combination of robes and flowers – either a dryad, or else he’d simply come as himself.
Remus was close enough now to catch snippets of their conversation – and immediately sympathised with the strained half-smile on Lily’s face, the glazed look in her eyes.
“And, you see, it’s not about the words on the page,” Adrian was saying, “It’s about the space they leave between themselves. The void, you know? That’s where the real poetry lies. Like— like the silence between heartbeats. But the British public isn’t ready for that. They crave structure, predictability. They can’t handle the raw beauty of chaos. It’s terribly limiting.”
Lily’s smile tightened a bit. “Is that so,” she murmured, so lightly her voice all but dissolved under the music. Her eyes darted once more toward the crowd – for what had to be the fiftieth time in as many seconds.
Adrian pressed on undeterred. “And don’t even get me started on the mainstreaming of magical art. Have you seen the Ministry’s latest mural initiative? Absolutely bankrupt. No authenticity, no edge. It’s like they’re terrified of anything that actually means something. But of course the masses adore it – they’ve never been taught to expect anything more.”
Remus bit back a grin, confident now that his intervention would be more than welcome. Sure enough, when Lily finally spotted him, there was nothing but utter relief on her face.
Aware there was mischief in his own, he bowed at her, tipping his broad-brimmed cavalier hat slightly. “Milady,” he greeted, faux-grandly.
Lily laughed, delighted. She straightened her back, playing at gravity as well. “Monsieur…?” A question, and Remus supplied, “Aramis.”
“Ah, right. Dunno why I didn’t guess.” Lily smiled. Turning toward her date again, “Have you met? Adrian, Remus. Remus, Adrian.”
“Alright?”
“Hey.”
Remus stepped up to her, arm looped out for her to take. “I hope you don’t mind if I borrow her for a bit,” he said. “I’ll have her back in a moment, I promise.”
“Cool…” Adrian managed, but it was Lily who tugged Remus insistently away, so he barely needed to consider how rude they might have been.
“Merlin, thanks for the rescue,” she muttered as soon as they were out of earshot. “I’m gonna kill Marlene, she said she’d be ’round by now. Found the food, I expect.”
Remus chuckled, obliging. “Where’s Mary?”
“Oh, she’s got a date,” Lily beamed. “Rather sweet, actually. She’d almost turned him down because she’s so shy about these things, y’know, but then she decided to give it a go, and good she did too, because now they’re getting on smashingly from what I saw.”
“Good to hear,” Remus smiled. They wove their way past the throng, toward the Marauders’ corner. As soon as he could spot his friends again, Remus turned to Lily with a grin: “Ready?”
“You owe me,” Lily grinned back. Nevertheless, she wrapped her arm tighter where it was strung through the circle of his.
They forged ahead, greeted now by three identical expressions of wide-eyed surprise under dark-brown cavalier hats. Smirking, Remus declared, “May I present the dastardly Lady de Winter.”
Lily eased away from him and curtsied with a flourish. James, delighted, pretended to leap away, gasping, “Oh no! The enemy!” —which made her laugh as well.
“What’re you playing at, Moony?” Peter chortled, but he didn’t sound displeased either.
Sirius was the only one with less than amused shock on his face, now, and Remus walked over to him, wrapping a mollifying arm around his shoulder.
“My part,” he shrugged, in response to Peter. “Aramis brings the girls, doesn’t he?”
He idly squeezed Sirius’s upper arm in his grasp, taking advantage of the fact that Lily and James were too distracted by each other to notice. (“Is this real…?” she was asking, poking at the hilt of the “rapier” in James’s scabbard.)
“Milady’s supposed to be blonde,” Sirius protested, audibly miffed.
“The Musketeers are supposed to be Frenchmen,” Lily retorted easily, shooting him an unimpressed look.
Sirius crossed his arms. “I’ve got Norman ancestors. Toujours pur and all that, remember?”
“Little known fact, but his name is actually said like Ray-moo Lu-pon,” James quipped, pointing a thumb in Remus’s direction.
“Come off it. No it’s not,” Remus thumped him on the arm, which earned him a grin.
“It could be!” James returned. “Lupin could be French. The Muggles have got that gentleman-thief bloke. Arsène Lupin.”
“He wasn’t real…”
“Haven’t got a clue about mine either,” Peter shrugged, morose.
“Well, you’d know better than me,” was James’s contribution; he’d inclined his head at Lily, and Remus smiled to see the affection behind his glasses.
Lily shook her head. “No, sorry, you’re older than that. I dunno about your mum’s, but your dad’s matriline goes back to Roman times via the Peverells, and his patriline can be traced to Alfred the Great. Anglo-Saxon king.”
James blinked. “There were wizard kings?”
“The distinction between magic and Muggle meant nothing at the time, you know,” said Lily, and Remus was glad when Sirius chimed in, “Honestly, Prongs, didn’t you bother reading my essay?”
Now that he was standing still, Remus’s spine was starting to let him know exactly how it felt about all the walking around in slightly heeled bucket boots, so he turned, spotted the nearest seat, which was really some sort of… amp or drawer-thing or both, and hoisted himself up onto it. He was gratified when Sirius inched closer, like iron obedient to lodestone. Sirius’s back now rested against his shins, and Remus had to resist the urge to drape both arms around Sirius’s neck in return.
Instead he settled for holding him there by the shoulders. Sirius tilted his head back and smiled, nevertheless. If Lily noticed, she didn’t remark on it, still busy chatting:
“Who’re the rest of you, then?” More demanding than curious. She looked James up and down: “d’Artagnan, I suppose.”
“Yeah, but I don’t agree,” James held two helpless palms up in a halfway-shrug. “I still say I’m more Porthos than Peter is. Sirius fights me on it, though.”
“He’s the main character, you’ve got to be the main character,” Sirius insisted; James sighed.
“You’re d’Artagnan, mate. You’d fight your own shadow if you could.”
“No, because then who’d be Athos?” With a haughty huff. “You’re neither maligned nor melancholy, and Peter certainly isn’t.”
“Don’t open this can of worms, Lily,” Peter smiled, poking her with an elbow. “It’s almost as bad as when we try and pick from The Beatles.”
Lily squinted like she was now considering the logistics of matching them to The Beatles.
Remus snorted. “I like how you lot can’t agree on yours, but you’ll insist I’m Aramis no matter what.”
“Yeah,” they chorused, including Lily, so Remus couldn’t argue.
Davey Gudgeon, a junior of theirs who fairly worshipped James and Sirius, turned up at some point, bounding along with his arms full of goblets and a curved bottle of firewhisky. “Here you go – sorry I’m late!” Beaming as he delivered his cargo to Sirius. “Me and Liam got a bit turned ’round, but we found the passage in the end.”
“Take it to your grave,” Sirius warned, the faux-sombre tone belied by a quick wink. “Cheers, Davey. Want some?”
“Nah, I’m not ready,” candidly.
“Wise young buck.” James gave him several patronising pats on the head. Abruptly changing subjects, “Not half-bad, this, innit? The party. Maybe we ought to make it an annual thing. You, my friend, are hereby tasked with continuing it on once we’ve graduated.”
“Aye, aye,” Davey obliged, with a salute.
“What about you, Yoko?” Sirius drawled, hardly glancing up from where he was pouring out drinks, using the platform behind them for a makeshift table.
“Don’t see why not,” Lily hummed, that familiar curiosity in her voice. “But to be perfectly honest I’ve never had firewhisky before.”
“Just that, or nothing alcoholic at all?” asked James, equally curious.
“Well, one or two glasses of wine with the tea at home.”
“Wine with tea?” Sirius scrunched up his nose, and Lily, Remus, and Peter all chorused, “Dinner.”
“Don’t feel you have to if you don’t want to, then, Lily,” said Remus politely, mindful of her being a girl among boys. “I’m not drinking either.” He never did around people that weren’t the other Marauders, afraid of turning loose-lipped and spilling any of his considerable secrets.
Lily smiled, “I’d like a try,” and James, evidently having read his mind, arched an amused eyebrow as well: “We’re all gentlemen here.”
“It’s about her comfort, not your intentions,” Remus reached out and shoved him by the shoulder, making Lily laugh.
“That’s really sweet of you, Moony, but—”
She stopped herself, wide-eyed as she realised what she’d said; Remus sent her a reassuring smile. “It’s alright, you can call me Moony if you like.”
Lily gave an embarrassed chuckle; Peter bounced in place: “We’ve got nicknames too, now!” He pointed, “Wormtail, and Padfoot, and—”
“—Don’t call me Prongs.” James lifted one panicked finger. “Nope. Not having it. That’s just odd. Please don’t call me Prongs.”
“Now I’m tempted to,” Lily laughed. “Alright, Potter, calm down. What are they supposed to mean, anyway?”
“Have a guess, go on.”
Sirius had passed her a goblet by now, and as Lily took a sip, she made a noise of surprise: “Hang on, does Moony mean—?”
“Yup,” James and Peter chortled.
Lily gasped. “You’re awful.” Turning to Remus: “They’re awful.”
“No idea why I’m mates with this lot,” Remus agreed with a teasing grin.
Sirius’s charmed setup automatically flipped its vinyls over, the music now picking up tempo. On cue the lights changed as well, dimming further with only flickers of will-o’-the-wisps that darted about, over the crowd. Remus took advantage of it, pulling Sirius even closer against him by the tabard – once Sirius had returned to his post after pouring himself a drink. In response, Sirius reached a hand behind himself and idly petted Remus’s where it clutched his shoulder.
Davey had said goodbyes by that point, and very few other people came to join them – Kingsley, once, for a quick hello and to ask if any of them had seen his friends. None of their sixth-year Gryffindor counterparts turned up, nor did Adrian Masefield, but Remus suspected Lily wasn’t really keeping an eye out for them anymore, clearly enjoying herself now.
“What’s that song?” she called over the music; Sirius shifted against Remus slightly and called back, “Rocks Off. The Rolling Stones.”
“Oh, I like the Stones,” she obliged. Sirius scoffed:
“Please, you probably like Between the Buttons and that’s it.”
Lily scowled at him; her cheeks were flushed, now, Remus observed. She’d only had the one goblet, but firewhisky was strong stuff. “Ruby Tuesday is a masterpiece!” she shot back.
“See?” Sirius returned.
Before they could launch into a proper argument, Remus sighed and curled an arm around Sirius’s neck, draped now over his chest. He nudged at Sirius’s ear with his chin – relishing in the way it coaxed gooseflesh out of him that Remus could feel under his nose. “Grumpy,” he whispered, half-fond, half-chastising.
“…Not,” Sirius answered petulantly, but nevertheless wriggled in Remus’s hold like a happy pup, his shoulders relaxing.
He swayed, taking Remus along with the movement. Remus could see the corner of his smile… poked at it with a finger, earning quiet laughter. “Are,” he insisted, lowly, with a helpless smile of his own. “Should we go somewhere more private? I want…” To give you all of my attention.
“Merlin, I thought you’d never ask,” Sirius gave a sigh of relief. Easing off of Remus’s shin slightly: “Oi, Prongs. Let’s head, yeah? This lot have got it here.”
James turned; he’d been busy chatting with Lily again. Now the cards were on his table, Remus thought, even though he privately hoped James would—
James turned to Lily once more. “D’you want to come with us?” he asked.
Remus had to hide a smile behind Sirius’s hat. There you go, he thought. No meddling on his part.
Peter’s eyes had gone round as saucers, and Remus knew Sirius’s had, as well, despite the fact that he couldn’t see it. “Y-You sure, Prongs?” Peter squeaked, which made Lily narrow her eyes, suspicious:
“Whatever secret you lot have got, I’m not about to play the prefect now, you know, when I haven’t all evening.”
“Suppose it’s up to Moony in the end,” said James fairly, with a questioning glance at Remus.
Remus smiled. “Yeah, go for it. It’ll be grand.”
He observed the way James’s shoulders deflated in relief with some amusement; Peter looked more certain too, and Sirius tilted his head back slightly. There was a frown tugging his lips down, but something in his eyes had wavered nevertheless. “Well, if Moony says so,” he shrugged. Then he peeled away from Remus altogether, digging around in one of the drawers behind them.
“A-ha.” He’d pulled out a portable transistor radio, a gaudy yellow thing that Remus had no idea he owned. “I’ve got this theory that these things might actually work when we aren’t around this much magic. C’mon, then, let’s go.”
Remus hopped off his perch, and watched with satisfaction as James set both hands on Lily’s shoulders, from behind her, steering her forward playfully. “I’m about to regret this, aren’t I?” she laughed.
Being as they were on the lowest floor of the castle anyway, it wasn’t that long of a trek to the hidden passageway that spat them out closest to the Whomping Willow. Remus and Sirius trailed behind the rest – probably half-consciously on Sirius’s part, but Remus slowed on purpose so he could stay close to his boyfriend – James and Peter played quite the eager vanguards ahead for Lily’s sake, and she gasped when she realised where they were heading.
As soon as James cast a spell to stun the knot, she whirled around toward Remus, wide-eyed. “Is this where you—?”
“Mm-hmm.” Remus nodded with a reassuring smile. Her features had twisted into concern, so he stepped closer, patted her on the back.
“It’s not what you’re thinking. Go on.”
“Oh, so it isn’t a cage or anything horrid like that…?” Half to herself. Her steps turned hesitant regardless, but James was there to help her lower herself into the hollow by a hand.
“I feel a bit like Alice in Wonderland,” she giggled, rather nervously. “Y’know, down the rabbit hole…”
“Like the club in Diagon Alley?” asked Peter, confused.
“No, you idiot. Dorcas is Muggle-born, in’t she?” Sirius snorted. “Named it after the fairytale, obviously.”
“Right this way, Milady,” and Remus could hear the grin in James’s voice. In the low light of Peter’s Lumos, he could see that James still had her hand in his, which made Remus smile.
They went up the steps, pulled the trapdoor open as usual. Peter and James climbed up first, then held their hands out for Lily, who had a tougher time of it with her billowing skirts. When they had all emerged, Sirius turned around and shut the trapdoor once again, activating the charms that would hold it closed.
Lily, Remus observed, was staring at her surroundings, aghast.
“Where are we? Hogsmeade? Is this the Shrieking Shack?”
“Two for two,” James grinned. They’d all cast Wand-Lighting Charms of their own, by this point, and Remus watched as Lily turned in slow circles, her eyes darting over the space. Their orbs of light illuminated warped, splintered wood; walls marred with deep scratches. Her gaze lingered on the dark stains in the corners, on the floor. Old blood – faint, but unmistakeable.
All this, and how horrifying the sight must look to an outsider, only occurred to Remus belatedly. Lily had stopped short, her hand hovering over her mouth.
James, oblivious, was already gesturing toward the windows. “All charmed shut,” he explained. “Nothing can get out once the doors are locked. Not even a werewolf. It’s perfectly safe.”
“Safe?” Lily echoed.
It was the crack in her voice that made Remus’s epiphany dawn on the others, as well, he noticed. James’s ever-present grin was slipping, his expression sobering with dawning comprehension. Peter looked vaguely ashamed, and shifted his weight; and Sirius’s mouth had tightened into a thin, grim line.
Remus cleared his throat. “The… point was to keep—”
“A werewolf locked in,” Lily finished for him sharply. “It’s no better than a cage, then!”
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said hastily, “I’ve always managed—”
“Managed?” Lily recoiled. Her heels scuffed against the uneven floorboards as she swivelled around, wide-eyed. “Remus, this isn’t managing. You’re just trapped here every month? And look at this place—” She swept her arm in a broad gesture as if to encompass the gouged walls, the splintered furniture, and the dark stains that clung to every surface.
Remus couldn’t quite meet her eyes. Part of him wanted to laugh, wryly, at how horrified she seemed – because really, what would she think of the cellar back home? James’s eyes lingered on her, all boyish enthusiasm gone, replaced by something softer – pained and reverent at the same time.
“…Come on,” he said gently. “It’s nicer upstairs. Remus— the wolf doesn’t— can’t— use them. On the moon nights.”
Lily was shaking her head over and over again, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. She was clearly a little bit tipsy, but Remus’s heart twisted, all the same, equal parts regret and gratitude. He hadn’t anticipated a reaction like this – somewhere along the way, he’d forgotten. That there could still be people who might care quite this much.
The last person to react so viscerally, upon seeing the inside of the Shack for the first time… had been Sirius.
“How could Professor Dumbledore have been so thoughtless?” Lily was still demanding as they climbed toward the attic. “It’s one thing to support a werewolf’s right to an education – admirable, yes, but how could he not make sure the accommodations would be humane, first? Where’s the point of allowing you here if your safety – your dignity – wasn’t guaranteed? It’s their duty, the staff— it ought to go without saying—”
“Don’t,” Remus cut in, urgent. “Please. He’s done more for me than anyone ever has, he’s gone above and beyond. I can’t hurt anyone – that’s what matters.”
“You can’t hurt anyone else,” Sirius corrected darkly.
Lily froze mid-step. She turned slowly to stare at him. Her breath caught, and then became a disbelieving, shaky laugh.
“The Shrieking Shack,” she realised. “That’s why they call it that, isn’t it? Because… because of the…”
Remus looked away, but he nodded.
Lily pressed a hand to her mouth. Her shoulders quivered now as tears shimmered at her lashes, dangerously close to falling. “Merlin’s beard, Remus,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I never… I wouldn’t have guessed…”
Feeling suddenly exposed, Remus reached out and placed a hand on her arm. “Hey,” he said softly. “It’s alright. Really. It’s been this way for years – I’ve gotten used to it. And it’s better than, than this sort of thing tends to be. In houses, and… hospitals, and such. And I’ve got Madam Pomfrey, too – she’s here first thing, as soon as the moon sets.”
Lily managed a ragged inhale. They’d reached the attic now, the floor creaking faintly beneath their feet. She tore her eyes away from him, blinking hard, and glared down at the floorboards.
“It’s not a horrible cellar with manacles and chains,” she granted, if mutinously. “There’s space, and I suppose immediate medical attention is something.”
Remus had to bite back a bitter smile, thinking of home.
“But I still think it could be better,” she bit, crossing her arms. “Why can’t you transform in the Forbidden Forest? People aren’t allowed in there anyway.”
“And it wouldn’t take much, would it?” Sirius agreed, sneering. “Any of the professors, with all their talents, could easily ward off a section of the forest if they really cared. Only, they don’t, do they?”
“Stop it,” Remus said quickly, horrified. They’d done enough, more than enough. “I could still be spotted, that way. And…” Think of what would happen to Dumbledore then. He tried not to think of this himself, however, usually. Because of course they were roaming the Forest and Hogsmeade now. Maybe it was hypocritical of him. Selfish.
Peter was starting to look distinctly uneasy, but James, by contrast, stepped forward – deliberate and calm. He walked over to Lily, expression softened:
“You’re right,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “There’s a lot that could, should, be better. Too much.”
His gaze flicked briefly to Remus, and when he spoke again, it was with deep sincerity. “But we’ve learnt something about our Moony over the years, you see.”
Lily turned to him. Her eyes were still damp, her brow furrowed. “What?”
“That he’s bloody stubborn,” James said with a crooked smile. “And if there’s one thing he won’t stand for, it’s other people getting tangled up in his troubles.”
Remus exhaled a noiseless laugh, in spite of it all. “You aren’t wrong.”
James’s grin widened, just a touch. “We’ve all three been there, Evans. You’ll drive yourself mad thinking about everything you can’t do about it, though. Merlin knows none of us are anywhere close to Dumbledore’s talent – and this is the best that he could come up with.”
He gave Lily’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “We just do what we can, in the end. So come on, yeah? Let’s cut out the brooding and go back to annoying the living daylights out of him until he forgets what a gloomy sod he can be sometimes.”
“Oi,” Remus chuckled, and even Sirius barked out a laugh.
Lily’s lips curved into a tremulous smile, and at the sight of it, James’s expression softened once more. For a heartbeat, something unreadable passed behind his eyes – then he blinked it away, briskly pulling his hand from her shoulder and rubbing his palms together instead.
“Right,” he declared, clapping once. “Anyway, aside from being a tragically lacking sanctuary for student-werewolves, the Shrieking Shack also happens to be an excellent place to cause trouble without Filch or the teachers breathing down our necks.”
“Trouble?” Lily arched an eyebrow.
“Trouble,” James confirmed with mock solemnity. “The sort that includes an appalling amount of bad dancing, a fierce competition to see who can scandalise Pete the most, and – oh – let’s say at least three broken pieces of furniture before the night’s out.”
“Sorry?” Peter spluttered, though he was already grinning.
“Four, if Padfoot has his way,” James added, with a pointed look at Sirius.
Sirius raised both hands in a pantomime of innocence.
Remus couldn’t help but marvel – yet again – at how effortlessly James could dispel the heaviness in the air, as if waving away smoke. He met his friend’s eyes with silent gratitude, receiving a quick nod and a flicker of a smile in return.
Sirius, in the meantime, had set his radio down on a rickety chair, crouching to its height as he tried to get it working. “Bollocks,” he swore, when all he got out of it was static. “I thought it was the castle that blocked the wave-whatevers?”
“Maybe the magic here’s messing with it, too,” offered Peter. “The village’s, I mean.”
“That can’t be right, I’ve seen radios at the Three Broomsticks…”
“Could be the charms on the Shack itself?” said Remus.
“Here, let me have a look.” James bent toward the gadget, prodding at it with his wand here and there. Lily, curious as ever, wandered over, too, and Remus couldn’t help noting that if Sirius’s head weren’t between theirs, they’d have been bowed quite close together, in that pose.
He reached a hand out and wrapped it around Sirius’s elbow, tugging him backward surreptitiously. Sirius’s head twisted around, half-amused and half-quizzical, and Remus nodded once behind himself – an invitation.
It earned him a broad grin. Sirius eased off his haunches, letting Remus pull him away. James and Lily were too distracted (debating on how best to charm the radio) to pay them any attention, and Pete only rolled his eyes and waved a hand at them in a shooing sort of motion, as if to say, Oh, go on.
Remus mouthed his thanks— and without further ado, dragged Sirius along back down the stairs.
They’d barely set foot on the last step when Sirius wound his arms around Remus’s neck, necessitating that Remus brace a hand against the wall behind him, or they’d both have tumbled.
They dissolved into stifled laughter. Sirius’s hat had fallen off with the movement, which was a good thing as far as Remus was concerned, because he now had an easier time of kissing all the skin he could reach.
“Have I told you lately how brilliant you are?” Sirius grinned up at him, tilting back as far as he could, with Remus’s arms still wrapped around his back and waist. He’d had a few, too, but was a fair bit more acclimated to firewhisky than Lily, so didn’t seem drunk at all. But it’d clearly put him in a relaxed, light-hearted sort of mood, regardless.
Remus shook him playfully. “Sorry, was I meant to be counting?”
“Oh, yes.” Sirius nodded, faux-solemn. “Twice a day at the very least. Do keep up.”
“I don’t think I can handle it that often.” Remus laughed against Sirius’s cheek. He wished that he wasn’t human, just then, that they could be the dog and the wolf again, able to express all the emotion in their hearts via their bodies. This bubbling, lively thing that made Remus feel half-hysterical, and that would release itself perfectly through animal limbs tangling and rolling and snout nuzzling snout.
Merlin. He’d never actually wanted to be the wolf before. Actually longed for it. Never looked around at the bloodstained floors and thought, if only Sirius and I could play together right there…
It was a notion that sent that by-now familiar, painful-sweet feeling squeezing at his heart. La douleur exquise, the French called it, and Remus understood, though of course he had Sirius now. Somehow, miraculously.
He couldn’t help but pull Sirius closer. Their cheeks brushed against each other. He felt Sirius’s laugh as it rumbled in Sirius’s chest: “Are we dancing, Mr Moony?” —For it was that sort of pose.
So Remus obliged, wanting a bit of silliness to undercut that weighty feeling – it was too close to the wolf wanting to devour someone for comfort. He slid his fingers through Sirius’s. Stretched. He’d never learnt how to dance, not like Sirius and James did, anyway, but that helped – everything clumsy, joking, fun.
Sirius was laughing, a bright and beautiful thing. “Rockin’ moonbeam,” he sang, in lieu of proper music. “You’re a cool operator… rockin’ moonbeam… you old heart-breaker…”
Remus chortled. “Sweet lady starlight,” he returned, not even caring that it was hoarser, more off-key than Sirius’s pretty voice. “Come on and make it tonight… you turn it on so easy…”
Sirius gasped in delight. “Cultured!” he complimented.
“…And the lady is my lady… starlight…” Remus wound it down, twirling Sirius around once – until he had him back-to-chest, hands entwined just above Sirius’s heart. He breathed self-conscious mirth into Sirius’s ear, “Told you I pay attention to what you listen to.”
“Let’s make it thrice a day,” Sirius’s smile stretched so wide it brought out hidden dimples. “But all twenty-four hours wouldn’t be enough for me.”
Remus laughed, because he couldn’t think what else to do, other than squeeze Sirius tightly, and wish his face would cool down a little. “…You can’t,” he fairly pleaded. “You can’t just— say that out loud.”
“Ah, yes, go on and tell me what I can’t do,” Sirius grinned. “Famously, that always turns out well.”
Remus shook his head, smiling helplessly as Sirius tipped his own back against Remus’s shoulder, the arch of his neck tempting enough that Remus brushed a soft kiss there. Sirius hummed his appreciation, tilting further to invite more. Silk-like hair tickled Remus’s cheek. For a moment, the world shrank to this warmth, this weight, this impossible joy.
“I could stay here like this forever,” Sirius murmured, quieter now, as if he were sharing a secret. “With you.”
Remus swallowed against the ache in his throat. Leaned down to rest his forehead against Sirius’s temple. “You’re terrible for my composure,” was all he could manage, the words belied by the smile tugging at his lips.
“Good,” Sirius replied, turning his head just enough to brush a fleeting kiss to the corner of Remus’s mouth. “You keep your composure too much, anyway. Loosen up, Moony. Live a little.”
Remus snorted, but any response he might have had was interrupted by the faint strains of music flittering through the air. Both of their heads tilted in unison – stiffly, like two animals catching a scent. There was a jaunty melody, the sort that James loved to sing along to, loudly and with more enthusiasm than skill.
As a matter of fact, that was exactly what followed, after the lively crackle of radio-sound: their friends’ voices shouting the song over any actual recording.
Sirius perked up immediately, grinning. “They’ve got it working!” He turned to Remus, tugging at his hands like an overexcited child. “Come on, let’s go…”
“I’m not sure my ears are ready for that,” Remus protested half-heartedly, even as he let Sirius pull him toward the stairs yet again.
They hurried up. Sirius held Remus’s hand, swinging it until Remus himself had to slip it away before they could get caught. The scene they burst into warmed his heart – all three of the rest of their group dancing about, jumping up and down, singing at the top of their lungs. Broad grins on each dearly-beloved face, the radio still on the chair in the middle of this happy chaos.
Whooping, Sirius leapt in, too, dragging Remus along with him. He was welcomed with eager claps to the back, and he couldn’t help the laugh as he tossed his hat away to join their revelry.
“Fox on the run! You scream and everybody comes! A-running, take a run and hide! Yourself away…”
It felt simultaneously eternal and far too soon, when they had to consider the time, and sneak back into the castle, giggling all the way. They had to initiate Lily into one more Marauderly secret as well – the Cloak – so that they could all traipse up to Gryffindor Tower safely. She’d had a little more to drink, by then, along with the others, so Remus was glad when they spotted Marlene and Sania just about to climb the girls’ staircase themselves; he didn’t have to sort out how to help Lily to her dormitory, when they were quite literally barred. James knew charms that let him up, the philanderer, but James was also fairly sloshed at this point, and Remus had confiscated all their wands.
Having shucked the Cloak by then, Remus and James passed her hands on to Marlene’s: “Have a good night,” James whispered, and Lily giggled:
“I did, cheers. Night, everyone.”
She waved, and even gave Remus a peck on the cheek, which made him exhale fond amusement. Marlene looked just as affectionately-forbearing as she braced Lily onward, but Sania had an odd look in her eyes, he observed, belatedly.
“Did you lot ditch the party for your own or something?” she asked – smiling, if rather artificially. “I didn’t know girls were welcome to Marauder-things, now.”
Remus wasn’t sure what he was meant to say to that, but Sania wasn’t looking at him, anyway – her eyes kept flitting toward James, like she wanted James to answer her.
Of course, James didn’t notice this, because he still had his on Lily, one hand braced on her back to offer support while she adjusted her skirts around her shoes.
Sirius tugged at Remus by the tabard as well, an inviting smile greeting Remus when he turned… and Remus found he could no longer remember what he’d been thinking, suddenly.
The Great Hall had been transformed into a macabre wonderland, although admittedly, the atmosphere didn’t quite fit the effort. The enchanted sky above flickered between a stormy grey and an eerie orange, its effect marred by the near-silence underneath it. A few dozen students sat scattered among the house tables, amid a congregation of stiff-backed professors, and the most insufferably proud pure-blood lot – those who would rather endure mediocrity than risk impropriety.
Paz leaned back in his own chair, absently twirling his goblet. The pumpkin juice tasted metallic, likely some overzealous potion meant to mimic blood. He liked it, regardless, finding… some sort of pleasure in the garish theatrics of it all. The candles, the ghosts swooping low, the floating jack-o’-lanterns, the eerie organ music playing on loop…
He glanced sidelong at Ben, who sat slouched as if deflating into the table. Margot, perched beside him, was whispering something in his ear. She giggled quietly – and deliberately, Paz thought, like she was trying to draw attention.
“Will you stop that?” he muttered under his breath, half to himself, as he tapped a finger against his goblet.
“What’s that?” Ben asked – feigning innocence, most probably, though the smile that followed was anything but.
Paz fumed. “Stop acting like you’re too good to be here,” he said, aiming for disinterest and, he hoped, succeeding. “It’s unbecoming.”
Ben chuckled. He leaned closer to Margot, who smirked. “Oh, you’re enjoying yourself, are you? Well, someone’s got to.”
Paz furrowed his brows. “Obviously.” He didn’t bother elaborating. He’d prefer the company of the Great Hall’s theatrics to the prospect of the common room’s dreary monotony. “Where would you rather be, then?”
Margot stifled another laugh. Her hand brushed Ben’s arm. “Oh, nowhere.”
Ben grinned. “Yeah, nowhere important.”
Paz’s irritation flared, but he hid it carefully, letting his lips curve into a mocking smile. “Enlightening.”
Margot rolled her eyes, leaning closer to Ben; volume dropping low enough, now, that Paz could only catch fragments. She mentioned something about the time, something about “getting away with it.” Ben’s nodding was infuriatingly conspiratorial.
“Where are you going?” Paz pressed again, sharper than he meant, but surely still smooth enough to be mistaken for idle curiosity.
“Er… you wouldn’t want to come,” Ben said breezily; like that could soothe the growing knot of frustration in Paz’s chest.
“Definitely not,” Margot agreed. Her ugly smirk widened.
They exchanged one last knowing look… and then slipped from the table. Margot tugged at Ben’s sleeve, pulling him along, and their departure was as casual as it was deliberate.
Paz’s gaze followed them to the doors. His grip tightened around the goblet until his knuckles turned pale. He forced himself to relax, drawing in a slow breath. He wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of reacting, but it grated.
The organ swelled, and around him, the Great Hall continued its lifeless murmur – oblivious to his quiet seething.
Notes:
I keep trying to make them typical cool kids™, but they’re just such nerds, they refuse to. Shrug emote, etc.
Remus is Jily’s strongest soldier don’t even play (as much as James is Wolfstar’s, LMFAO).
To reiterate the note from the last instalment, we’re absolutely diverging from canon regarding the house-elves at Hogwarts, because ICK.
Possibly a weird point to talk about in the chapter where Remus is the more obvious meddler, but good Lord I have had so much fun getting to know this James. He has so many control issues, y’all. I had to say it somewhere because, at least at the time of writing this, I’m not sure if it’s ever gonna come up overtly in-text – but yeah, thanks to a combination of his entitled upbringing and his desire to do well by the people he loves (to make their lives easier because he’s comparatively so much more privileged) James is one pushy motherfucker. It shows with his wealth but there’s also things like “poking” Remus (as it were) post-Prank, etc. He has a very set idea of how life (not just his own, but theirs too) is supposed to turn out, and if it wasn’t for the fact that this tendency manifests benignly for the most part here, I swear this James would make such a compelling villain. The Peter Pan comparison isn’t incidental.
(I do actually have a dark-James AU that I’ll defo share on here someday, but one thing at a time!)
“Sirius loved James more, would always love James more:” Hmm-hmm, this is a tricky one. Is Remus right, or is it just easier for him to believe this rather than accept that loving someone like Sirius is kind of a huge responsibility and that means Remus runs the very real risk of letting him down pretty badly? Is it safer for him to think that he couldn’t possibly have any power to hurt Sirius, if Sirius doesn’t hold him in that high a regard anyway? Does the internalised ableism mean simultaneously wanting to be entrusted with more (to prove capability) while also harbouring a fear of exactly that, because abstract resentment is easier to tackle than having material proof of failure? For that matter, do these two actually “love” James or do they love everything James represents? Is it ever going to be the same quality as Lily’s love – given Lily sees James as an actual human being, since she never started out putting him on a pedestal? Much to ponder :^)
Chapter 11
Notes:
This fic is powered by your delightful interactions. Thanks for being a part of it.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Sirius thumbed the silver pocket watch in his grip again. It was… handsome, he supposed. A meticulously polished surface, carefully engraved designs along the edges, a matching double-albert chain on which to wear it. He wondered if it had belonged to anybody else before him or if his uncle had bought it new. He could find out, of course. Likely this information would be in the letter that came with Uncle Alphard’s birthday gift. But, for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to tear open that envelope. That was new; normally Uncle Alfie’s post was the only sort that’d have the name “Black” on the address and not make Sirius’s hackles rise.
It was just that things now felt so… odd, since the last time they’d met. Sirius couldn’t put it out of his mind, what he’d asked the man: How come you never said anything, then?
He sighed, turning over so he was lying on his back again; not that the canopy above his bed had any answers for him either. He tried closing his eyes; sleep had been evading him since they’d all piled into the dormitory at the end of the day. Made worse by the fact that it’d been quite a packed one – they’d celebrated Sirius’s turning of age at the Three Broomsticks, because Madam Rosmerta never minded if they snuck out of school, and for the punchline that was Sirius having a pint legally for once. Fun, but tiring. James and Peter had fallen asleep as soon as their heads touched their pillows, it felt like, and even Remus – for the first time that Sirius could recall – didn’t seem to be aware that Sirius was still up, tossing and turning (not that this was any wonder, since the next moon would be in three days).
Sirius groped for the envelope on his bedside table, picked it up, set it back down. He didn’t have to read it immediately, he reasoned. Why spoil his mood on his birthday, anyway? He stretched a hand out once more, feeling for the drawer of the table in the dark… yanked it open, and swept the letter into it. Out of sight, out of mind.
Think happier thoughts, he chided himself. Think of how enjoyable the pub had been… how Moony kissed him so sweetly midnight last night, whispering the first birthday-wish of the day… of all his other gifts, and the watch that the Potters had sent, a far more modern contraption, something Sirius was likelier to actually wear, unlike that heavy silver thing.
He managed a smile, and held on to that little glow in his chest, until sleep found him at last.
The second letter came on Christmas morning. Good thing, too, because they were all at the Lupins’ for the weekend. It was a lot easier for Sirius to intercept the owl that was scratching at his Moony’s bedroom window, pluck its cargo off, and then promptly forget all about it. Nothing could force its way to the forefront of his awareness when he had the option of climbing back into bed beside a still blissfully asleep Remus John Lupin; when – as soon as he snuggled up into the space cupped by the curve of Remus’s stomach – Remus’s hand, even unconscious, instantly wound its way ’round Sirius’s waist.
Sirius had to bite around a giddy smile. He brought his own hand down to take Remus’s; intertwined their fingers together, just above his gut. Awfully convenient that whenever the boys stayed over at Remus’s, they had to share, anyway. When they’d been small enough to fit (in first and second year) they’d all slept in Remus’s bedroom, but now Mr and Mrs Lupin put them up in that plus the sitting room downstairs – two by two. James and Pete had quite graciously let Sirius and Remus have the bedroom, even though it was their go this year. Privacy’s sake, and all that.
How Sirius loved it, here. For all that he preferred the hustle and bustle of London, over the Potters’ isolated manor – homely and beautiful though it was – he’d found he didn’t mind the Lupins’ cottage being just as out of the way, somehow. True, this was an industrial area, at least in Burnley proper – and a dreary one too, in Remus’s opinion (though Sirius disagreed). But Mr Lupin’s paranoia had driven them to live as far into the countryside as they could. Their little home sat on the outskirts, close to the winding roads that led to Pendle Hill.
Though Sirius felt rather sorry for Mrs Lupin’s daily pilgrimage into town for work (thank Merlin she could drive) he also thought the remoteness itself somewhat charming. It had advantages: a view of the looming hill in one direction, and the quiet distance from the din of Burnley in the other. More than that, however, the cottage just felt utterly permeated with the feeling of “home.” Sirius fancied that it was a sort of magic. Maybe the fact that the house was a proper size – as opposed to the excess of space that he and James were used to – allowed this magic to flow, to fill up each and every corner without missing a single spot.
Unfortunately they could never stay longer than a night or two, no matter how much Mrs Lupin coaxed. Sirius, James, and Pete were aware that the Lupins couldn’t afford to host them quite so long, and didn’t want to overburden them by accepting the offers. For this holiday, as well, they were only spending Christmas weekend here. They’d be off to the Potters’ Sunday evening, and would be ringing in the New Year at Eldertree Dwelling before returning to Hogwarts.
Well, Sirius thought of it as “Christmas weekend,” but it was only really that per the calendar – in name. The Lupins didn’t actually celebrate Christmas, for even though Mrs Lupin was relatively secular, and the product of a mixed marriage herself, she still disapproved of the dominance of Christian customs in public life and kept kosher and went home for important holidays and such. Sirius thought it rather unfair, how lessons only stopped for Christmas – the Jewish students who might have wanted to go home, too, for Hanukkah, could only manage it seamlessly whenever both happened to coincide. When that wasn’t the case, they required the permission of their Heads of House, which of course meant that they wound up sacrificing their proper winter holiday in order to catch up on schoolwork. More often than not, they just stayed on at school; it was more convenient, and the Jewish Society of Hogwarts usually set up its own observances, anyway.
But, Remus didn’t really observe, although Sirius often wondered if that was because he didn’t want to, or because a fair few of their traditions depended on the lunar cycle. Hanukkah was one of the ones that he could, and there had indeed been a time when he’d stay behind at school Christmas week because he’d already been to Cardiff with his parents before it. Not lately, though, preferring the company of his friends. Sirius had checked and double-checked that he wasn’t just being Moonyish about it – overly accommodating – but no, Remus did genuinely seem too fond of peace and quiet to fully enjoy quite that much time around crowds of people. He did still go for the ten days from Rosh Hashanah to Yom Kippur occasionally, although that depended on both the school calendar and whether he was feeling up to it – it came very close to the full moon.
Sirius sometimes envied him and Prongs their connection to their cultures; he knew next to nothing about his. In every way but blood the Blacks were a mix of a lot of things. The European line was “solidly English” only in the most literal sense – that is, it was Norman, Nordic, and Anglo-Saxon, in equal parts. Aside from that, as early as the first half of the nineteenth century, they’d mixed with not only one, but “several of the noblest Chinese houses” – far, far more ancient stock than the earlier branches.
That was the sort of thing his family thought worth telling the children about, regarding their ancestry. Emphasising prestige first. Sirius didn’t actually know anything else about what it meant to be any of those heritages – wasn’t even sure whether the Chinese line came from the mainland or elsewhere, whether they worshipped their ancestors or, like British wizards, had no spiritual beliefs at all. A long, long time ago there’d been some grandmother or great-aunt who’d gift him and Regulus little red envelopes on the Lunar New Year; she’d died before Sirius could even really recall more about her, though.
Maybe Uncle Alphard…
His thoughts were interrupted by Remus’s hands tightening around his middle, Remus’s lips brushing against his shoulder. Sirius smiled, couldn’t help but wriggle in delight. “’S’it morning?” came the sleepy whisper against his neck.
“Not yet,” Sirius lied, wanting to stay like that a bit longer. He idly patted at the clasp of Remus’s hands until he could hear Remus’s breathing even out again – the letter he’d abandoned on the windowsill earlier well and truly forgotten.
“Oi, you lot! It’s snowing!”
Peter’s voice was what fully woke them in the end, and before Sirius and Remus could even get their bearings Pete had materialised by the bed, yanking them up insistently. Sirius grumbled as he pulled a jumper on, barely able to make out the shapes of Pete and James (at the door) through sleep-heavy eyes; but he knew what the excitement was about. The Lupins lived close to an old farm pond hidden behind a copse of trees that froze over most winters. It wasn’t much: a modest, shallow body of water that the farmer might have once used for his livestock, long since abandoned and left to grow wild at the edges; brambles crept around its perimeter, and an old, leaning fence still bordered part of it although the gate had long since fallen away. But when the cold really bit and the wind stilled, the surface turned smooth as glass – in other words, perfect for skating.
Sirius had always thought the place looked rather enchanted, especially when snow dusted the surrounding trees and reeds. But the real marvel, as far as Pete and James were concerned, was in the ice itself. The novelty of something so utterly Muggle – the clumsiness of strapping on skates, the inevitable spills and tumbles – was endlessly entertaining to them.
Come to think of it, normally James would be the most enthused about this prospect. Today, however, he seemed a bit distracted, scribbling on what looked like a Christmas card where he had been hovering at the doorway this entire time, hardly paying any attention to the goings-on inside the bedroom.
Sirius furrowed his brow. “What’re you up to?” he called. “You look like an old aunt fussing over her holiday correspondence, mate. Who’s that for, anyway? Don’t tell me you’re sending one to McGonagall. Hoping to get in her good books before we go back?”
James’s ears had turned a little pink, and he snapped the card shut, holding it close to his chest like he’d been caught doing something mischievous. “…Only a last-minute one I forgot about,” he said (rather evasively, Sirius thought), then shoved the thing into its envelope and sealed it with an unnecessary amount of focus – “Be done in a bit, and then we can head.”
Sirius frowned, intrigued, but decided to leave it be. “Forgot, did you?” he snorted. “So unlike you, Prongsie. You’re usually such a paragon of organisation.”
“Shut up,” James shot back, without any real heat to it. He slipped the card into his pocket and made a show of adjusting his cuffs, clearly eager to change the subject: “Shouldn’t you be in the bathroom getting un-disgusting or something?”
“Not a real word,” Remus huffed.
“Would that it were, Moony McMoonykins,” James exaggerated a great sigh. “So that you’d be un-disgusted with me.”
Sirius shook his head fondly, but got off the bed to do exactly that.
When he emerged from the bathroom at the end of the corridor, he could hear that the others had already gone downstairs. He hurried along himself, toward the kitchen, which was as cosy as Sirius remembered: warm, filled with the smell of toast and marmalade, bathed in the soft light filtering through half-frosted windows. Mrs Lupin was bustling about at the gas stove and Remus was helping her plate up eggs and beans-on-toast for them all.
Her smile fairly lit up the room as Sirius walked in: “Good morning, dear,” she greeted, in that warm lilt of hers, then she gestured toward an empty chair, which Sirius took. “There’s plenty, so don’t be shy! Oh, how is it that you all look taller every time you visit? You’re going to outgrow this house if you keep it up.”
Sirius grinned, and James quipped: “It’s all the good cooking, Mrs Lupin.”
Sirius joked, “My mother always said I’d stop growing if I spent too much time around decent people. Guess she was wrong.”
Mrs Lupin chuckled and patted his head as she passed. “Cheeky as ever.”
Mr Lupin sat at the head of the table, already immersed in his copy of the Daily Prophet. He nodded a polite good-morning over the top of his paper, but didn’t say much else. Granted, he was, by nature, a man of few words, and Sirius knew that… but Sirius also knew that he had once held a post in the Ministry that positioned him directly against Sirius’s sort— his family’s, rather. He was never really sure if Mr Lupin liked him, and quite honestly Sirius himself had… thoughts of his own, about the sort of husband and father he’d been, after certain stories Remus would share sometimes.
Regardless, Remus was the spitting image of him: the same sharp cheekbones and thoughtful expression, though Mr Lupin’s greying hair and slightly furrowed brow added a bit more gravitas.
James and Pete were already diving into their breakfasts with gusto, probably eager to finish and get to the pond. “This is brilliant, Mrs Lupin,” Peter gushed through a mouthful of toast. “Better than the school feasts, honestly.”
Mrs Lupin laughed lightly. “I doubt that, but thank you, dear. Now don’t rush too much, you’ll need proper food in you to keep warm, if you’re going to go skating. And make sure you all bundle up properly before you leave – I don’t want to see a single one of you coming back here with the sniffles.”
Mr Lupin set his paper aside and cleared his throat. “Do you need me to come along?” he asked. “Reinforce the ice with freezing charms? Make sure it’s safe?”
Sirius shook his head as he buttered his second slice of toast. “No need, Mr Lupin, I’ve got it. I’m of age now, remember?” He winked, leaning back in his chair.
Peter scowled. His fork clattered onto his plate. “So am I!” he protested.
“True,” Sirius nodded, with a sly grin, “But I think we’ll be skating next winter if we wait for you to get it right.”
James chortled into his tea, and Remus hid a smile behind his napkin.
“Leave him alone,” he chided regardless, despite the twinkle in his eyes, and Mrs Lupin – who’d finished whatever she’d been doing, and had come to hover at the table – gave Pete a mollifying caress through his hair.
“I’m sure Peter’s charms are perfectly alright.”
“They are,” Pete muttered, although his ears burnt pink.
“Well, you can all argue over who does what once you’re there,” Mr Lupin said, in that hoarse and half-stern way of his, “Just remember to be mindful of the law. Being able to perform magic, now that you’re of age, is not an excuse to flout the Statute of Secrecy.”
“Keep your mufflers tight and come back in time for lunch,” was Mrs Lupin’s far friendlier warning. “And Remus, sweetheart—”
“—I won’t overdo it,” Remus finished for her, both eyebrows arched in forbearance, despite his half-a-smile.
They rushed to finish breakfast; helped Mrs Lupin clear up; then they all sped toward the front door, tugging on big, heavy coats and gloves and mufflers. When they finally stepped outside the world was a dazzling expanse of white. The snow had stopped falling, but the sky was still overcast, lending the landscape a softer, more muted glow. The fields surrounding the Lupins’ cottage stretched out like a patchwork quilt dotted with bare trees whose branches sagged under the weight of snow. In the crisp, biting air, their breaths turned visible in front of them as they trudged through the freshly-fallen powder.
The path to the pond was narrow and winding, flanked on either side by brambles and hedgerows dusted with frost. James and Peter romped ahead; their boots crunched loudly in the snow, as they jostled one another for no reason. Sirius and Remus followed at a more leisurely pace, taking in the scenery, holding hands now that they could get away with it, so far from civilisation.
When they reached the copse of trees, Sirius gave a low whistle. The pond lay just beyond – its surface had become a smooth, glassy sheet, bordered by snow-laden reeds and the remains of the old fence. A few stray snowflakes danced in the air, caught in the occasional breeze, and the whole scene looked like something out of a holiday card.
“Perfect!” James declared; he was already untangling his skates.
Sirius drew his wand and tapped the ice with a muttered spell. A faint, blue sheen rippled across the surface and then vanished, leaving the pond gleaming and solid. “There,” he said, pocketing his wand with a satisfied grin. “Safe as houses. Now, who’s ready to fall flat on their arse?”
Peter was the first onto the ice, pushing off with an awkward confidence that quickly gave way to a wobble. “I’ve got it, I’ve got it— no, wait!” His arms flailed comically, but he righted himself, grinning broadly.
James followed, and then Sirius, who stepped on with smooth and easy strides. “Show-off,” Remus muttered from the edge, where he was lacing up his own skates.
Sirius chuckled. Well, it wasn’t that different from the horrid dancing lessons he’d been made to take as a child.
In no time at all, the pond was alive with laughter and the sound of skates carving lines into the ice. James attempted a spin, and wound up on his back, wheezing with laughter as Peter tripped over him moments later. Sirius weaved between them, his muffler trailing behind him like a banner, while Remus stuck to the edges, moving carefully but steadily.
Despite the cold, the air was filled with warmth: teasing remarks, bellowed dares, and the occasional crash as someone inevitably lost their balance. By the time they stopped to catch a breath, their cheeks were flushed, their gloves damp, and their spirits high.
Above them, the clouds had begun to thin. A pale beam of sunlight filtered through; it cast a faint, golden glow over everything.
“This,” James declared tiredly, as he flopped onto the snowbank at the edge of the pond, “Is exactly what winter was meant for.”
Peter, who was still rubbing his sore thighs from his latest tumble, went to join him.
Remus, on the other hand, tugged Sirius on with a light touch. Sirius followed, pleased, if a bit confused – the cold wasn’t kind to Remus’s joints, and he was normally the first to want a rest.
But he let himself be led, Remus’s gloved hand slipping from his wrist to entwine with his fingers as they left the others behind. The snow crunched, softly, beneath their skates as they crossed to the edge of the copse. The faint chatter and laughter from James and Pete faded into the stillness of the winter morning.
When they reached the shelter of the trees, Remus stopped, then turned to face him with flushed cheeks – not entirely from the cold, Sirius thought, with a growing suspicion. His earthy-brown eyes, framed by the faintest of smile lines, flickered up to meet Sirius’s, and then darted away: an expression both hesitant and determined.
Sirius tilted his head. The corners of his mouth quirked with amusement. “What’s this, Moony-mine?” he murmured. “Whisking me away for a bit of privacy, are we?”
Remus huffed out a noiseless laugh. The mist of his breath lingered in the cold air. “Something like that,” – quieter, softer, and his gaze lingered on Sirius’s face as if searching for a reaction.
And then it hit Sirius, as clearly as a light breaking through the clouds. The slight tremor in Remus’s fingers, the way he was standing just that bit closer than usual; it wasn’t hard to follow what Remus must have had in mind.
“Remus,” Sirius grinned, stepping close enough that their skates bumped lightly together. “Are you about to kiss me?”
Remus’s lips twitched in a self-conscious smile. He glanced away for a moment, as though considering how to answer, and then his eyes locked with Sirius’s once more. “Could I?” he asked, his voice steady in spite of the colour creeping higher on his cheeks.
Sirius’s grin mellowed into something genuine, warmer. “A nice, proper snogging at last?” Half-heartedly teasing, mostly desirous.
“Could I?” Remus repeated, even as his hands wound ’round Sirius’s waist.
Sirius’s smile split his cheeks. He draped both arms over Remus’s shoulders. “C’mere,” he coaxed, quieting himself to a low, playful murmur. “C’mere, let me show you how.”
And they leaned in slowly, at the same time, closing the gap with the gentle, close-lipped caress that Remus was more accustomed to.
This time, however, Sirius let his lips part, encouraging Remus’s to follow. It all felt far more fragile than Sirius had dreamt, not the triumphant earth-shattering thing he’d expected, but just as momentous, if not more so. Remus’s lips were chapped from the cold, and Sirius’s nose brushed against his in a way that might’ve been awkward, if not for the warmth that hummed between them. Sirius tilted his head slightly, and his free hand lifted to brush against Remus’s cheek, and Remus responded with a soft exhale, leaning into the touch.
For someone so reserved, he kissed with a surprising enthusiasm that made Sirius’s stomach flip in the best possible way. It took a bit of manoeuvring, but he managed to spin them round in a half-circle without separating their lips. Then he coaxed Remus forward, their skates easing them on until Sirius’s back met the nearest tree.
Sirius’s hands locked behind Remus’s neck. Tongues got involved. It was languid, and real, and theirs.
“…Just like that,” Sirius gasped, barely any breath behind it, when Remus finally released him. Remus was smiling, small and shy but utterly radiant, and Sirius couldn’t help but grin back.
“Well?” Sirius asked, and bit his lip in a desperate bid for some insouciance despite the pounding of his heart, the wobble in his knees. He cleared his throat: “Passable?”
Remus huffed a laugh. His thumb brushed against Sirius’s knuckles. “Hmm. I’ll be needing more lessons, I reckon.”
Sirius’s smirk turned wicked. “That can be arranged.”
They lingered for a moment longer, and snow started to fall again around them, soft, and the rest of the world melted away.
By evening, they were all huddled in the Lupins’ sitting room again, the space made even cosier than it already was with a crackling fireplace and the quiet serenade of Mrs Lupin’s gramophone. Presents had been exchanged and unwrapped, party games played, less utilisable items tucked away. It was about time to get started on the veritable feast that Mrs Lupin was no doubt going to bless them with for dinner – Sirius loved to help her in the kitchen, for she taught him how to cook, unlike Priya who wouldn’t let him, and Ms Pettigrew who took even the request of it as sheer blasphemy – and Sirius thought he’d step outside for a smoke while he waited for her to come get him, per usual.
James, Pete, and Mr Lupin were sat in front of the telly watching Dad’s Army; the former roaring with laughter every now and again, the latter fast asleep in his armchair. Remus had vanished upstairs a while ago, after staunchly forbidding Sirius from following him.
Sirius smiled to himself as he exited the room. He wondered what Remus was up to – some sort of surprise, clearly.
He crossed the kitchen, then on out of the door, hovering in the Lupins’ back garden now. Making himself comfortable against the closest bit of wall, he fished out his pack of cigarettes, tapped one out, and slipped it between his lips. He must not have closed the door all the way, because he didn’t hear it open – else he might have been able to prevent a quick hand plucking the cig out before he’d even taken a second drag.
He blinked. Mrs Lupin was grinning at him— and helping herself to a smoke. “Awful habit,” she chided playfully. “Best left to the grownups, dear.”
Sirius laughed. He feigned a scandalised gasp, “I know you promised Mr Lupin you’d quit. I’m telling.”
“And here I’d been saving you the latkes left over from yesterday,” she sighed around the cig. “What a shame, I suppose I’ll have to give them to Peter.”
“Noooo, I take that all the way back.” Sirius batted his eyelashes at her, exaggerating wide-eyed innocence. She laughed, too, briefly tousling his hair.
Comfortable silence followed, interrupted only by the soft rustling of greenery beyond, the occasional trill of birdsong, the faint crooning of The Everly Brothers drifting out of the sitting room: I bless the day I found you… I want to stay around you…
Sirius’s heart gave a complicated flutter that sent a strange, tingling warmth all the way along his left arm. Mrs Lupin had taken a drag from his cigarette, and exhaled it slowly, and he watched the wispy smoke curl into the evening air. This song… it tugged at his heartstrings, stirring something… he wished Remus would be done already.
Wanting to distract from it, he cleared his throat, cast a sidelong glance at Mrs Lupin, and teased: “Didn’t know you listened to anything that wasn’t Elvis.”
“Oh, plenty,” she replied with an airy wave of her hand. “Sinatra. Patsy Cline. I’m eclectic like that.” Sarcastically.
“…This song…” Sirius murmured, more to himself than to her. A soft smile pulled at his lips. He leaned his head against the wall – tilting it just enough that his cheek brushed the cool surface as though he could somehow follow the music with his eyes. The melody was tender, achingly beautiful, and it wrapped around him, like a second skin. He licked his lips absentmindedly. The ghost of Remus’s still lingered on them.
Such warmth.
“…You know,” and there was a smile in Mrs Lupin’s voice, “I’ve always thought that music – like poetry – is an expression of emotion that, sort of fills in where common words and conversation might fall short.”
“Hmm?” Sirius turned to look at her, brow faintly furrowed. She held his gaze. Her eyes were soft and knowing, and the corners of her mouth had curved into a little smile.
“Some songs…” she continued, leaning back against the wall, “Like poems… I think they can only really touch you, can only be fully understood, once you’ve… well, once you’ve felt what they’re trying to say.”
Sirius blinked, uncertain. The hedging made his stomach twist.
Mrs Lupin’s smile grew as she tilted her head, studying him with that same, maddeningly perceptive twinkle. “Is there something between you and Remus?”
Sirius’s heart plummeted into his gut. His breath hitched, but he willed himself not to react – at least, not too much. He forced his expression into one of innocent confusion, furrowing his brow: “What’d you mean?” he asked, in as steady a voice as he could manage.
Mrs Lupin chuckled; it sounded both amused and conspiratorial at once. “My dear, this house is far too small for conversations to remain entirely private. And I know my son better than anyone else – I’ve always seen the spark in his eyes whenever he talks about you. To be frank, it’s been there since the day you first met.”
“O-Oh.” Sirius didn’t know what else to say. His face felt like it’d set on fire, and anxiety drummed a persistent staccato against his chest.
Mrs Lupin’s expression softened, quiet reassurance in her steady gaze now. “It’s alright,” she said, gentle, and tilted her head as if to catch his eye more fully. “You’ve done nothing wrong. My, I don’t think I’ve ever known two braver boys.”
Sirius gave a startled laugh. Mrs Lupin’s smile stretched, and a flicker of mischief returned to it as she abruptly tossed the cigarette aside and ground it under her heel.
“…But best not to let on to my husband just yet,” she added, with a wry grin. “I think it’ll be easier for everyone to manage once you’re both a bit older, and this proves itself… lasting.”
She crouched gracefully, to retrieve the discarded cigarette, skirt brushing the ground as she moved. Sirius watched her, still flushed. His nerves buzzed underneath his skin; he ran both hands down his face, feeling unsettled, if mildly.
When she rose again, she was looking at him with a radiant smile, and she said, quite earnestly, “I’m pleased, Sirius. You’ve both been so happy this visit. Really, it’s tangible.”
“He’s—” Sirius began, but the words caught in his throat. How could he ever describe what Remus was, let alone what Remus was to him? All he could muster was a helpless smile, lopsided and sheepish, consciously apologetic about its own inadequacy.
“…Yeah,” he finished, in a barely audible whisper.
Mrs Lupin exhaled a soft, soundless laugh, then turned fully toward him. She reached out and took both of his hands in hers; gave them a gentle squeeze.
“Thank you,” she murmured, and it came thick with emotion. Her eyes glistened now, brimming with something too deep to decipher.
Sirius felt an answering sting in his own eyes and had to quickly look away. He wrenched his hands free and barked out a helpless laugh over absolutely nothing. “No— I’m. I should be. He, he’s – it’s all just— wonderful.” Clumsy words, tumbling over each other on top of it.
“Good,” Mrs Lupin said simply. She reached up, then briefly brushed the side of his head, in a tender, painfully maternal caress. Then – as if catching herself – she cleared her throat, her more usual playful demeanour returning. “And, erm, also, dear, if you’re going to be sharing a room—”
Sirius nearly choked. “We’re not! I mean, we are, but we’re not— that. Erm. Genuinely.” He had to fight the bizarre urge to fan himself.
Mrs Lupin laughed. In an indulgent tone, “Sweetheart, at your age—”
“We’re really not!” Sirius danced in place, half-nervous, half-laughing. “I’ve, erm, I’ve just broken off a… terrible situation where it was only ever that. Remus has been so kind about just… you know. He’s happy to just… be with me.” With a little, self-conscious shrug.
The mirth in Mrs Lupin’s eyes faded, replaced now by a furrowed look of concern and something more distant – horror, maybe. “Oh, Sirius,” she hissed; it was laced with anxious dismay.
That was somehow more uncomfortable than the rest of this strange conversation put together. Sirius fidgeted under her scrutiny; he forced another laugh, waving a hand.
“It’s nothing, really. It’s over now. Erm… shouldn’t we get started on the cooking?”
Mrs Lupin studied him a bit longer, the look unreadable, although something like pity betrayed itself in the sigh that escaped her.
But she relaxed, eventually, and smiled once again. “Come,” she said, tilting her head toward the house. “I’ll teach you how to make one of Remus’s favourites.”
Relieved and more than a little grateful, Sirius nodded, then followed her back indoors.
Remus never did say what he’d been doing, over dinner, no matter how Sirius wheedled. Sirius had even pretended to sulk, but, that only got him indulgent chuckles, pats on the head. With the excellent food and the busyness of helping Mrs Lupin wash up, Sirius almost forgot all about it, up until they went back upstairs to prepare for bed.
He was just entering Remus’s room (having emerged from the bathroom a few doors away), and found Remus already on the bed, half-sitting, half-leaning against the headboard. His hair was a bit ruffled, soft-looking in the lamplight, and he was wearing his usual striped pyjamas that were slightly too loose at the collar. His long legs were tucked beneath the covers, and in his hands he held a book – old, its cover worn but clearly loved, the sort of thing Sirius usually teased him for hoarding like a magpie.
Remus glanced up at him as he stepped inside. There was a flicker of something in his eyes – uncertainty, perhaps. He touched the book a little too carefully, his fingers tracing absent patterns along its spine.
“…Hullo,” Sirius greeted with a crooked grin— and he’d barely sat down next to Remus when Remus cleared his throat. He shifted, not meeting Sirius’s eyes.
He’d turned a bashful smile at a spot somewhere by Sirius’s shoulder. There was a faint rosiness creeping up his neck, and his shoulders were slightly tense. Curious now, Sirius bent to peer at his face:
“What?” he smiled back, as he cupped Remus’s cheek.
Remus’s eyes flitted this way and that, but he held the book out to him. “Would you read to me?” he asked, as determined as it was soft.
“Of course,” Sirius chuckled, then took the thing from Remus. Some anthology of Victorian poetry or the other; likely Mrs Lupin’s, then, for she fairly stockpiled the like. One of her handcrafted bookmarks that she made from pressed flowers was, indeed, peeping out of a page. Sirius was just about to open it there when Remus’s hand clamped down on his, stopping him.
Sirius blinked.
Remus seemed embarrassed again. He bit around the upturn of his lips as he coaxed Sirius forward. “Hang on,” he murmured, tugging insistently; and so Sirius let himself be manoeuvred, until they were both sitting on the bed now, Remus against the pillows, Sirius against Remus. He was being nestled between Remus’s thighs and arms both, his back to Remus’s chest. Remus’s arms wound tight around his middle.
Remus nuzzled at his neck. Buried his face in Sirius’s shoulder – clearly too abashed to look.
“…Go on,” he mumbled. “I’ve marked the page.”
Utterly endeared, Sirius smiled wide, then opened the book once again.
“Ahem.” He made a great show of clearing his throat, wriggling in Remus’s hold as if to make himself more comfortable. “Right, then. Who’ve we got here – the venerable Thomas Hood. ‘I lo—’”
Sirius halted. He could feel his mouth going dry, his eyes turning round as saucers— Remus’s hands tightened around him, pressing his head further against his shoulder like he was fairly trying to melt into Sirius.
“…Please read,” he whispered.
Bubbles popped in Sirius’s chest. His heart felt too big for its cage. “You heard me,” he realised, half-embarrassed, half-despairing. “That time— you heard me.”
Remus nodded, Sirius felt it by his neck. His cheeks fairly tingled, he thought he might burst into flames.
“Moony, I— was it presumptuous? I-It’s nothing I wouldn’t have said, as a friend, anyway— I know it’s so— so early, but—”
“Did you mean it as a friend?” Remus murmured.
Sirius bit his lip. “…No,” he admitted, inaudibly. The sight of Remus suffering so had ripped the truth out of him. He’d never loved anyone that much, that fiercely. Never wanted to scream right alongside him, feeling Remus’s agony as acutely as if it’d been rending him, too.
Another tightening, Remus all but squeezing his stomach at this point. “Then please read,” he echoed.
Sirius sucked in a breath. “‘I love thee,’” he obliged in a faltering voice. “‘I love thee, ’tis all that I can say; it is my vision in the night… my dreaming in the day…’” He had to pause, couldn’t help it. A fluttery laugh escaped him, soundless. “Erm, ‘The— the very echo of my heart, the— blessing when I pray. I love thee, I love thee, is all that I can say… I love thee, I love thee, is ever on my tongue; in all my proudest poesy, that chorus still is sung… it is the verdict of my eyes, amidst the gay and young… I love thee, I love thee, a thousand maids among.’ Oh, Remus.”
He had to stop, he couldn’t. There was an overwhelming feeling in his throat, and he couldn’t tell if he was about to laugh or cry. Joy flickered, but wrapped up in sheer disbelief – nobody loved him like that. Nobody. Even James looked beyond him to some better, nobler Sirius that did not exist.
Remus was unreal, Sirius thought, and he clasped a trembling hand over his mouth.
“…Padfoot?” Remus ventured, and Sirius could feel his chin finally lifting from Sirius’s shoulder; he coaxed Sirius to turn by the elbows, and Sirius found nothing but tender sorrow on his face.
“Are you… very disappointed?” he ventured.
“No! No,” a frayed laugh burst out of Sirius, and he shook his head vehemently. “I’m just shocked. I—” Don’t believe you.
Remus gave him a long look. Sirius couldn’t understand the depth of emotion in his eyes, pained and full of pure affection all at once.
He leaned forward, let their foreheads touch. Both of Sirius’s hands were in his, now, and he thumbed the backs of Sirius’s fingers; oddly soothing.
“…My love,” he whispered, talking to their hands, “You’re not a mistake.”
Sirius reeled. That tremendous feeling escaped him as a startled noise, and he smiled because if he didn’t he would’ve started hyperventilating.
He wrenched his hands out of Remus’s, lurched forward, grabbed Remus’s face by the cheeks. “…My love,” far more tremulously, “You’re not a burden.”
Remus’s eyes shot wide open. He was quivering when he brought a hand up to the back of Sirius’s head, “Do you— do you know, I— lately I’ve been thinking that— maybe, maybe— if this was what it would have led to, in the end, maybe— there was a point, to it all—”
“I feel the same. I feel the same,” Sirius assured him, breathlessly confessed against his cheek, his nose, his forehead. He couldn’t stop kissing Remus, wished they were one body.
“Oh,” he remembered, at last, when the tidal wave of emotion finally settled. “Your mum knows about us.”
Remus gawked. “Sorry?”
Sirius laughed helplessly. “Never mind, talk to her tomorrow. Kiss me,” he demanded, being that he felt – and rightly – spoilt.
Shaking his head in fond amusement, Remus leaned in to do just that.
Notes:
(Leftover latkes because Hanukkah fell between December the 16th and 24th in 1976, FTR.)
Probably needs to be said, but, Sirius’s speculation about Remus’s connection or lack of to his cultural traditions is just that – speculation. We’ll get into Remus’s actual thoughts in Part IV, which is his instalment anyway.
Chapter 12
Notes:
I hope this chapter brings you as much joy as you bring me. Thanks for reading.
We always seem to switch up the POV order around the halfway mark of these instalments, don’t we? Anyway, it was supposed to be James’s, then Lily’s, but you get Lily’s first instead. James will be coming up next.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
On Christmas evening the Evanses’ sitting room was glimmering with the soft glow of fairy-lights around the Christmas tree that stood in one corner, flickering on and off across walls lined with family photographs and shelves of books. The faint smell of pine – because Dad didn’t believe in plastic trees – mingled with the savoury scents of roast turkey and spiced pudding. Altogether it felt as warm and comfortable as the blanket currently draped over Lily’s lap.
She was pleasantly exhausted. It had already been a packed holiday as per, even though it’d only really just begun. As soon as she got home she and a few of the other youngsters in the area had needed to help the vicar with the nativity display; then there’d been delivering hampers with Mum; then the carol service on Christmas Eve. Today, Christmas Day itself, had kicked off with a gathering at the Andersons’ that included half the neighbourhood; Lily had been balancing minced pies and mulled wine whilst catching up with everybody.
Then the service proper, of course, which Petunia had turned up for – proving her row with Mum the last time she’d been home hadn’t left a permanent rift, at least.
Her dad sat in his usual armchair now, legs crossed, one hand wrapped around a hot toddy. Mum was saying, “—And when little Michael Baker started singing half a beat early, I thought Maggie would keel over.” With a little chuckle. She paused to sip at her own drink, “Poor boy. Not a single note on pitch, bless him.”
“Better enthusiasm than shyness,” Dad offered smilingly, “He was certainly giving it his all. It’ll be good for him.”
Petunia – seated on the other armchair even though Lily and their mum left more than enough room on the sofa – rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t stay stuck that way. “You talk like it was charming. It wasn’t.” Her tone clipped. “It was painful, Margaret looked mortified. I’d have been, too, if that were my son.”
Lily snorted. “No one else seemed to mind.”
Petunia leaned forward to pour herself more wine, and she made a noncommittal little noise that more than got across its condescension.
Happy Christmas, Lily thought wryly.
“Lovely service, though,” she said, refusing to let Petunia spoil the mood. “The choir sounded beautiful. I reckon they were even better than last year.”
“They were, weren’t they?” Dad hummed. “The descant on Hark! The Herald Angels Sing was quite something. Gave me chills.”
“Though I still think Reverend Cox could have trimmed the sermon some more,” Mum sighed. “Twenty minutes about the shepherds was a bit excessive.”
Lily laughed. “You said the same thing last year.”
“And I’ll say it again next year, I imagine,” Mum replied briskly, though there was a twinkle of amusement in her eyes.
Petunia sniffed. “Talking of them, did you see what Claire Cox was wearing? That garish velvet number? The colour made her look positively ill. I thought she’d skinned a sofa and put that on.”
“What a pointless thing to say,” Lily scowled, and Petunia swirled her drink indifferently.
“Well, it’s hardly inaccurate. Someone ought to have told her.”
Lily opened her mouth to retort, but was interrupted by her dad saying, “What’s that?”
“What’s what?” Lily blinked. The brief pause in conversation gave her her answer, however: there was a scratching noise coming from the window behind Dad.
“Oh, that’ll be an owl, I expect,” Lily smiled. She uncurled herself and hopped over to check.
Sure enough, once she pulled the curtain aside, she spotted a snow-dusted tawny owl perched on the sill. “Another one?” Petunia muttered, while Lily let it in and untied its cargo.
“It’s from Frank and Alice! Aw, they’re on holiday together, that’s sweet.” She read and re-read the little Christmas-themed postcard, flipping it over.
“Those were your… seniors, weren’t they?” Mum asked; her features scrunched up a bit as she tried to recall.
“Yeah, the ones who’ve just graduated.” Lily returned to her perch. “They’re both on the Auror programme now – that’s the wizarding police more or less, I hadn’t expected them to be allowed much of a break, but I’m glad to hear they were…”
“I thought the first letter this morning was from one of them,” said Dad, and Lily shook her head.
“No, that was from Amelia Bones, she was the sixth-year who was quite nice about teaching me things when I first started at Hogwarts, d’you remember?”
Mum and Dad chuckled helplessly. “You’ve got too many friends,” Dad lamented.
“Whatever happened to that boy who lives just down the road? Severus? Well, but I suppose he was never really one for Christmas, was he…” Mum hummed.
Lily cleared her throat, scrambling to change the subject. But she was interrupted by another insistent rapping against the glass.
“Again?” Petunia sighed, even as Lily got up.
“Marlene!” Lily announced, having accepted her delivery. “Oh, good, she’s sent chocolates.”
“For heaven’s sake, doesn’t your lot believe in the post?” Petunia snapped. “I mean, it’s ridiculous! Owls knocking at all hours— what if the neighbours saw? Don’t you care how it looks?”
“No harm done, Tuney,” Dad tried placating, but Petunia scoffed.
“Well, it’s the holidays, of course they’ll all be sending wishes,” said Lily as fairly as she could. “Owl post is the only way most of them know how to do it— and anyway you know how the Royal Mail gets this time of year, so it’s just convenient, innit?”
“Must be nice to be able to bypass all the lowly problems we mere mortals have to bear,” Petunia bit.
Lily scowled. “Have you got something to say to me?”
“Girls, girls, it’s Christmas, don’t start up for one evening at least,” Mum sighed. “Lily, put your things away, love. Petunia, you know none of the neighbours mind. If we act as clueless as them most people don’t mind letting these things stay mysteries that we can all have a laugh about together, you know.”
“Mysteries?” Petunia echoed incredulously. “The veritable storm of owls that woke half the neighbourhood this morning because this one hadn’t bothered to get up and open her bl—her windows yet? I’d say it’s a little bit more than that.”
“Careful, Tuney, let yourself get worked up enough and you’ll say a mild swear like a normal person might,” Lily rolled her eyes. “I was quite knackered from midnight carols, you know, and I’d imagine if anybody minded they’d have told me so; there’ve been plenty of chances.”
Petunia lurched forward in her chair. “You can’t assume people approve just because they’re too— too polite, to say what they really think! Not everybody is as, as enamoured with you a-as all those stupid— who sent the owls—”
“Blimey, when did I say any of that?”
“Girls,” Dad arched both eyebrows, and chastisement was so rare from him that both sisters had no choice but to deflate with matching huffs.
The quiet that followed only lasted a moment, however, before the by-now familiar thunk, thunk of owls at the window returned. Lily shot an apologetic look toward her parents as she rose yet again.
Petunia gave a sharp sigh and muttered, “I’ll get more wine;” then swept out of the room without another word.
Lily opened the window to find two owls waiting this time: one regal and snowy, bearing a letter with a Hogwarts seal, and another, scruffier-looking thing with a slightly crumpled envelope in its beak.
She brought them both in, giving each bird a quick pat before sending them off again into the snow-bloated night.
“Two more?” Dad marvelled with a good-natured chuckle. “Popular tonight, aren’t you, kiddums.”
“Evidently,” Lily smirked. She turned the envelopes over in her hands, glanced first at the official-looking one: “Ah. Professor Slughorn.”
“Wait, don’t tell me.” Dad extended a finger around his tumbler. “He’s your Potions professor, and… he’s the one who runs that networking club. Quite dedicated to keeping in touch, isn’t he?”
“Depending on the person,” Lily snorted, even as she opened the letter and scanned his typical neat, looping handwriting. “He only sends Christmas or holiday notes to his favourites – one of his snooty traditions.”
Mum exhaled amusement. “Regardless, you must be quite the standout to leave that sort of impression on a professor.”
“Oh, I dunno about all that,” Lily answered, cheeks warming. “He’s just very… enthusiastic.”
“Well, I think it’s lovely,” Mum smiled. “It says a lot about your progress if a teacher makes that sort of effort. You must be doing something right.”
Lily ducked her head to hide her own smile. She busied herself with the other envelope, breaking its red wax seal and discovering a card. A Muggle one, which surprised her given that it’d come by owl, but then she opened it and immediately recognised the scrawled, messy handwriting – she paused.
“Who’s that one from?” came her mum’s voice, and Lily had to take a moment to register it.
“Hmm? Oh, er, James. James Potter,” and her own tone came out slightly surprised.
“Potter…” Dad echoed; the syllables lifted in question. “Ah, that boy you’re always complaining about?”
Lily gave a sharp chuckle. “How d’you not remember Frank and Alice, but him you do?”
“Well, you never stop talking about him,” Mum pointed out. “‘Potter did this, Potter did that, I wish the teachers would so-and-so…’”
Lily thought if her face burnt any hotter it would explode.
“What’s he writing to you for?” Dad asked, a protective note behind the words now. “He’s not bothering you, is he? Playing one of his jokes?”
“No, no, nothing like that,” Lily said with a hasty wave of her hands. “We’re… sort of friends now. He’s, erm, done a bit of growing up, I suppose.”
Dad relaxed, humming acknowledgement.
Mum had returned to her drink with a smug little smile. “Still, it’s nice you’ve got such strong ties, both with your classmates and your teachers. They must all think the world of you, to write so regularly. Makes me proud.”
Dad smiled. “I’ve always said our Lily-pad had a gift for dealing with people.”
Petunia returned, just then, holding a fresh bottle of wine. Her lips were pursed in a way that said she’d heard at least half of that.
She poured herself another glass, expression mutinous, even though she wasn’t meeting anybody’s eyes. “I wish you wouldn’t encourage it, mum,” she muttered. “It’s all well and good, in their own little society, for Lily to have gotten into her professors’ good books – but that isn’t worth anything in the real world, is it? Lily’s going to start thinking she doesn’t need to consider anything beyond that, just because she’s doing so bloomin’ well.”
“You can stop talking about me like I’m not here,” Lily scowled, “And what’d you mean, the real world? That is the real world, for me.”
“What, the ‘wizarding world?’” Petunia garbled the words on purpose, mockingly. “Didn’t you say it yourself, that you’re an outsider to it? That their lot don’t even like witches like you?”
“But that’s exactly why I’m going to build my future there!” Lily’s eyes flashed. “That’s what they’d like, isn’t it – to drive us all away – anybody they don’t approve of. Well, they can try harder with me. If all of the reasonable people leave, nothing’s going to change for the better.”
“Oh, here we go again, Lily the Wonder Woman.” Petunia rolled her eyes. “Just don’t come crying to me when you wind up penniless and with no place to stay.”
“Don’t be horrid, Petunia,” Mum cut in sharply, but Petunia whirled around before she could say another word.
“Are you about to say she’s got the right of it? You would, wouldn’t you,” she snapped. “So proud of her being as progressive as you were. Well, where have your ideals landed you now, mum? A professor at some second-rate local university because no proper one would hire a woman. And sole provider of the home, at that, because dad can’t even be bothered to get himself a job like a husband and father ought to!”
Silence. Lily stared in horror, and even Mum was struck speechless, and all of the colour was draining from Dad’s face in a painfully familiar way— oh no, Lily panicked, please don’t let it act up again—
“You bitch!” she fairly shrieked. She would have made a grab for Petunia if her Mum hadn’t shot up and held her back by the shoulders.
“I’ll not be spoken to with that sort of language, thank you!” Petunia yelled back. Her face had gone an awful shade of red, and she stormed out of the room. “I’m going!”
“Go on, then, you—!”
“Lily. Lily, don’t.” Dad set a trembling hand on her arm. “She’s… just had a bit too much to drink…”
“Petunia, where are you going to go at this time of— Petunia, come back here!” Mum hurried out of the room, too, voice rising with stern urgency.
Lily felt shaky when she turned to her father: “Are you alright? That nasty, stinking—”
“I’m just fine, love. I’m just fine.” But Dad’s smile was a thin, ghostly thing, and Lily felt a lump clog up her throat.
She threw her arms around his shoulders; squeezed with all her might and wished she could get her thoughts across without words: Please don’t let it get bad again. Please, please be alright.
Mum had returned to the doorway, now, and their eyes met past Dad’s ear, expressions equally wretched.
Petunia should have just stabbed him and gotten it over with, Lily thought viciously.
It was a relief to be back at Hogwarts. Even though Petunia’s absence had given them a relatively calmer time in the lead-up to New Year’s, it was also a glaring thing – a reminder of what had happened. Lily and her mum had done their best not to allude to Petunia’s words at all, but there’d still been a few sleepless nights where Lily wasn’t sure if the murmurs from downstairs that carried on far too late to be meaningless chatter were real or simply in her imagination – paranoia.
Dad never let on around her, was the problem; although Lily granted that also meant things hadn’t gotten that dire yet. Hadn’t reached the point where he no longer had a say in whether or not it showed.
That, more than anything, was what helped her put it out of her mind for now. And Mum had promised to write, should there be any… developments…
A sudden rustling nearby pulled Lily halfway back to the present: to the greenhouse, the damp smell of mud, and the rollercoaster cadence of Professor Sprout’s voice. She blinked down at her half-finished notes; realised she’d missed at least two full steps in the growth cycle of a Venomous Tentacula. Merlin, at the rate she was spacing out, she’d never catch up.
She adjusted her grip on her quill, trying to focus, but her mind still snagged on one last, loose thread – Severus wasn’t in class today. It shouldn’t have been that noteworthy – if he’d vanished without notice, Professor Sprout would have said something; the fact that she hadn’t likely meant that Sev was just in the Hospital Wing, or something like that. Still, no amount of logic seemed able to soothe the tight knot in her chest – her heart, traitor that it was, refused to be reasonable.
Marlene and Mary, beside her, were whispering among themselves while they worked, oblivious to Lily’s distractedness.
“I’m telling ye, it’s no’ as bad as people say. Honestly, Flitwick just makes it sound like it’s a riddle competition instead o’ mostly wand-work.”
“I dunno. Charms is already my worst. I’d probably mess it up horribly even if you were right.”
“Ye’ll be fine. Honestly, ye get that wee flick just right, an’ Flitwick’ll have ye on about ten points tae Gryffindor in no time.”
“D’you know, I’ve been practicing, and…”
It helped to focus on nothing but the sound of their voices, the droning lecture Professor Sprout had yet to wrap up, the scratching of quills against parchment. Lily had almost – finally – settled into the scene that was right in front of her, as opposed to the jumbled-up mess in her mind, when hurried footfalls suddenly burst into the greenhouse.
Lily, as well as several other heads, turned. A senior prefect from Ravenclaw stepped inside, his robes slightly damp from the drizzle beyond. He approached Professor Sprout, then leaned in to whisper something.
Lily’s stomach dropped. Her gaze flitted toward the front, suddenly too aware of the quiet that had settled over the class. The steady clink of pots and tools and the shuffle of parchment halted as everyone watched the interaction instead. Professor Sprout nodded gravely, then turned to face them all.
It was never a good thing when a prefect or a teacher entered during lessons. Lily knew that; everyone did. It meant someone had gotten news, the sort of news that turned your world upside down, left holes and possibly even a Dark Mark where living, breathing loved ones used to be.
She felt quite sorry for whoever it was as Professor Sprout cleared her throat. Her usual warmth dampened beneath a forced veneer of professionalism.
“Jeremy Hollis,” she called softly. The name seemed to echo in the sudden silence.
All heads turned— to the Hufflepuff boy near the back of the greenhouse. His face went ghostly white. The prefect stepped closer, motioning for him to follow.
Jeremy stood slowly. His hands visibly trembled as they gathered up his things; he walked off, stiffly, and though everyone stared, not one said a word. What was there to say? Those hunched shoulders, passing through the door that the prefect stood usher at, were enough of a full stop.
“Hollis?” Lily whispered to her friends.
“Aye, Muggle-born,” Marlene confirmed her worst suspicions. “’A’ve no’ been readin’ the papers lately… have ye? Certainly no’ this mornin’, anyway.”
“Me neither.” Lily clucked her tongue, regretting the fact. It was harder than it sounded – striking some sort of balance between keeping informed, and simply not distressing herself by reading awful headline after awful headline. The Death Eaters were relentless, but had already been so a full year before her time. Even though she’d known she was a witch long before Hogwarts, it’d been Sev who’d told her about this world, and Sev… even then, he’d neglected to mention that.
By the time Lily was in first year, the headlines were already splattered with news of assaults on Muggles, increasing in intensity, until there’d been flat-out killings by the middle of term. On top of it, the way the Daily Prophet had reported them at the time was… lacking, to say the least. Token horror that it happened at all, of course, but shying away from the word “terrorism,” from acknowledging Muggles as victims at all. The discourse then had been more focused on the Death Eaters violating the Statute of Secrecy – risking exposing magic – than it had been on Muggles being tortured or dying.
For, even now, most witches and wizards still viewed themselves as victims of persecution. The idea of the Muggles being the ones to suffer was incomprehensible to the vast majority.
Then they’d started targeting Muggle-born witches and wizards too. That was when the Ministry had started paying attention – especially with a Muggle-born Minister for Magic at the time. Sadly it’d been too little, too late by then – the Death Eaters had their strongholds, even if that wasn’t necessarily London, the seat of power, or most of the Southwest, where wizards were relatively isolated from Muggles, and therefore either apathetic toward them or sometimes (as with the Potters) outright supportive.
But in the chaos of Ireland’s current conflict… in the tribalism of the rural North… hell, as Lily could personally attest, even in the Black Country…
These isles of theirs were going through too much. Strikes, riots, racial demographics changing, women’s lib, gay lib; all stoking resentment from the small-minded. An empire crumbling, on top of piecing itself together after a war that was not so long ago that it could be called history, exactly. The labour pains of a new world struggling to be born – and that was the exact atmosphere that dark magic thrived off of; pandemonium, uncertainty, fear alchemised into hatred, into bigotry. Practically speaking, all the confusion helped conceal Dark activities, too.
So Lily didn’t always bother with the papers. It was fairly predictable, what she’d find.
“Alright, let’s continue,” Professor Sprout was saying now, although her face had lost much of its geniality as she picked her textbook back up again.
It was a good thing class was about to wrap up – no one could really pay any attention, after that.
When it was time to leave, Marlene and Mary instantly flanked Lily, eager to resume their discussion. “Ye heard frae Frank an’ Alice, didnae ye?” asked Marlene lowly. “Did they tell ye ocht new about, y’know, this sortae thing?”
“Nothing,” Lily answered, grim. “What about you? Isaac’s still doing whatever he does for the Ministry, isn’t he?”
“Fer Dumbledore. No’ the Ministry.” Marlene’s voice dropped even quieter, and her eyes flicked this way and that as if making sure they weren’t being spied on. “Doesnae say much about it… I reckon he cannae. But I gathered that much – Dumbledore’s givin’ him orders jist as much as his auld bosses are.”
“Really?” Lily stared.
“That’s something, isn’t it?” Mary, with tentative hope. “If he’s getting involved…”
“Aye, well, he always wis,” said Marlene. “You two willnae remember it – afore. The Ministry’s always consulted him. It’s a wonder he turned down bein’ Minister, when he is, in practice.”
Lily shook her head in disagreement. “Was, maybe,” she said. “But, I doubt that’s still true. Minister Minchum is borderline autocratic. Besides, Minister Jenkins was voted out because people did not think her way was working. If Dumbledore helped then, as well, then the current administration won’t be too impressed with him, either, no?”
“I’ve nae got yer head for politics, doll, I dunno.” Marlene barked out a laugh. “I’ve telt ye everything I dae – that’s it, I’m afraid.”
“Anyway, the nail in the coffin for Minister Jenkins was her bizarre idea about a Muggle-born registry, even if she did mean it to protect us all,” said Mary. “I doubt Professor Dumbledore would be quite that… short-sighted.”
“That’s a braw way o’ sayin’ ‘daft,’” Marlene grinned, making Mary chuckle and taking some of the tension out of the air.
“Things are quieter in Edinburgh,” said Mary, “At least on the Death-Eater side of it. We’ve had to deal with more on the Muggle end. There’s been a spate of violence against Asian businesses… not as bad as some other places, and no one’s done anything to mum and dad, but still. As Chinese greengrocers it’s a, er… concern, and you know how mum is about turning to dad’s side of the family for help – too posh. Too mixed.”
“Rightly,” Lily huffed. “That lot sound like right pillocks. I’m so sorry to hear that, though, Mare… d’you want me to write you all the potions and enchanted objects and things I went and got for a safety system at home?”
“Oh, yes, please.”
“Why’s there violence against them, then?” asked Marlene.
“You know how the pure-blood lot keep saying Muggle-borns are ‘infiltrating wizarding society’ in order to get all the benefits, without bothering to follow their laws and traditions?” Mary sighed. “That, but toward migrants.”
“Ah.” Marlene shook her head. “Awful bein’ young, eh? They dinnae tell us enough, an’ we cannae dae anythin’ about anythin’ even if they did.”
They’d re-entered the castle by then, and just as they reached the stairs Lily remembered: “Oh, I’ve got to see Professor Vaughn about the New Year’s special edition thing.”
“Alright, catch you later,” Mary waved. She and Marlene continued on in the direction of Gryffindor Tower; Lily made for the faculty wing. She jogged up stairs and past portraits and students – then stood in the corridor lined with teacher’s offices in no time. The Muggle Studies room wasn’t far, and when Lily walked over, she saw Professor Vaughn exiting it… along with Sirius Black.
“—The key there would be to position yourself as somebody who understands both worlds, Sirius,” she could hear Vaughn saying, “Both the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee and the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office need people who can navigate the gap between magical and non-magical perspectives. So you see, what have you done so far that demonstrates that skill? That’s what they’ll be looking for, if you choose to apply.”
Sirius, leaning casually against the doorframe while their professor closed the office door, shrugged. “Well, I haven’t cursed a Muggle artefact yet, so there’s that. But, seriously, prof, I haven’t exactly been keeping a scrapbook of qualifications.”
Vaughn chuckled lightly. “No one expects you to have all the answers now. But you can and should start small – volunteer, the next time there’s a school-wide initiative or event that touches on Muggle relations. Even simple things, like assisting with Muggle Studies projects, can go a long way.”
“Right.” Sirius nodded contemplatively.
Lily had reached them by then, and offered a polite smile. “Excuse me, Professor Vaughn, I hope I’m not interrupting?”
Vaughn turned to her with a welcoming nod. “Not at all, Miss Evans. What can I do for you?”
“The January edition of The Quillman, professor… you said to come see you about making it a New Year’s special…”
“Oh, right,” Vaughn said in a half-startled sort of way that betrayed the fact that she’d probably forgotten. Lily couldn’t blame her – the poor woman must have had a lot on her plate, after the ruckus with the essays. “I was going to suggest an overall theme of reflecting on the year that’s ended, if you choose to go that route. I know we don’t have much of an archive yet, but it isn’t nothing either. You could review the last three or four editions and do a sort of…”
“…Retrospective sort of thing, right,” Lily nodded. “Great, may I go to the office now?” For that was where copies of the old editions were preserved, and Lily didn’t yet have other plans for her evening. She hated empty time; it would only give her too much room to brood about all the goings-on in her life at the moment.
Vaughn opened her mouth as if to reply, but shut it again. A thoughtful expression passed her face like the tangent had been aborted by something else occurring to her. “Actually, Miss Evans,” she said, “Could I ask a favour of you both, since you’ll be going that way?”
Sirius, who’d been silent during this exchange, straightened slightly, and unfolded his arms.
“Of course,” Lily said – answering for herself, not in his place, but Vaughn seemed to take it as confirmation from both, because she went on.
“I’ve been transferring my more… important materials… essays, assignments, notes, and such… over to the newspaper office. For safekeeping.” A sombre look had taken over her expression. “Ever since the, er, incident, with the break-in.”
Lily stiffened slightly at the reminder. The stolen essays had been a nightmare; both she and Sirius had been directly affected, though she doubted either of them had spoken about it since.
Vaughn continued, “I’ve only managed to move part of it, so far; I’ve been taking it in small batches. But I’m running late for a meeting with Professor McGonagall—” She paused, lips twitching with the faintest smile— “And it won’t do to keep her waiting. You know what she’s like.”
Lily gave a small laugh. “I think the whole school knows what she’s like.”
“Exactly,” Vaughn said, with a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. “So if it’s not too much trouble, I was hoping you and Mr Black could take a few more boxes over for me. Save me the trip?”
“Sure,” Lily agreed promptly. She glanced at Sirius, who still hadn’t spoken.
He shifted his weight, then gave a small, reluctant sigh. “…Alright,” he said eventually, although there was something like resignation in his tone. “Where’re the boxes?”
“Thank you both,” Vaughn said warmly. She reached into her pocket, and pulled out the key to the newspaper office, handing it to Lily. “They’re just behind my desk. When you put them away, leave them in the far corner – there’s a clear space that I’ve been using, you shouldn’t miss it.”
Lily nodded again. Vaughn said her goodbyes, then hurried off along the corridor.
Sirius watched her retreat – then turned to Lily with a great sigh of exasperation. “Let’s get this over with, then.”
Lily rolled her eyes, but pushed open the door to the Muggle Studies office regardless.
It was warm, inside, smelling faintly of parchment and old books. In one corner, boxes were, indeed, stacked up, labelled in Vaughn’s tidy handwriting. Sirius trailed in after Lily – his expression caught somewhere between bored and begrudging. Lily surveyed the space, then moved toward the desk. She crouched and tested the weight of the topmost box:
“Not too bad,” she murmured, more to herself than to Sirius. Straightening, she adjusted her stance to better balance the load. Still – probably too heavy to carry all the way to the other office without help. “We could each take one and charm the rest to float behind us?” she suggested.
Sirius, still leaning lazily against the desk, sighed as if she’d asked him to mop the entire castle. “Sure, yeah. Whatever.”
Lily bit back a huff, and couldn’t help thinking – pointedly – that James and Remus would never have made her do the bulk of the work.
Nonetheless, she raised her wand. “Wingardium Leviosa.” A second box lifted smoothly, hovering a few feet behind her.
Sirius slung another box onto his shoulder, then gave a careless flick of his wand. “Wingardium Leviosa,” he muttered. The remaining boxes wobbled, for a moment, but steadied, drifting into a neat line behind him.
Together, they stepped back out into the corridor.
Silence followed.
How awkward, Lily thought irritably. The corridor was mostly empty, which didn’t help – their footfalls echoed against the stone in lieu of conversation. The levitating boxes rustled, occasionally, with the jostling of the contents inside. Sirius didn’t seem inclined to speak, and Lily was far too annoyed by this to make an attempt herself.
So she kept her eyes fixed straight ahead, willing herself to focus on nothing but the task at hand. Sirius, meanwhile, walked with the lazy poise of someone who’d rather be anywhere else but wasn’t willing to kick up a fuss about it.
They moved through the castle like two parallel lines: close enough to brush against one another, but equally determined not to.
As they neared the newspaper office, however, the murmur of approaching voices and the echo of footsteps signalled the arrival of other students. Lily glanced up on instinct—
And saw them: a woefully familiar group of Slytherins, striding toward her and Sirius, unmistakeable even at a distance.
There was Mulciber, his hulking frame slouched in its usual swagger, and Evan Rosier, with that ever-present smirk of his stamped across his ferret-like features.
Trailing just behind them… Severus.
Lily’s chest constricted involuntarily. He looked even more gaunt than the last time she’d seen him: pale, cheeks hollowed, dark shadows beneath his eyes. His shoulders were hunched, his eyes downcast. The rest of them didn’t appear to be waiting for him; if anything, they seemed to be subtly excluding him – Mulciber made a comment over his shoulder and Rosier chuckled, but Sev didn’t react. He kept his gaze locked on the floor, expression unreadable.
Lily’s fingers tightened around the box she carried. She didn’t call out – that wasn’t who they were anymore. Instead, she forced her eyes away, ignoring the tangled mix of pity and frustration that tugged at her heart.
To her surprise, however, it was Sirius who broke the silence. “Regulus?” Her head snapped toward him, startled by the sharpness in his tone.
Following his gaze, she spotted the younger Black brother among the group, at last. Regulus walked beside Rosier, every inch composed, although his face was utterly blank. At the sound of his name, Regulus paused and glanced over his shoulder. His grey eyes met Sirius’s; they seemed distant.
“…Really?” Sirius said, both a sneer and disbelief in it at the same time.
But Regulus didn’t answer. He held his brother’s gaze for a moment longer… then turned away, without a word.
He continued on with the rest.
Behind him, Mulciber gave a low chuckle. He said something Lily couldn’t catch. Rosier threw Sirius a smirk over his own shoulder, and then the lot of them disappeared around the corner.
Lily hazarded a glance at Sirius out of the corner of her eye: his face had smoothed – too much so. Jaw clenched, lips pressed into a thin line.
She didn’t say anything, but it was clear that where his earlier silence had been accompanied by boredom or irritation or both – a sullen, more than upset, thing – now there was something else in it. The corners of his lips were still turned down, but with a very slight tremble to them now. His eyes sharpened, not with anger, but with something rather closer to dismay.
The old hamartia couldn’t help but bubble up; she was curious, she couldn’t help it. She didn’t know anything about the Black brothers’ relationship with each other, was fairly certain no one did, other than perhaps the other Marauders. The pair had caused scenes in the past, one or two explosive fights that half the school had been unwilling witnesses to, but aside from that…
The silence between she and Sirius was decidedly stifling, now, and by the time they reached the newspaper office, Lily couldn’t help but venture, “Everything alright?”
She’d purposely timed it for when she was unlocking the door, so that she didn’t have to meet Sirius’s eyes as she asked it, hoping that made the query seem more nonchalant.
Sirius, however, said, “What?” —in an affronted tone, as though Lily had just insulted him.
Baffled, Lily turned and frowned at him, even as she pushed the door open, pocketing the key again. “Well don’t bite my head off, I was only asking if you were alright.” Her tone clipped. “You just seemed a bit rattled when you saw Regulus, that’s all.”
Sirius’s eyes narrowed. He’d followed her into the room, by then, and set the box he was carrying down with a sharp thud. “Look here, Evans,” (just as curtly,) “We’re not friends, alright? Just because Moony likes you— don’t start thinking that actually means anything. Moony’s a saint, and likes everybody in the world, including your snivelling little mate. So don’t get the wrong idea.”
Lily’s jaw clenched. She set her box down, not quite as gently as she’d meant to. The others hovering behind her fell, too – the Levitation Charm had broken with her concentration. “Right,” she bit, drily. “Of course. Silly me, thinking basic civility wasn’t off-limits.”
“Oh, come off it,” Sirius muttered. “Like you were just asking.”
Lily blinked, incredulous. “I’m sorry?”
“You know exactly what I mean,” he said, halfway to glowering. “You want some scrap of dirt to pass around, right? Fishing for gossip about my family? That’s what you lot do in here, isn’t it – twist everyone’s business into some story to print?”
Flaring up, Lily took a half-conscious step closer. “I was trying to show a bit of kindness,” she snapped. “That’s all.”
Sirius gave a short, humourless laugh. “Kindness. Sure. Except, evidently, when it comes to James. Different rules, then, aren’t there?”
Lily froze, her stomach dropping. The sound of the door slamming shut, where they’d forgotten to prop it open, felt like the knell that signalled the start of a formal duel. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded.
“Oh, like you don’t know.” Sirius glared. “You act like you’re so much better than him – like he’s beneath you. James Potter is one of the best people you’ll ever meet, but you can’t see it— too bloody busy turning your nose up at him, accusing him for Snape’s own choices, while you, yourself, knock about with Snape, the very same git who called—”
“Don’t talk about Severus,” Lily cut him off sharply. Her voice trembled with barely-restrained anger. “Of all people, you are the last person with any right to—”
“Spare me,” Sirius spat, stepping closer as well. “I know enough to see you’ve been stringing James along for months. He deserves better than you.”
“Enough.” Lily clenched her fists. “I’m aware James is a good person. It was never him who was the real problem.”
That shut him up. Sirius was visibly startled, even though his brow was still knitted in a glower: “The real problem?” he echoed.
“Yeah,” Lily didn’t bother tempering the vicious, spiteful feeling that fuelled her tongue. “Because that’s you. With your smug, reckless influence— your constant pushing— you make him worse. You’re the one who eggs him on and makes him think it’s alright to bully others— Merlin, you tried to send Severus to a werewolf.”
Sirius blanched. The blood drained from his face so fast it was as if she’d struck him. He opened his mouth, but no words came. Instead, he stared at her, his expression utterly unreadable for once. For a long, tense moment, the air between them felt as fragile as glass.
Lily folded her arms tightly across her chest, breathing hard, refusing to back down. “…You think you’re his best friend,” she said, almost a whisper now, “But, maybe, Sirius, you might want to consider whether I’m really the worst thing for him, sometimes.”
And with that, she forced herself to turn around, to move the boxes like she’d been tasked to. Her hands might have been trembling as she stacked one on top of the other, shoving them a bit harder than necessary, but she stayed mulishly silent, focused on her work. There was resentment in the air and she could feel it; could hear Sirius pacing behind her, his boots scuffing against the wooden floorboards.
But she only thought, Good. Let him stew.
She slammed another box onto the pile. Finally, she heard it: the unmistakeable sound of Sirius’s footsteps retreating, heading toward the door. Relief was all she felt, not even caring that he’d not be sticking around to help her with this anymore.
But then, a jarring noise made her pause – metal rattling violently.
“What the—?” Sirius muttered; he sounded both baffled and annoyed all at once.
Lily stopped lifting boxes. Her brow furrowed. She turned her head slightly, just in time to hear another sharp clunk – the doorknob being turned, although the door refused to budge.
Sirius swore under his breath. For her part, Lily set the last box onto its place and pivoted to face him fully, just as he pulled out his wand.
“Alohomora,” Sirius called, pointing his wand at the lock. A faint click echoed, but the door stayed stubbornly shut. He tried again… then again, each attempt sharper, more irritated.
Lily frowned. Her anger momentarily gave way to confusion. “What’s going on?” she asked, stepping closer.
Sirius didn’t look at her, jaw tight as he uttered another swear. “Bloody door won’t— open,” he managed tersely, jiggling the doorknob as if to emphasise this.
“Did you forget how locks work?” Lily glowered, not quite over the fight yet. But she moved to inspect the door herself.
“No, Evans,” said Sirius sharply, glaring back. “I’m telling you— it won’t open.”
His frustration was palpable as he backed away from the door by a few small steps. His wand was still gripped tightly in his hand, and he turned to Lily, this time with a warning look.
“Move back,” he demanded.
“Sorry?” Lily frowned.
“Just move back,” he snapped— then took another step from the door, and levelled his wand at it.
Realisation dawned, and Lily’s eyes widened in alarm. “Sirius, don’t—!”
“Reducto!”
The spell shot from his wand in a burst of blue light. Lily barely had time to dodge as it collided with the door— then rebounded, with a deafening crack. The ricochet sent Sirius flying backward, landing hard on his backside with a loud noise.
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake!” Lily cried. She rushed over to him, caught between exasperation and concern. “Are you completely mental!?”
Sirius groaned, rubbing his lower back as he glared at the still-intact door. “What the hell just happened?”
“What happened,” Lily said sharply, “Is that you apparently forgot there are hex-deflections all over the corridors now! Don’t you ever bother reading the notice board?”
Sirius scowled; he’d managed to right himself again, anyway. “Yes, well, maybe next time they ought to put up fewer memos about corridor policies and more about doors that lock themselves for no bloody reason.”
“Calm down, let me think,” Lily snapped. She lifted her head, stared at the door. “We should still be able to use spells that aren’t offensive—”
“I just tried Alohomora, or didn’t you—”
“I saw, thank you, I’m not senile.” Lily huffed.
She thought for a moment… then stepped closer to the door, drawing her own wand. “Specialis Revelio,” she called. It was worth a try – the spell-revealing charm didn’t work on enchantments that were complex, but just in case…
Fortunately, there was a faint shimmering of the air around the door, as if a hidden layer, like mist, had been exposed. It pulsed; once, twice. Lily heard the echoing whisper of an incantation…
“A basic locking charm?” she frowned. That couldn’t be right—
“A double one.” Sirius’s lips had pulled into a thin line. “One on this end, one on the other side. Damn it— it’s the same mechanism that secures the Shrieking Shack. Alohomora will open it, but, you would have to cast two at the exact same time— and cast them on the lock from the inside and outside. Otherwise, it can only be opened and closed one way; it automatically locks you in once that’s done.”
Comprehension dawned, and Lily groaned. “Oh, no… Sirius, Professor Vaughn said she’s been using this office for safekeeping. She probably set the charms up for that, and forgot to tell us.”
“Eh?” Sirius – who’d wandered over to the nearest window, trying and failing to push it open – twisted around, frowning, baffled. “Why would she forget something as important as that?”
“Well, I mean, she must have a lot on her mind. What with one thing and another,” Lily pointed out.
Sirius didn’t respond, busy attempting another Unlocking Charm on the windows. That didn’t work, either, which made him swear once more. He paced, muttering irritably, “I haven’t got my…”
What he hadn’t got, he never said, letting the sentence trail off without end. “Could we just break the glass?” he suggested instead.
“And do what?” Lily scrunched up her nose. “We’re on the second floor – I don’t see any brooms about, and even if there were, what about the grilles?”
“We could… send up sparks or something… I don’t know,” Sirius shrugged impotently. His shoulders deflated as he seemed to hear himself.
“There might be wards again, and anyway, what a waste. Destroying school property for no reason.” Lily walked over to the nearest chair and took a seat, deliberately calm. “It’s better to just wait, isn’t it? I’m sure Professor Vaughn will be ’round here at some point— and our friends are bound to notice we’re not at dinner, too.”
Sirius gave a frustrated sigh. He rubbed at the back of his neck as he resumed pacing. His boots tapped against the worn wood of the floor in an erratic rhythm that matched the jittery energy emanating from him. Lily watched him carefully – there was something off about him… something she couldn’t quite place.
His movements, that’s what it was. They were too sharp – restless. He wasn’t just annoyed about being locked in, he was unsettled. Agitated.
Panicked.
The realisation made her straighten slightly. Sirius Black, of all people— always so confident, always so unbothered— seemed… rattled. It was subtle, but it was there. And while he clearly didn’t want her to notice, he wasn’t doing a particularly good job of hiding it. The pacing, the swearing, the way his hands flexed as though he was trying to wring out tension – it all spoke volumes.
Lily’s mind whirred. Could he be… claustrophobic? She didn’t think she’d ever seen him react this way to anything before, but then again, how often were they stuck in tight spots together?
Suddenly, Sirius stopped dead in the middle of the room. He turned sharply toward her. “When do the lights come on?” he demanded, sounding impatient. “You know, the sconces? Like they do in every other bleeding room in this castle the minute it starts to get dark?”
Lily blinked, caught off guard. Her gaze flicked to the windows – it being January, the light was already fading, long shadows starting to creep across the office. “Oh.” She winced apologetically. “They, er… don’t.”
“Sorry?” Sirius frowned, with an expression caught between disbelief and dismay.
“Well, the office is new, remember? Professor Vaughn only just set it up last term. It’s just a repurposed classroom, and we haven’t gotten around to installing the charmed sconces yet. We’ve only had a few meetings here, and all in the mornings, so…” She trailed off, feeling a bit sheepish.
Sirius groaned. He ran his hands through his hair. “Brilliant. Just brilliant.”
For a moment, he stayed rooted in place. His eyes darted toward the encroaching darkness outside.
Then, with a resigned sigh, he crossed the room… and dropped into the chair opposite Lily. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table and burying his face in his hands.
Lily tilted her head, studying him. The tension in his shoulders was unmistakeable. It wasn’t only the closed-in space that was getting to him, was it? Could he be afraid of the dark, as well? The thought made her chest constrict, a pang of sympathy she didn’t want to voice. For now she sat in silence, unsure what else she could do. He’d made it clear he didn’t want her to play the part of a friend, but… to just sit there, and watch another person suffer, without even offering to help…
She cleared her throat determinedly. “Have you got a phobia?” she asked, careful not to make the concern in her words too obvious – he seemed the type to take offence to that sort of thing, posturing boy that he was.
Sirius parted his hands slightly, giving her a frowning look. “Of what?” As defensively as Lily had expected.
She leaned forward. “Closed spaces? The dark? Both?”
“…Not particularly.” Sirius clucked his tongue, impatient, but it seemed more directed at himself than anything. “I don’t like that it’s a closed space and dark and fuckin’ locked, though, yeah.”
He leaned back in his chair so suddenly it made a loud scraping noise, half-startling Lily. His hands had left his face, taken up permanent residence in his trouser pockets. He glared at the table, muttering, darkly, “Reminds me of cellars.”
Lily thought he might elaborate, some story about accidentally getting locked in a cellar, but he didn’t. His eyes now faraway.
Something about it made her uneasy. She hadn’t seen that look on anyone else before, thought of the phrase “thousand-yard stare” and that she’d never really known what it meant until now.
On an instinct she couldn’t quite explain, she cleared her throat. It seemed to jolt him out of his daze, and Sirius blinked.
“…Is there… you know…” Lily waved helplessly. “Anything you reckon might… help, like?”
Sirius gave her a long look in response. Scrutinising, certainly, and maybe a bit confused. She supposed they had just argued, said some horrid things.
“Not unless you’ve got cigs on ya,” was what he said, at last.
Oddly relieved that he wasn’t retreating into himself again, Lily shrugged. “I don’t smoke.”
“Hmm.” Sirius glanced away, turning melancholy eyes toward nothing to one side.
Silence returned. Lily tapped her fingernails on the table restlessly as she searched her mind for something to say, and Sirius was now tilting his chair backwards and forwards with every lean – thud, thud, thud. Just as she’d given up, and was about to stand and go find the newspapers she’d been after to begin with, however, he exhaled wearily: “…Listen… if you’re going to be… nice or whatever…”
She turned toward him. He was worrying at his bottom lip, arms crossed, not quite meeting her eyes. “Could you, like, talk?” he blurted out. “I don’t care what about. Just… y’know, yap away.”
Lily cocked her head, perplexed and intrigued all at once. He was still staring at the table, and the colour was high on his cheeks. It was obvious that he wasn’t having her on: it seemed to have taken quite some pride-swallowing on his part to have asked her it at all.
Maybe chatter stopped him from looking as lost as he had a while ago, Lily deduced. Feeling sorry for him, she searched her mind for some neutral topic of conversation.
She seemed to have taken too long, however, because he ran an agitated hand through his hair and said, rather abruptly, “I was just surprised to see Regulus hanging around that lot. Earlier.”
When Lily gave him a half-startled look, he shrugged, facing her at last. “You wanted to know.”
“Oh.” Lily exhaled, shook her head. “It’s… not that I wanted to know…” But of course that wasn’t entirely true, so she stopped, embarrassed.
Sirius huffed. “He didn’t used to,” he clarified. “But we haven’t been— things have been different since I left home. So I dunno. I dunno what, or who, he’s aligned with now. Suppose I just…”
Worry, Lily realised he meant. She hadn’t considered that before. It was sometimes difficult to remember that even hardliners like the Blacks were people too, facing the problems people face.
Sirius had gone all fidgety again, drawn his wand and cast a Lumos, set it on the table, chewed at the nail of his thumb – in lieu of a cigarette, Lily supposed.
“I was… I had no idea how to behave around my sister, when she left home, too,” she offered tentatively. “It’s— I mean, it’s just weird, like… especially if you left on bad terms… I mean, what am I supposed to say, y’know?”
That made Sirius glance up. He met her eyes directly for the first time all afternoon. “You’ve got a sister?” he echoed, just as hesitant.
“Yeah.” Lily nodded, shrugged.
Sirius gave her a considering look. “Older, younger?”
“Older.” Lily exhaled. She leaned back against her own chair. “Hopped it soon as she turned eighteen. Got herself a job in London, never looked back. Except for, y’know, holidays and such.”
Sirius made a humming noise. The apathy had left his face entirely, now, and his silence seemed rather less hostile, more just… waiting for Lily to go on.
So she did. “Couldn’t wait to put some distance between herself and her witch of a sister, I suppose. Petunia hates magic about as much as that lot hate Muggles.”
“…That right.” Sirius nodded, almost to himself. “Did you ever get along?”
“Oh, yeah. Before Hogwarts.” Lily gave him a tight smile. “I mean, as much as siblings ever do, y’know. After I got my letter, though… when it really sank in that… she couldn’t come along…”
“Hmm.” Sirius leaned forward, toying with his wand. The shifting light of his charm made the shadows flicker.
“…Same with, er, me and Regulus,” he sighed. “It used to not be so bad. Before Hogwarts. I dunno, though, maybe I’m remembering it through rose-coloured glasses. It was different, though, in terms of… how we were treated. When I got Sorted into Gryffindor… well.” Bitter chuckle. “Let’s just say mum and dad started playing favourites all of a sudden.”
“Ah.” Lily gave him a sympathetic look. “Sorry to hear that. Truly.”
“Before, it was… us against the world.” Sirius shook his head. “And then… I dunno. I d—I think— honestly, I might be kidding myself, but— I wonder sometimes if Reggie didn’t just feel…”
Lily understood, and exhaled, rather weary. “…Abandoned?” she murmured.
Sirius gave her that look again, sombre, lingering. “…Yeah,” he nodded.
Lily smiled at the table, a humourless, barely-there thing. “D’you know, I felt so guilty all through first year that I spent the bulk of it making Tuney a present?” For the memory had risen up as a result of this conversation, and she didn’t even mind that it was Sirius Black she was sharing it with, because she hadn’t been able to tell anyone else; Sev would only have dismissed it, called Petunia a typical, horrid Muggle. “A doll’s house, it was. Charmed. I’d worked out that enchanted objects don’t violate the Trace if the magic had been cast prior to returning to a Muggle space… thought she’d like that. It had moving parts and things… lit up on its own, without batteries. I’d worked so hard.”
She swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat, hardly remembering that Sirius was there. “But Tuney, she…” Heavy sigh. “I dunno, I suppose it offended her. I’m sure she thought it was pretty at first. I’m sure of it. She just held it and… sort of stared. And then—” Lily chuckled wryly. “Then she smashed it on the floor.”
When she glanced up, she found Sirius gawking at her, distant horror in his expression. “…You say she’s older?” Practically demanded.
Lily nodded.
Sirius looked disgusted. “That is not on,” he said. “It’s not on. I mean, Reg can be a right prat, but he’s my— I remember him as a baby, for fuck’s— I’d never— Merlin. Your sister sounds…”
Lily smiled tightly, shrugging. “Ah, I give as good as I get. It’s not like I can fix it, y’know? She doesn’t hate me for anything I do, she hates…”
“…Who you are.” Sirius all but whispered it, eyes contemplative.
Lily nodded again. Ruefully, “I know being Sorted into a different house from the rest of your family isn’t comparable, but…”
“Actually, you’d be surprised.” Sirius scoffed. He was smiling now, a tiny, sympathetic thing, but still, far friendlier than any Lily had gotten from him before. “Funny story. When Reg was born, I… alright, so there was this house-elf of ours at the time, Peg, she’s dead now. Got too… old. Erm, but when he was born, she was the one who bothered to show me, y’know? In the nursery. ‘That’s your little brother,’ she said. And me— I mean, I was about… two, probably. I wasn’t sure what that meant. My little brother? Mine, like, belonging to me?”
“Like a pet,” Lily laughed lightly, and Sirius’s smile stretched by a little bit, too.
“Yeah, exactly.” He huffed, shaking his head, eyes on the table again. His smile had turned bittersweet. “I really thought… and I believed it. Don’t think I’ve ever quite shaken that off. Erm. The sense that… I dunno, I dunno how to put it. That he’s my responsibility. I guess. It’s… how it feels, anyway.”
Lily gave him a small smile back just to show she understood. “It’s just… unique, the sibling bond, is all.” She mused. “Because, because… you can stop being friends. You can stop being lovers. But, siblings— that doesn’t stop, does it? By definition. Even if things turn… ugly. Even if you’ve gone your own separate ways.”
“…Yeah.” Sirius idly rolled his wand along the table, back and forth, back and forth. “James, he calls us brothers. Us four, I mean. It’s… sweet and all, but… he doesn’t get it.”
“No,” Lily agreed, as she eyed this movement contemplatively. “He’s an only child, in’t he? Yeah… he wouldn’t know what it is for someone else to…”
“…Be in your veins.” Softly. “Whether you like it or not.”
Lily couldn’t have put it better herself.
A natural silence fell between them then, a caesura, and now Sirius looked decidedly uncomfortable, probably about having been so candid. Sighing impatiently, Lily leaned forward, putting on a stern look on purpose. “You can stop being such a dick toward me,” she said. “I’m not trying to steal James from you. Or Remus, either, though why you’d be worried about that when he can’t go two seconds without bringing you up unprompted, I don’t know.”
Sirius visibly coloured, and Lily huffed as she relaxed against her chair again. He scowled once more, but there wasn’t really any heat in his darting eyes, this time. “…Well, you’re sort of a dick yourself,” he mumbled, half-heartedly mutinous. “How’d you know about the thing with Snape, anyway?”
Lily waved her hand noncommittally. “I worked it out through bits and pieces people in the know let on. If you’re worried that Remus or James told me, don’t be. You know they never would.”
“Oh, I do, do I? And why would that be, given I’m apparently the worst thing that ever happened to them?” said Sirius drily, shooting her an unimpressed look, arched brow over intense greys.
Lily harrumphed. Folded her arms, feeling stubborn. “You started it.”
Sirius shook his head disapprovingly, but Lily thought he seemed to relax a little bit, too. That was the odd thing, with Sirius Black – just like when she’d retorted after he’d called her “Yoko” for the first time, he seemed to dislike her less when she pushed against his antagonism. Maybe it was about respect?
“What was your essay about?” she blurted, if rather out of the blue. Sirius glanced at her, confused.
Lily shrugged. “You said you wanted to talk. Go on, talk.”
“Oh.” Sirius stopped tilting his chair, leaning toward the table instead, resting both elbows on it. “Erm, I did a bit of research into how the old pure-blood families accumulated so much wealth. It led me down this entire rabbit hole about early Muggle-Magic relations…”
He got more and more animated with every word, Lily observed, distantly surprised that he seemed to be quite that passionate about the subject. She’d known, of course – Remus had told her so – but to see it now made it really sink in. “I got there looking into Malfoy Manor,” he was saying. “’Cause that lot’s had it for centuries, and it’s very clearly Muggle-built, innit? Nothing at all like the Potters’, which was obviously designed to hide them from Muggles. Turns out the Malfoys were given it by Muggle royalty. So I dug deeper, and wouldn’t you know it: loads of these puffed-up toffs that claim to hate Muggles now actually worked quite closely with the Muggle aristocracy once upon a time. I mean, they act like the Persecution was such a bloomin’ crisis nowadays – even though we all know that was mostly Muggles killing each other, real witches and wizards just used Freezing Charms on the pyres, and things, didn’t they – but, before relations soured, they absolutely were in bed together. In more ways than one.”
And he went on and on, going into impressive detail about how the sections of the wizarding world that had borne the real brunt of the Persecution had been Squibs and Muggle-borns – sections that had been abandoned by wizarding society to begin with. Righteously indignant about the fact that there was an entire separate persecution of werewolves that wizards turned a blind eye to then, and never even deigned to acknowledge as part of that era now. By the time he got around to talking about even earlier history, Lily was starting to wonder how many feet of parchment he’d handed in to poor Professor Vaughn, exactly.
“—So my thesis was that there used to be a time when Muggles and wizards weren’t separate entities at all.” (He fairly exhaled it.) “The ancient kings— and queens, sorry— would hire the ones that had the most magical talent, yes – I reckon that’s where the division started, y’know, as a sort of job designation more than anything – but there are records of magical activity outside of the courts, too. You’ve met Ravi and Priya, yeah? Well, did you know it’s still that way in India? Oh, yeah. There aren’t Muggles and wizards, there’s just people and… erm… Squibs. The belief is that everyone can do what we call magic, and what they consider more an innate spiritual talent. A divine thing, tied to having a soul. ’S’why Squibs are the bottom rung of magical society over there. Not being able to do magic is what’s seen as abnormal in their culture, otherwise there isn’t a concept of ‘magical’ and ‘non-magical’ as such – only those with more of a talent for it than others. The division only really exists in countries where ‘magic’ was historically considered distinct from religious practice – Christian ones, for example.”
“Fascinating,” and Lily meant it, both eyebrows arched now. “Have you still got your bibliography? I’d love to have a look at your sources.”
“Yeah, sure.” Sirius was flushed from his enthusiasm, and it made him look quite boyish. Lily couldn’t help smiling to herself; it was a welcome change from his typical haughty air.
“How’d you get so involved with Muggle culture, anyway?” she asked, genuinely curious. “It can’t have been accidental, given… y’know…”
Sirius squinted like he had to give it some thought. “My cousin Andromeda, I think?” he settled for, at length. “She was always a bit of an oddball… kept herself to herself, shut up in her room a lot. Reading, like, all the time. I thought she was the most interesting person in the family. Hounded her like a little menace, wanting to know what she got up to. She’d let me stay if I promised not to bother her, so I did. I’d just sit there quietly. Eventually she’d let me read what she was reading. Sneaky thing, she was – hid Muggle books beneath the covers of wizarding ones. Typical Slytherin.” With a fond little quirk of the lips.
“So I suppose I was already a little bit inclined to like Muggles, before Hogwarts,” he went on, “Or at least not to hate them quite as viscerally as the rest of that lot. Then I met James, ’course, and he knew all sorts of brilliant things about them. And then Remus. He was the first half-blood I’d ever befriended. Merlin, his world was so fascinating to us. The way everything converged.”
He shook his head affectionately, rather dreamy-eyed. “Meeting his mum cemented it. She’s a Muggle, and she’s just… wow. Genuinely the most incredible person in the world. Moony’s got shit luck in every other way, poor blighter, but I tell ya – he won the fuckin’ lottery, in that.”
“So all it took was one or two years with that lot to convince you the Muggle world was where you really belonged?” Lily chuckled.
Sirius huffed, but he smirked back. “Probably helped that I already hated life at home, to be fair.”
“Oh.” Lily blinked. “Sorry to hear that.”
Sirius shrugged, still smiling ever so slightly. “The wizarding world’s rotten to the core. I know Muggle society’s got its own issues, but at least they’re trying to fix ’em. Here, you can’t even talk about anything that’s wrong if you don’t want to wind up on the wrong end of a powerful family’s wands – it’s a lost cause, if you ask me. I’d rather move, if I can. Start fresh.”
He shook his head, amused. “You’re dangerously easy to talk to, Yoko.”
“Oh, I’m aware.” Lily’s smile stretched crookedly. “I’ve got dirt on half the school. You’re all lucky I’m only polishing up my interviewing skills, not plotting blackmail.”
Sirius laughed in a way that he never had around her before; Lily decided she liked it.
“Besides, Muggle music’s superior,” he added. “I get so jealous of you lot, sometimes. All the talent you can just take for granted.”
“What sort do you like?” Lily obliged, even though she thought she had a fair idea.
“Plain, uncomplicated rock and roll,” he drawled, sure enough. “The usual suspects, y’know. Zep-Kinks-Stones-etc. Suzi Q. You a big music person?”
“Am I ever,” Lily widened her eyes with a grin. “I like most things… Motown, folk, The Beatles… Bob Marley… lately I’ve been into ABBA…”
“Yeah, you did not need to specify,” Sirius snorted, but it was playful. “Little Pattie-Boyd-looking missy like you? Please, Evans, we both know the real reason we’d never get on, you and me. A somewhat-mod and a somewhat-rocker – never the twain shall meet.”
Lily couldn’t help laughing heartily, too. Evidently, when he wasn’t being difficult on purpose, it was a lot easier to see why he and James were the best of friends.
“D’you play anything? An instrument, I mean?” she asked; he shook his head no.
“You?”
“Bit of guitar.”
Sirius sent her a completely unguarded, wide-eyed look. “What, like, electric?”
“No,” Lily laughed, charmed.
“Aw.” Sirius deflated. “I’d like to learn someday. D’you like Queen? They’re mental, their guitars.”
“I’ve only really heard Bohemian Rhapsody.” She smiled. “That drummer of theirs’ rather dishy, though.”
“Roger Taylor? Merlin, tell me about it.” Sirius grinned. “I can’t decide if I want to shag him or look like him.”
Lily stared; Sirius laughed. “Oh, oops. Surprise, I guess,” he drawled sarcastically, spreading his arms.
“Sweet Circe, that makes so much sense,” Lily half-gasped.
Sirius arched both eyebrows. “Be very careful what you say next.”
Lily chuckled and shook her head. “I only meant that Sania Shah’s had her eye on you for years now. No heterosexual male would normally be able to resist Sania Shah.”
Not even James, she thought privately, ignoring the way the notion made her stomach swim.
Sirius rolled his eyes. With a dismissive little wave: “I’m spoken for, anyway.”
He didn’t elaborate, and Lily didn’t pry. Conversation returned to music for a bit, then all that was tangentially related – magazines, clothes, record shops, did-you-see-this-or-that-interview. Lily wanted to know how in the world Sirius managed to access it all; Sirius gleefully recounted the wildest anecdotes about illicit trips into the city, right under his family’s noses. Then talk lingered on London, which Sirius seemed fairly in love with, for quite some time. Any would-be rescuers of theirs still hadn’t turned up, so then Lily indulged the full extent of her curiosity, as soon as she found a lull to – all but interrogating her poor housemate. Well, he was forthcoming about everything except his family, anyhow, which was fair enough.
Eventually they found themselves sitting side by side rather than on opposite ends of the table. Sirius let Lily toy with his hair, and she gave a brief noise of surprise when she found that it was, indeed, as soft as he claimed; not the expected coarseness from having put in product. “Give over. And it isn’t naturally wavy?” she marvelled.
“Nope.” Smugly. “I’m telling ya, Sleekeazy’s perming line works miracles. Asian hair’s not normally easy to style, y’know. Too thick, too smooth. Not very malleable.”
“I used to think you were fully European, only from further east. A Soviet or something, I dunno.”
“Not the first time I’ve been told that. It’s the light eyes, I reckon.”
“This is just pure unfair, though,” referring to his elegant tresses, as she let go of them again. “I’ve tried Sleekeazy’s. I wind up getting tighter curls, rather than this sort.”
“That’d come from using too much at a go,” answered Sirius sagely. “Want me to show you sometime?”
“Oh, yes, please.”
Before Sirius could launch into further wisdom, however, a muffled voice floated through the heavy office door: “—Padfoot? Evans? Is that you in there?”
Sirius and Lily froze mid-breath, exchanging wide-eyed looks that hovered somewhere between relief and delight.
“James,” Lily exhaled, and it gave way to a shaky laugh as tension she hadn’t even realised was present lifted off her shoulders. “Thank Merlin.” She scrambled to her feet with uncharacteristic haste, practically tripping over the chair leg in her rush to reach the door. Sirius was right behind her, his own strides matching her urgency.
“Yeah, it’s us!” he shouted. “You’re about to be my favourite person if you can get us out of this bloody broom cupboard masquerading as an office, Prongsie.”
Outside, James’s footsteps grew louder, every soft thud rising in crescendo as he presumably got closer. “Hang on. It’s locked?” he asked; muffled, but unmistakeably incredulous.
“Brilliant deduction,” Sirius answered drily. “Ten points to Gryffindor.”
Even through the wood, James’s sigh was practically audible. “Alright, alright. Stand back.”
“Wait!” Sirius interjected. “Hex-deflections. Also a double locking charm. Just cast Alohomora at the exact same time as me, yeah? On three.”
Lily’s brow furrowed as she crossed her arms, equal parts impressed and annoyed by their unspoken coordination. Typical, she thought.
“Got ya,” James’s voice replied, all business now. “Say when.”
Sirius took a step closer to the door. He’d drawn his wand by now; the tip gleamed faintly in the dim light. “One…” He bent slightly, poised for action, “Two…”
Lily held her breath.
“Three!”
The two voices chorused, “Alohomora,” in perfect unison— and with a resonant, satisfying click, the lock surrendered to their combined magic.
Sirius could twist the doorknob, at last, and it creaked open with a groan. On the other side stood James, Peter, and Remus, all looking varying degrees of relieved-yet-frazzled. “Finally,” Sirius sighed. He stepped past the threshold with all the urgency of a convict escaping prison; James opened his mouth, but Sirius breezed right past him, making straight for Remus instead.
Lily, who’d stepped out just behind him, watched in mild surprise as Remus pulled Sirius into a firm hug. It wasn’t an unusual thing in itself – she knew their boys were an atypically affectionate lot – but there was something in the way they clung to one another for that brief moment that gave her pause. Sirius buried his face into Remus’s shoulder, for one thing, and when they pulled apart, Remus didn’t let go entirely. He kept his hands on Sirius’s shoulders, his expression tight with worry, murmuring something too quiet for Lily to catch. Sirius replied just as softly, his gaze wholly locked on Remus’s face, and Lily couldn’t help but feel as though she was intruding on something she hadn’t been meant to see.
“Evans?”
James’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts. He was watching her with a faint frown, his hand resting lightly on her elbow as though about to shake her: “You alright?”
“Oh— yeah,” Lily said quickly. She straightened, and shook off the strange feeling. “Fine. Erm. Thanks for coming to get us.”
James’s frown eased into his usual half-a-grin, though his eyes lingered on her face for a moment longer. “What were you two even doing in there?”
“We were running an errand for Professor Vaughn,” she explained. “Had only just stepped inside when the door locked itself behind us.”
“Dodgy door,” James remarked, glancing at it with a raised eyebrow. “Oh, I see, and you couldn’t have blasted it open because of the…”
“Exactly…”
Behind James and Peter, Sirius and Remus had finally separated, though Remus’s hand lingered on Sirius’s arm. They remained absorbed in their quiet exchange – Remus’s brow was furrowed, and Sirius nodded at whatever he said, his usual irreverence completely absent.
“Is Sirius going to be alright?” Lily asked, turning back to James. She clarified, “I gathered he’s got some sort of phobia. Locked spaces… he didn’t seem entirely himself in there.”
James’s expression softened. A flicker of emotion crossed his face. But then he smiled; a small, affectionate thing. “Moony’s got him. Don’t worry.”
It wasn’t just what James said, but the manner in which he said it: calm and assured, as if it were a fundamental fact of the universe that Sirius would be fine as long as Remus was there. Lily tilted her head, studying him for a moment. Only a year ago, she would have mistakenly thought his tone patronising. But she knew it wasn’t really that, now.
“The way you said that…” The corner of her mouth twitched with an insistent smile. “As if you were talking about your own children. Y’know, ‘oh, my eldest can manage the younger one.’”
James blinked, then laughed heartily. “No, no. More like two pet puppies, and one’s more unruly than the other. Well—” He stopped himself, his grin turning almost conspiratorial. “Let’s just say Moony knows what he’s doing when it comes to Sirius.”
There was an odd sort of pride in his tone, Lily thought. She bit back a giggle, wondering if James even realised just how absurdly paternal he sounded. Probably not – there could be something utterly guileless, about him, sometimes – about the way he spoke, the way he carried himself. Lately, it’d led her to wonder if his supposed arrogance wasn’t always arrogance at all, if it was more that he didn’t know how to temper his honesty so that it didn’t come off as… blunt, or overbearing, or egotistical.
The more she thought about it, the more she wondered if it had ever been malicious. Ever even calculated.
She couldn’t follow her thoughts any further, however. The sharp clicking of heels alongside the thud of boots against the stone floor pulled her attention back to the present. Professor Vaughn appeared around the corner, gesturing animatedly as she spoke. Professor McGonagall kept pace beside her, her own hands clasped neatly in front of her robes.
“—Not without precedent, of course, but I— oh.” Vaughn stopped mid-sentence. She blinked in surprise at Lily and the others. “What are you still doing here?”
Sirius crossed his arms, then stepped forward, half-scowling. “What we’re doing, prof, is recovering from being imprisoned in your little newspaper cupboard,” he declared, gesturing broadly at the offending door. “Why couldn’t you have warned us you’d slapped half a dozen charms on it? Bit of a nasty surprise, eh.”
Vaughn’s eyebrows shot up. Her features tightened. “Charms on the door? I—” She faltered— glanced toward McGonagall, who’d also paused mid-step. Something seemed to pass between the two professors then, in total silence. When Vaughn turned back to them, she’d recovered her self-assured demeanour, her voice regaining its professionalism. “I’m sorry, Mr Black, Miss Evans. That should never have happened. It was a careless oversight on my part.”
Professor McGonagall, whose shrewd eyes were scanning the group with their customary mix of sternness and concern, added, “Are you quite alright?”
“Yeah,” Sirius replied with a shrug, and Lily echoed the sentiment, if more deferentially.
The professors exchanged another brief glance. Then, Vaughn adjusted her waistcoat with a tug, and McGonagall inclined her head toward them all, in acknowledgement. Without another word, they continued along the corridor, their conversation resuming in quieter murmurs.
Lily watched them until they disappeared around the corner, her brows furrowing. Something about the exchange nagged at her, a thread of unease she couldn’t quite shake. She turned, about to say as much, but before she could get a word out James’s voice cut through the silence.
“Wormtail.”
It wasn’t a question; it was a command.
Peter straightened immediately. His usual nervous fidgeting was replaced by an unusual stiffness; he nodded once, jaw tight, then slipped off after the professors, moving with surprising agility for someone who tended to blend so unobtrusively into the background otherwise.
Lily blinked, frowning in confusion as she turned to James. “What are you—?” she began, but he shook his head quickly, raising a finger to his lips in a request for silence.
The look in his eyes was serious, far more than she was used to seeing out of him. She closed her mouth, if only because this James intrigued her, always had, since that first evening so many months ago now.
The moments stretched on in uneasy silence as she waited. Sirius and Remus had rejoined the circle by then, but neither of them spoke, either; only hovered, like this was a normal occurrence for them – perhaps it was. The only sounds in the corridor were the distant echoes of footsteps and the soft rustle of fabric.
Lily shifted impatiently – she couldn’t stand the sudden suspense, or being so far removed from whatever was unfolding for much longer. Just as she opened her mouth to ask again, however, Peter reappeared.
His face was flushed, eyes wide and flickering with an intensity like excitement and fear all at once. When he spoke, his voice was low, as though afraid someone might be eavesdropping.
“Vaughn told McGonagall she hadn’t actually cast the charms on the door yet,” he said, all of it tumbling out in a rush. He paused, as if he wasn’t entirely certain how to phrase what he had just heard: “But, she said something like… well, it sounded to me like she’d mentioned it to McGonagall before? That she planned on casting them? They reckon…” Beady eyes darted, uneasily, from one face to the next, clearly seeking some sort of confirmation that they were following.
Lily nodded her encouragement, as did James. “They reckon someone might have been spying on them,” Peter went on. “As in, like, that someone heard Vaughn say that, then cast the charms themselves. To make it look like her – you know, plausible deniability.”
A chill ran down Lily’s spine. “Spying?” she repeated, trying to piece together the implications.
Peter nodded. “They were debating if it’s likely… but they didn’t sound convinced that it wasn’t.”
Lily stared at him for a long moment. A memory rose up unbidden: Severus’s face, so drawn and weary, as if… as if he’d been losing sleep…
The boys were still convening amongst themselves, oblivious to her epiphany. “—The same people who put up the notices?” Remus was saying; Sirius muttered, darkly, “It’d certainly add up…”
Lily’s thoughts churned. Her mind caught on the image of Severus’s hollowed cheeks, the shadows beneath his eyes. The way he’d hurried past her, clutching his bag like it contained something fragile— or incriminating? Had it just been fatigue that she’d seen, or was it guilt? Fear? He seemed ill, lately, but what if it was the sort of illness that followed a restless conscience? What if he was caught up in something he wasn’t prepared for? What if he’d been the one tailing Professor Vaughn, tasked by that lot? After all, it was likely Vaughn’s essays that’d provoked Mulciber, the last time… Mary thought so, anyway, from the way Sev had kept needling her in class…
James seemed to notice her distractedness, and ventured, “Evans?”
Lily slowly turned to look at him. Her heart felt heavy, with something a bit like sadness, although not quite – dismay, perhaps. She wasn’t sure how to say what she was thinking, at first – only held James’s gaze, long enough that he shifted uneasily, his typical confidence slipping under her scrutiny.
Finally, she asked, in a quieter voice than intended, “How’d you know where Sirius and I were earlier? You couldn’t have asked Vaughn. She was surprised to find us here.”
James froze, hand halfway to his hair. Peter and Remus stopped talking, too; their attention snapped to her with identical looks of alarm. Sirius arched an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.
Lily pressed on despite their squirming. “I was thinking about something,” she said almost to herself; she met James’s eyes again. “You remember Bertram Aubrey? A few months ago? He was furious with you lot after that prank – how every door he opened turned into a stone wall.”
James coloured. “W-Well, he’d been getting mouthy about things that didn’t concern him, in Defence class, I just— I don’t do that anymore, though.”
Lily shook her head before he’d even finished the sentence, silently assuring him that this wasn’t about his behaviour, for once. “Putting two and two together,” she murmured, “It seems to me – mental as it sounds – like, like you’ve got some way of… maybe tracking people? Around the school?” She sucked in a breath. “Am… am I right?”
James didn’t answer immediately. He glanced at the others. Peter looked panicked, Remus pensive, Sirius unreadable.
Lily spoke up again, not waiting for a reply. “What if…” She trailed off, had to swallow hard before she could start again. “What if I, erm… knew that someone… someone was behaving… rather oddly? Someone who might be involved in this? Could you… could you track him? Find out if that’s true?”
The Marauders exchanged a look, the sort that spoke volumes in silence. Finally, James nodded, if reluctantly. “Yeah. We could.”
Lily took a deep breath, and proceeded to explain everything.
Notes:
It really grinds my gears when I see people having real, genuine, proper, with-their-ENTIRE-chests discourse about how the Death Eaters or Salazar Slytherin had a point, because wizards were oppressed by Muggles first. It’s literally canon that 99.9% of actual witches and wizards escaped the Persecution using magic, please sit down and stop trying to read coherent political allegory into fucking Joanne Koanne Rowling LMFAO.
Given that there was a Bible verse on Lily and James’s memorial thingy, it’s safe to assume one of them was (at the very least raised) Christian. It isn’t James, in this series, so I went with the Evanses instead.
I actually couldn’t find a real (i.e. “primary”) source for Eugenia Jenkins having been a Muggle-born minister, just the one mention of it on the Harry Potter Wiki. Obvs, having moved here from comics fandom, I’m woefully familiar with how Wikia admins will literally just say whatever the fuck without basis, so take that with a grain of salt; I’m only including it because it happens to be convenient for my narrative as well, LMFAO.
Forgot to add a note on the canon basis for Sirius’s affinity to the Muggle world in our previous instalment (spring), so, here go: I based it on Sirius enchanting a motorbike (very Arthur-esque) + the fact that according to Harry he has Muggle posters on his bedroom walls + in the movies, he makes a “chemistry” jab at Snape (rather than referring to it as “Potions,” that is) and also chooses to punch rather than hex Lucius in OotP.
The history of wizards working with the aristocracy is, in part, based on the Pottermore article about the Malfoy family. It’s kind of not canon (or at least contrary to Word of God) that Muggles and witches/wizards aren’t actually different species – I feel like JKR has said this in other places as well but off the top of my head I can only remember Fantastic Beasts where Newt makes a direct reference to differing physiologies (which, WTF) and in her Pottermore article about werewolves she says Muggles aren’t as likely to survive being bitten or something like that. But that’s one of those Word of God bytes that I’m going to discard for this series, because honestly, if her entire thesis with HP was about eugenics, she totally shot herself in the foot by canonising that – not that she hasn’t already done so plenty of times with other things as well, LMAO, but you know.
Anyway, can someone please let fantasy authors know that eugenics is not only ethically and morally wrong, but also factually baseless? Because I think these people only caught on to the first half of that…
Chapter 13
Notes:
Thank you for every kudos, comment, bookmark, and second spent with this story, appreciates you.
Red has got me reading Peter Pettigrew and the Ghost of Christmas James (by gonzoclock) and y’all, the characterisations and tropes are so, so similar between it and this that literally none of you are going to believe me when I say I genuinely have never read it before (´∀｀；) I swear on God, that’s the only reason it’s not on the inspirations list at the start of this series, I’m of the Old Guard™ Marauders fandom and haven’t read a single thing past 2015. But to the point, it’s such a fun read, and if you enjoy this, I’d defo recommend checking that out as well.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The murmur of voices slithered through the cold stone corridors like smoke – faint, and curling. Paz pulled his robes tighter around himself as he hurried past a cluster of Hufflepuff girls leaning against a tapestry. Their laughter seemed to follow him, light and whispery, but as their words reached his ears the sound seemed to sharpen on purpose.
“—Absolute disaster, wasn’t it?” one said; “Dead boring,” another agreed. “Honestly, what was the point? Felt more like a funeral, not a party.”
Paz’s jaw tightened. His fingers twitched at his sides, his wand arm heavy with an itch he couldn’t explain. A chill ran down his spine, though whether it came from the winter draught or his own mounting paranoia, he couldn’t say.
He quickened his pace, but the words chased after him, bouncing off the walls in a hundred mocking echoes:
“Hardly anyone turned up…”
“Maybe that’s how that lot likes it. The pure-bloats. Quiet and dull…”
“Pure-bloats! Ha, because they’re drunk on their own blood…?”
“Exactly! Traditional, they called it. My arse. I’d call it desperate…”
The corridor blurred as the words dug deeper into Paz’s flesh. Were they really talking about the Halloween dinner, or were they talking about… him? About his article? He clenched his fists until his nails bit into his palms, forcing himself to keep walking.
His mind raced. Of course the turnout had been poor. They didn’t appreciate tradition anymore. Half-bloods, Mud—no, no, he mustn’t use that word— non-magical families didn’t understand the sanctity of the old ways. Halloween wasn’t about cheap tricks and lurid decorations. It was about honouring the dead, magic steeped in history, bloodlines and ritual power.
But they wouldn’t care about that, would they? No, they’d mock it, laugh at it, laugh at him.
“Did you see the pumpkin display? Looked like something a first-year threw together…”
“Pathetic…”
Their giggles seemed to loop. He halted in his tracks, his breath coming short and fast. His eyes darted to the empty space ahead of him, then over his shoulder to the group still lingering. They weren’t even looking at him, lost in their own chattering, but the humiliation in his chest felt as vivid as though they’d all turned and sneered in unison regardless.
His wand hand twitched again. It would be so easy. A flick of the wrist, a whispered spell, and he could silence them. Show them. Teach them respect.
Paz squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled slowly and deliberately, trying to force the thoughts away. But they coiled back tighter. The anger twisted and knotted until it choked him.
Somewhere… somewhere deep, deep inside of him… a little voice tried to cry that this wasn’t like him. That he didn’t used to feel like this… this sharp, simmering rage at everything and nothing all at once…
But it drowned underneath the roiling tide of righteous fury, swept away by the desire to do something, anything.
The laughter faded as he stormed down the corridor. His heart pounded against his ribs like a war drum. The walls felt as though they were closing in, the shadows whispering his name.
By the time he reached the end of his path, Paz didn’t know whether he wanted to scream or cast the first curse that came to mind. Either way, the anger burnt hotter than ever, a fire that he couldn’t seem to put out anymore.
…Yes… a fire…
James decided that somebody up there either had it out for him, or he’d been an absolute git in another life, because Great Godric, did he have shite karma. When he’d wanted to befriend Lily, she’d loathed him, couldn’t even stand to spend five seconds in his presence. Now that he’d resolved to respect her wishes and move on, however, here he was, climbing the stairs to the boys’ dormitories in Gryffindor Tower with Lily Jane Evans right behind him. Not metaphorically, not figuratively – literally, holding onto the back of his robes, so she wouldn’t give away her presence beneath his Invisibility Cloak.
Honestly, there were cosmic jokes, and then there were cosmic jokes.
It wasn’t that James didn’t value having this much. He did; he truly, deeply did. Having Lily join him and his mates, trusting them enough to sneak up here with them – that meant something. It felt nice.
But it also stung – like pulling a jumper over a fresh scrape. He’d barely begun to shove his feelings for her into some distant corner of his mind, barely been able to let the bruise of unrequited love dull into something manageable. And suddenly this: she was there, walking so close he could feel her breathing through the Cloak. Her hand accidentally brushed his back every time they turned a corner, and he was supposed to act as though it didn’t send his brain into a tailspin?
James bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. He was supposed to be over this. He’d told himself – and Sirius – that he was going to try. Lily wanted a friend, not another besotted idiot pining after her when he ought to accept defeat, appreciate the chance to enjoy her company at all.
And yet.
Here he was – painfully aware of every step she took behind him, of the faint smell of spearmint from her shampoo and the way her hands pinched at his clothes. Worst of all, he couldn’t stop replaying the way she’d looked at him, when she’d asked for this favour – those lovely, pleading eyes that could have undone stronger men in seconds.
He forced his attention solely and entirely on the task at hand. Remus and Peter were walking a step behind them, Sirius, one in front – more or less forming a sort of barricade that would help prevent anybody else from bumping into Lily and exposing them. They kept up easy conversation to make things seem even less suspicious, but James admittedly found it hard to concentrate on that, all things considered. The journey up to their dorm – which was normally so second-nature to him that it barely felt like seconds – suddenly seemed more like a thousand years this evening. But they made it to their door without incident, thank Merlin, and sheer relief flooded James as he finally ushered Lily inside.
She threw the Cloak off the moment the door clicked shut behind her. Absently passed it to James over her shoulder, in a manner so unconscious that he wondered if she was even fully aware of whatever she was doing anymore. There was an urgency to her – there had been since the newspaper office – she didn’t look at him or the others, she didn’t survey the room; her attention was wholly on Peter, who was currently making his way over to the trunk at the foot of his bed, where they’d tossed the map a minute ago after scouring it for Sirius because he hadn’t turned up for dinner.
James fidgeted, suddenly hyperaware of how chaotic the room looked. Sirius’s bed was a disaster, sheets half-dragged onto the floor; Peter’s desk had a pile of crumpled parchment on it, and what looked suspiciously like a crust from a long-abandoned sandwich. And his own area – well, at least his broomstick was leaning neatly in the corner, but he winced at the scattered Quidditch gear and the stack of untidy books next to his bed. He tried to subtly nudge a sock under the nearest bedpost with his foot, but Lily didn’t seem to notice, or if she did, she gave no indication of it.
Merlin, James hoped the place didn’t smell. He couldn’t be sure. Girls were fussier about such things. Well, Sania hadn’t complained, that one time, but then they’d both been a little bit tipsy…
He stole another glance at Lily. She was following behind Peter now – arms crossed impatiently over her chest, brows knitted in a way that made her look a bit like Professor McGonagall. There was no sign of the usual warmth or playfulness in her expression. She was all business, completely absorbed in her mission to find Snape.
It shouldn’t have mattered, but James found himself wondering it anyway, against his will: was she this unconcerned about being up here because said goal of hers had momentarily turned her that single-minded, or… was it because she’d been to the boys’ dormitories before? A flicker of jealousy reared its head, unbidden and unwanted. He shoved it down, returning his attention to Peter, who’d picked up the piece of parchment spread out where they’d last left it.
Lily stepped forward hastily, even though she squinted in confusion. Peter, probably reflexively, handed it to her without charming it “on.”
Spotting an opportunity to lighten things a little bit – ease Lily’s obvious tension – James walked over as well, leaning down to give her a smile once he was by her side.
“It’s just a blank bit of parchment?” she was saying, almost to herself.
“Well, first you’ve got to clarify: are you or are you not up to no good?” said James teasingly. “And bear in mind you’re among Marauders, so there is a correct answer.”
Lily, surprised out of her concentration, blinked up at him. “Sorry?”
“Just say that you are,” said Sirius, rolling his eyes. He was half-sitting on Peter’s trunk, now, watching them with typical insouciance.
“Er… apparently so, then.” Lily scrunched up her nose, perplexed.
James grinned. “Do you swear?” (He ignored the way Remus was shaking his head at him – if with a smile – as he came up behind Lily, too.)
“Suppose there’s a correct answer to that, as well?” Lily arched an eyebrow. “I guess I do.”
“Do you solemnly swear?” Peter joined in.
“What’s this about, then?” Lily sighed, clearly starting to lose patience.
Remus reached across, over her shoulder, and tapped at the parchment. “You want to hold your wand to it and say that in full, Lily.”
“Say what in full?” Lily frowned, even as she drew her wand, absently letting it hover by the map. “That I solemnly swear I’m up to no good?”
The parchment, of course, responded accordingly: its surface shimmered as ink began to swirl and bloom outward. James watched Lily’s eyes widen as the map transformed before them, fine lines etching themselves like an invisible quill was racing across it. Names appeared, corridors sprang to life, and towers and staircases took shape. Within seconds the entirety of Hogwarts was spread out before her, alive with the tiny moving dots of its inhabitants.
Lily took an involuntary step backward, her mouth a circle. “Wh—?” she began, but it never materialised into an actual word as she reached out to trace the edges of various letters. Her breath hitched – probably spotting familiar names drifting along the corridors, or maybe her own, and the cluster of boys around her.
James couldn't help himself; his chest puffed up just a little, and he leaned closer, watching her reaction with an unrestrained grin. “Impressive, isn’t it?” he said, as if it wasn’t blatantly obvious from her expression.
She didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes darted around the map, taking it all in. Clearly understanding its purpose now, she folded it up so she could see the back. Her fingers trembled as they hovered over the delicate loops of their signatures at the top: “Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs…” she murmured; glanced up at them sharply, bewildered. “You— this is yours?”
James rubbed the back of his neck, struggling to be casual even though he knew he was practically glowing. “Made it ourselves,” he said, and couldn’t help the pride in his voice.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Sirius leaning against his bedpost, a smirk on his face as if to say, damn right, we did. Pete’s grin was more modest, but there nonetheless, and Remus, as usual, tried to play it down: “Mostly trial and error.” Though there was a gleam in his eye. It was one thing to be satisfied with their work on their own, but to have its ingenuity validated by somebody else birthed a new type of pride. James knew he’d been right to insist to the others that they leave the map behind, here at Hogwarts, for posterity…
Lily turned back to it now, utterly transfixed. “You made it?” she repeated, as though saying it out loud might help her grasp the fact. “A map… and it tracks everyone? Everywhere?”
“More or less,” Sirius said, his tone as glib as it usually was around her, though even he was clearly pleased by her astonishment. “Not bad for a bit of spare time tinkering, eh?”
“Spare time,” Lily echoed faintly, still staring. “This is— this is incredible. You four made this?”
“Third time you’ve asked, Evans,” James teased, unable to resist. He couldn’t stop watching her face as she studied their brainchild, her earlier anxiety momentarily replaced by something close to awe.
She shook her head. “I don’t even— how’d you— I’m not sure I want to know.” With a startled laugh, her fingers brushed the ink on the parchment. “Merlin’s beard. I don’t know whether to be impressed or concerned about you lot essentially being stalkers.”
“Oi, we resent that,” James feigned a huff. “We only use it to avoid getting caught when we’re, y’know…”
“Up to no good?” Lily smirked at him, a mischievous thing that made his heart skip a beat.
Pete had leaned over and helpfully pointed out a dot. “There you go, there’s Sni—er, Snape. Right there, see?”
“In his own common room,” Lily observed, the relief in her words audible. “And it’s almost curfew, so… that’s that, then.”
“That’s what you think,” Sirius snorted. “Any real rule-breaking would happen after curfew, not before. Less chance of other students seeing what you’re up to, innit?”
“Oh, right, you’ve both missed dinner,” Remus interjected all of a sudden, like he’d only just remembered. “Pads, come on, let’s get some food in ya. Lily, d’you want anything in particular?”
“Of course you can get food up here as well,” Lily sighed, in a tone that said, why am I surprised? “Thanks, Remus – I’m alright with whatever.”
James, for his part, had been busy scooping up stray clothes off of the only armchair in the room, dumping them on his bed. “Here, d’you want a seat?” he gestured for her, brushing the back of it with his hand as much as he could, hoping it was clean enough. Not that Lily seemed to care all that much; she strode over, eyes still on the map, and sat down. Remus and Sirius had left, by this point, and Pete made himself comfortable on the rug by Lily’s feet.
James came up to hover behind her. “Go on, Potter, how does it work?” Lily asked, tilting her head up at him, with a guileless little smile. “Might as well give me the maker’s commentary. While we’re waiting.”
James grinned. He met her eyes rather than glancing at the parchment in her hands. “Well, the tracking bit was the easiest. Homonculous Charm, y’know.”
“Homon—?” Lily gawked at him. “That— that’s not even NEWT-level, that, it’s highly advanced magic! Why, it’s on par with the— the Department of Mysteries—”
Peter was swaying side-to-side, unable to contain his excitement. “Prongs is brilliant at that sort of thing,” he declared smugly. “Magic we’re not supposed to know. He just gets it. From nothing but research!”
Which was hardly out of the norm, for Peter to say, and normally James would have basked in the praise. But having Lily there, for some reason, made him deeply embarrassed to hear it, and he had to physically restrain himself from begging Peter to shut up. “E-Er, I suppose,” he managed, somehow. “Moony’s really the one to thank, though. I’ve got a billion ideas I’ve abandoned after I’ve been bored with them. Moony does the real drudgery – making notes where I forget to, drawing up reading lists. Forcing me to actually finish. A-All that.”
“Downplaying? You, really?” (Merlin, Lily was so lovely when she smiled at him like that…) “Pigs will fly, next. Come on, James, I know you’re smart. I just didn’t realise that applied on the more theoretical side of things as well, that’s all. I thought you were, like… intuitively prodigious.”
Peter guffawed. “Lily, he’s the only bloke I know who reads Transfiguration Today for fun, and isn’t, like, one hundred.”
“Alright, thank you, Mr Wormtail.” James reached down and shoved at Peter’s head, ignoring the blossoming warmth on his face.
Lily was laughing delightedly. “Alright, so Homonculous Charm. For the tracking. And I assume that Cloak has got everything to do with how you lot know Hogwarts well enough to map it. But as far as I know, it’s literally Unplottable. How’d you manage to make a map at all?”
“Ah, that’s not tough either.” James ran a half-abashed hand through the hair on the back of his head. “The castle is Unplottable – which means the castle can’t be put on a map. Doesn’t mean it, in itself, can’t be mapped. Within its own boundaries.”
“So only inside the gates. I’m following.” Lily nodded, impressed. “Well, if that was easy as well, what was tough for you to do, exactly?”
James rubbed at the crook of his neck, suddenly aware of how closely Lily was watching him, her green eyes alight with curiosity. It wasn’t every day she looked at him like that, and he wasn’t entirely certain he could handle it. “Well…” he began, leaning down to rest his arms on the back of the armchair, “The trickiest bit was layering the enchantments. The tracking charm, as I said, was ea—er, was self-sustaining. It does its job well enough on its own. But to make it interactive… that’s where things got complicated.”
“Interactive?” Lily cocked her head.
“Yeah. Map’s not much use to us if it’s only a frozen snapshot of where everyone is at one moment in time. We needed it to be dynamic – always updating itself in real time.” James tapped the edge of the parchment with his finger. “That meant we needed to develop a feedback loop between the map and the charms themselves, so it would recalibrate constantly. Essentially, it’s, like, erm… enchanting the parchment to think? To understand what it’s showing.”
Peter nodded eagerly. “It’s brilliant, really. Prongs sorted out a way to make the map ‘learn’ where it was.”
“Oh, come off it, Wormtail,” James muttered, sure his ears were turning red. “It wasn’t just me, what about Padfoot? Anyway, it’s all about using sympathetic magic, connecting the map to the castle itself.”
Lily’s eyebrows shot up. “Sympathetic magic… like magical resonance?”
James snapped his fingers, pointing at her with a grin. “Exactly. We used the castle’s own magical energy as a sort of guide. It’s teeming with enchantments; probably some of the oldest in the wizarding world. By tapping into those, we could map out its corridors, passageways, secret rooms… everything. And once we had that foundation, we tied the tracking to it.”
“Tapping into them how?”
“Erm, well, Specialis Revelio, in some cases.”
Lily stared. “That doesn’t work on complex—”
“—Enchantments, no, it doesn’t. But on the base magic, yeah.” James bit around a self-conscious smirk. “Working out what charms were layered above took quite a bit of educated guesswork, let me tell you. Took us forever, and about half the library at that. But essentially it was only breaking down the complex charms into their component parts, then reconstructing them. Working backwards, y’know. Then it was only a matter of distilling those onto the map. I— er, we, used calligraphic magic for that. Y’know – bit like staves and sigils.”
“You guessed the enchantments off of their base parts? Merlin’s beard, Potter! And calligraphic… is that why the outlines look like letters?” Lily marvelled, comprehending. “But it isn’t like staves and sigils, really, is it? These are… well, alive. Not a one-time… not a-a, sort of set thing.”
“Padfoot reckons Prongs accidentally invented new magic,” Peter declared proudly.
James huffed. “I did not. It’s a branching-out. It’s like the sort of thing that keeps portraits and Chocolate Frog cards dynamic. Only, written form.”
“Hang on,” Lily interrupted, eyes narrow. “How’d you manage to use Specialis Revelio and not get caught? That sort of interference should’ve—”
“—Set off every alarm from here to Dumbledore’s office?” James finished, with a wide grin. “You’d think so, yeah – in theory. But we weren’t touching the magic directly, we mirrored it. Like… like an echo. So, we weren’t disturbing anything, only sort of… reflecting, or copying, it back onto the parchment. Wormy’s analogy is that we charmed the parchment into understanding that it represents Hogwarts. Bit reductive, but more or less… yeah, that.”
For a moment, Lily just stared at him. Then, slowly, a smile spread across her face. “James Potter,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief, “You’re actually a bloody genius.”
James blinked, momentarily stunned. “Oh, er… thanks?”
“I mean it,” Lily insisted. “This isn’t just clever, it’s— groundbreaking. I don’t reckon even the Unspeakables would think to approach it like that. You’re a proper prodigy! Merlin, and you just sat there and let me say you only get ahead because of your tutors and libraries and things.”
“Right, well,” James hedged, scratching the back of his neck again, “It’s not like those didn’t help. Doesn’t hurt that we aren’t bothered about breaking a few rules, either.”
Peter snorted. “A few?”
James chuckled. “Really, Lily, I’m not being fair. Pads and Moony can say more about their parts when they get here. He’s really bright as well, Padfoot I mean, and like I said, we’d never have actually gotten anything done without Moony sorting out, like, a stepwise strategy. And old Wormtail here’s being modest as well – he’s a dab hand at artwork. Wouldn’t have looked half as nice without him. Or even comprehensible, I’ll bet.”
Peter blushed, then blushed further when Lily gave him an amiable pat on the back. “We could use you on the newspaper, you know,” she said to him, with an encouraging smile.
“E-Erm, I’ll think about it,” Peter managed to squeak out.
James could feel Lily looking at him again, gaze on the side of his face, head tilted. “Sev used to say you learnt his spells as soon as he used them on you…”
James hummed.
“And I know for a fact you lot could do non-verbals as early as fourth year, I’d seen it before. You and Sirius, anyway.”
“Fishing for something, Evans?” James sent her a smile back, in spite of the embarrassment that he felt.
“Oh, nothing.” But her eyes were dancing. “I didn’t even go into detail about Muffliato, either, when I showed you it. Now it’s all over the school. Just imagining what you could accomplish if you put your mind to it, that’s all. Reckon there’s a lot you could do for our society if you turned your attention to anything but Quaffles, Potter. But you don’t want the laurels suddenly, so I’ll quit.”
“Maybe I just don’t want you to go on about me being a – what was it? – an ‘arrogant, bullying toerag’ again,” James half-teased, smirking so she’d know he wasn’t actually offended.
“Hmm.” Lily didn’t laugh, however. Her smile only mellowed. It was a softer look from her than James was used to, and he had to resist the urge to fidget. “I’m beginning to wonder if arrogant is necessarily the right word, if you’ve actually got the talent to back it up,” she granted, playfulness in her own tone as well, though cushioned beneath something rather more sincere. “Maybe, er… maybe it’d be more accurate to call it a… lack of tact.”
Uncomfortable with the sudden tenderness, James chuckled, hoping it didn’t come off as nervous as he felt. “Ah, so I’ve graduated to a tactless bullying toerag, have I?”
Lily swatted at him with the map, making him laugh harder.
Remus and Sirius turned up again, just then, armed with a plate each for Sirius and Lily. “Here, Yoko,” said Sirius as he passed hers over, and James observed in mild surprise that his tone had no bite to it, for once, and that Sirius even actually deigned to meet Lily’s eyes when he spoke.
“Cheers,” said Lily, taking it. Sirius chose to sit on the floor as well, beside Pete; Remus made himself comfortable on the edge of the bed just behind, so Sirius could lean against his shins.
“Any developments with old Snivvy, then?”
“No,” Lily answered as she checked the map. James blinked; he’d half-expected her to retort as well, given the way Sirius had referred to Snape. Evidently the pair were getting on alright all of a sudden – he wondered if something had happened while they’d been locked inside that office.
“Hasn’t gone half-nine yet,” Remus pointed out, having checked his watch. “What’re you gonna do when it’s curfew, Lily? Stay? You could, you know.”
“…Suppose I’ve got to, haven’t I,” Lily sighed. “If there’s a chance Severus might do something after… can’t very well take the map with me, Mary and Marlene might see.” She set the map on her lap, took a bite of her food, and glanced around herself as if looking for something. “Right, and I’ll need to let them know I’m up here, too… or they’ll think something’s happened…”
“Write them a note. Wormtail can take it to them,” said James.
Lily fairly whirled around, shocked in an almost indignant way, though the colour on her cheeks was high. “You’ve even got a way of sneaking into the girls’ dorms!?”
“No! I mean, yeah, but— not what I meant!” James floundered as well, equally flustered. “Just, just trust me, Wormy has a, er… knack for it.”
Remus (laughing at him now, the traitor) passed Lily a spare bit of paper and a quill. “He really does, Lily. Go on, it’s fine.”
“…Starting to think you lot are actually creeps,” Lily huffed half-heartedly, face still pinkish, but she took it and started scribbling away.
“Don’t let that make you scarper. I’ve got no interest in girls, and I bite,” Sirius drawled, with a lofty finger raised. “Can fend them off for yas. Cost you about ten galleons, though.”
James wasn’t sure what to be more startled by, the fact that Sirius had so casually announced being gay, the fact that he’d made a joke with Lily, or the fact that she was actually laughing.
He exchanged a covert glance with Remus, who looked equally surprised, and sent James a helpless shrug in response.
Peter, for his part, took the note that Lily handed him, offered them all a mock salute, then scurried out of the door. He didn’t take very long – rats had marvellous speed, James thought – and rematerialised before Lily had even finished eating.
“Slipped it under the door for them,” he assured her, sitting down again.
“Thank you, Peter,” said Lily graciously.
“Merlin, is he ever gonna get a move on?” Sirius – peering at the map, having cleared his plate already – scowled, annoyed. “Evans, I swear, if we wind up spending the whole night staring at a dot ’cause Snivellus is only sleeping—”
“Calm yer nerves, I’ll be off at ten,” she answered, mirroring his expression. James had never really noticed how similar their mannerisms were before, but he did now, now that Sirius groused at her the way he usually did at them, rather than the colder, more intentional venom that he tended to address her with.
Reminded James a bit of squabbling siblings…
“If he hasn’t done anything by then, I won’t harp on,” Lily was saying, now. “It might not be him, anyway. He’s just been rather…”
She didn’t finish her sentence. Her face was pinched with distant worry.
James opened his mouth, about to crack a joke and ease her tension, but Sirius got there first. He set his plate down on the nearest trunk, stood, patted his thighs with a sharp, clapping noise, and declared: “Right. Might as well do something useful while you’re up here, then.”
James had no idea what he meant, but he disappeared into the bathroom; then came back with one of his varied jars of hair-styling potions. This he rattled at Lily, who, in turn, beamed.
“Oh, brill! Have you got an extra comb, though, because I’m not using one of yours, thank you very much.”
“Ugh, you’re such a princess.” Sirius rolled his eyes. But he strode over to where James was still standing behind the armchair, half-elbowing him out of the way: “Take over the map, Prongsie, there’s a good lad.”
Perplexed, James nevertheless stepped aside. He reflexively took the parchment that Lily handed him over her shoulder. Alright, they really were getting on, what the hell?
He joined Peter on the floor. “…Relegated to errand boy, now, am I?”
“Say that after you’ve been sent delivering things and spying on people all over the school, eh,” Peter retorted, unimpressed.
Remus chuckled. “Pass it to me when you get bored, Prongs.”
“You’re the only one with any semblance of a heart in this room, Moony.”
Sirius and Lily were entirely engrossed in their own business. He’d put a bit of his potion into her auburn locks, was now combing through it using Lily’s own hair-clip – James had always thought those pretty little bows of hers that always crowned her half-ponytail were, well, bows, like, made out of ribbons. Evidently they were actually held in place with metal. Huh.
And they were right back to bickering.
“Honestly, Black, if you’re going to pull all my hair out in the process, just hand me the jar now…”
“Stop whinging. You’ll look magnificent when I’m done. Probably better than you’ve ever looked in your life.”
“You’re pulling too hard!”
“I’m not pulling! You’re being dramatic. Honestly, you’d think you’d never had somebody else do your hair before?”
“Not like this I haven’t! Ow— Sirius, gentler. Merlin, it’s a wonder you can even manage your own.”
“Oi, perfection like my hair takes work, thanks. You ought to be grateful I’m even sharing my expertise.”
“Grateful, sure, that’s the word I’d use.”
“Maybe don’t insult the person that’s holding the jar of goo going into yours. Might come out looking like Snivellus if you’re not careful.”
“…That’s not funny.” (But Lily was visibly fighting mirth, her lips betraying her with their incessant twitching.)
“It’s a little funny,” James couldn’t help saying, charmed by the scene. He grinned when she turned a glare on him, raised both hands in mock surrender: “Got it, I’m just the map bloke.”
“He’s still not moved,” Remus sighed, having glanced over at James’s lap, where the parchment lay.
“You’re not tired, are you, darling?” Sirius asked him, tone gentling as it usually did when he spoke to Remus. (In contrast, poor Lily winced as Sirius tugged too hard again.)
Remus leaned against the bedpost and smiled. “I’m alright…”
“Right, if he hasn’t done anything by ten, we stop. No point losing sleep over nothing,” Sirius said firmly, regardless. Then, sharply at Lily, “Hold still! Or I’ll end up tying your hair into knots.”
“You already have!” she snapped, twisting to glare at him.
Peter – visibly bored – leaned toward James as well. “Remind me why we’re staking out Snape tonight, again? Even if he was the one after Professor Vaughn, he’d have already gotten what he needed if he’s cast those locking charms, wouldn’t he?”
“Whoever cast the charms did it for a reason, Wormy,” Remus explained, patient as ever. “They’re bound to return to the scene of the crime to follow through. Whether or not they’re Snape.”
“Yeah, but, tonight?”
“Most likely.” Remus nodded. “Or Professor Vaughn would have noticed, by tomorrow. Unless that’s the goal, of course… and there’s also a chance that we’ve got their motives wrong entirely – that it’s got nothing to do with Vaughn.” He got off the bed, joining them on the rug; knelt beside James, so he could peruse the map. “I reckon the second likeliest goal would be to cast those charms on other rooms. I mean, I wouldn’t know what for, but it could be.”
“Hmm, I like the way you think, Sherlock Moony.” James’s eyes flitted quickly across the parchment. “Pads, remind me where the weak spots were? When we tried to find whoever put up your essay?”
“Entrance Hall… teacher’s offices… Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Also the corridors along the courtyards,” Sirius drawled, rattling it all off the top of his head as usual. Sirius had an extremely reliable memory, bordering eidetic.
Lily placed a hand on James’s shoulder from just behind him. “Weak spots? Care to clue me in?”
“Oh, er…” James paused, distracted for a second by the touch of her palm. “Right, so there’ve been hex-deflection wards all over the castle ever since what happened to Mary, last year, yeah? We worked out where the wards would be weakest, thinking we’d catch the culprit behind all that business with the notice boards. But then they stopped doing whatever it was they were doing, so we quit, too.”
Lily said, “But don’t hex-deflection wards only stop offensive magic? It wouldn’t have taken anything like that to hang up a few bits of parchment or conjure some floating letters, would it?”
“Sorry, our James is the cleverest at most things, just not when it comes to explaining,” Remus sighed, turning to Lily. “Well, the theory went like this – the culprit could have only managed it if they’d cast their magic at those weak spots; otherwise it would have been dead easy for the teachers to work out who’d done it. Casting a charm on top of an existing charm would have left a much bigger trace than casting on something that hasn’t been enchanted. The hex-deflection wards would have absorbed an ‘imprint,’ so to speak – which would have made spells like Specialis Revelio or Prior Incantato ten times more effective. Do you remember, after that incident, when we all had to queue up before entering classrooms so they could check our wands? That would be why.”
“Right, what Professor Moony said,” James nodded. “Normally, Prior Incantato is simple to dodge – for instance, we just cast a Lumos or Nox after pranks. That way, if the teachers check our wands, those are the only spells that show up, and we can say we’d been reading late or something like that. But if a spell had been cast on a heavily-layered ward – one of the stronger points – well, the same principle that’s at work when Priori Incantatem occurs would kick right in. Then it’d only be a matter of using Prior Incantato on the wand, and Specialis Revelio on the ward – that’d match them up straight away. So it’d give the game away, you see?”
“Ah, energetic echoes, like your sympathetic-magic-feedback-loop thing for the map,” Lily hummed, comprehending. “But Professor Vaughn can’t find out who set her up that way, because the offices are ‘weak spots.’ Got ya. How’d you work out which areas have weaker wards, exactly, anyway?”
“Wards big enough to encompass all of Hogwarts Castle would be very different from something like the one on the Shrieking Shack,” explained Remus. “See, most defensive magic is designed to last a long time, to be effective, isn’t it? And the Shack is small enough that Professor Dumbledore doesn’t have to renew the wards that often. I believe he does it once a year. To set some up around an entire castle, however – it’s a different matter. The magic has to be recast periodically because it thins over time; it’s stretched too far. Y’know, the inverse relation between time and efficacy and space…”
“That’s Wendell’s Law, innit?” Lily echoed. “The efficacy of a defensive charm is inversely proportional to the product of the area it covers and the time it’s expected to remain effective without renewal – E is proportional to one over A times T?”
“Exactly, Wendell’s Law: larger areas weaken wards, longer durations require more power, trade-offs are inevitable.” Remus said. “Because of that, the wards naturally have weak spots at the points where the magic starts to thin. So it was safe to assume that the teachers would have anticipated that and planned accordingly – positioning the weaker areas in places they could afford to overlook. On purpose. Following the same logic, they’d have layered the wards more heavily over high-risk areas – like the entrances to classrooms and lavatories and dorms; the Great Hall. You know, wherever students congregate.”
“Which left spots like the Entrance Hall and the corridors along the courtyards,” James picked up. “Those areas are less of a priority, since it’d be harder for someone to cast a hex there during the day – too open and busy – and at night, no one would be there past curfew. Well, no one’s supposed to be, anyway.” He smiled sheepishly. “Then there were the staff offices; the teachers would prioritise the students’ safety above their own, of course. And finally, the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, since we actually do cast hexes in there from time to time.”
“Right, so this is all guesswork?” asked Lily.
“Nah.” James half-grinned as he lifted the map to show her. “We cross-checked. See the outlines, here? Spot any differences?”
Lily leaned over his shoulder to look, ignoring Sirius’s chiding as he had to let go of her hair. James watched her out of the periphery of his vision; he could see the moment she realised, as her green eyes went round.
“Oh,” she inhaled. James’s grin stretched – he knew she’d spotted the extra line of lettering that encircled the existing ones indicating walls, stairs, and doors. The inner ones for the base magic of the castle; the outer ones for the hex-deflection wards. Some were sparser than others, exactly at the points James and Remus had described.
“Sympathetic-magic-feedback-loop thing,” he explained proudly. “You can’t cast a charm on the castle and not have it reflected here.”
“It’s how we know when the passwords change, for places that are warded in that way,” Remus smiled, as well.
“Wick—ow! Sirius!” Lily yelped as Sirius yanked her backward by the hair again.
“I can’t help it! Stop bending,” he returned.
“But that means Professor Vaughn was always vulnerable, then,” Lily managed to exhale through teeth gritted with pain. “If the wards were weaker around her offices. And if whoever’s behind this came to the same conclusions as you lot.”
“Well no, not quite.” James pushed his glasses further up along the bridge of his nose. “Weaker wards doesn’t mean ineffective ones. They still stop hexes, at the very least. Unless you hit ’em with powerful enough intent.”
“Like when Prongs blew up the door to the Defence office last year,” Peter nodded in comprehension; James, wide-eyed, turned to him and elbowed him hard in the stomach.
Too late, though. Lily asked, “Er, sorry, you blew up what? Why?”
“’Cause Professor Ainsley had me in there and fuckin’ drugged me and I couldn’t do it my own bloody self,” Sirius drawled, nonchalant – almost lazy.
James whirled around to stare; so had Remus and Pete. Lily looked horrified; Sirius only shrugged, continuing to twist locks of her hair between his fingers. “If we’re going to let her in on every Marauder secret, she might as well know that one, too.”
James squirmed uncomfortably, unsure what to say. Lily broke the silence for him, having twisted round so far to gawk at Sirius that he had to stretch his arms quite a bit to go on fiddling with her hair.
“He what? Is that why— Merlin, I did think it was odd the way he just— the resignation— Merlin, Sirius, are you alright?”
A vague smile stayed plastered on Sirius’s face, although it wavered slightly, at the edges. “Relax, Evans. I’m here, aren’t I? All in one piece. Mostly.” He gave an exaggerated tug at one of her strands of hair, probably trying to steer the conversation back to safer waters.
But Lily wasn’t having it. She turned on the chair so quickly that Sirius barely had time to let go of her hair. And then, to James’s astonishment, she surged up from her seat and wrapped Sirius in a fierce hug.
For a minute Sirius stood stock-still, his arms half-raised as if she’d just hexed him rather than embraced him. His wide eyes darted to James, Remus, and Peter, all of whom were now staring at this like they’d been Petrified.
“Er,” Sirius finally managed, awkwardly patting Lily’s back like she was a particularly delicate or highly volatile specimen from the Herbology greenhouses. “A-Alright there. I’m fine. Really. See? Breathing and everything.” Glancing around at the rest of them, wide-eyed and clearly looking for help, “What am I supposed to do with this?” he mouthed, pointing at her.
That made Lily’s shoulders quake with suppressed laughter, at least, even though she also gave a rather wet sniff, and tightened her arms around Sirius’s middle.
Remus shrugged, equally baffled, though he was quite obviously fighting back amusement himself, and his eyes had softened from shock to affection.
Sirius, still visibly uncomfortable, gave Lily’s back another tentative pat. “Alright, jeez, Yoko. Thanks and all, but seriously, it’s old news. Let’s not turn this into some soppy thing.”
Lily pulled back slightly, her eyes shining. “God, boys are such idiots,” she sniffed.
“…Yeah, well,” Sirius waved a hand vaguely. His cheeks were tinged with pink – and, for once, James noted there wasn’t anything biting or sarcastic in his tone. “Just, erm, make sure it stays a secret.”
“Oh, God, of course. On my honour as a Gryffindor.”
“Oi, Snape’s moving,” Peter interjected. James whipped back around to look at the map, glad they didn’t have to dwell on the topic of Ainsley for that much longer.
Remus and Peter, to his left and right, had leaned in close to check as well, but all James could recognise was Lily’s whispery breath against his ear as she bent forward along with them.
He barely processed what he was looking at, and Remus had to be the one to announce, in a disappointed tone: “He’s only heading toward the dorms. Must be curfew.”
“…How would you, er…” Lily hesitated. “Well, how would he go about sneaking around the castle, if it is him? You lot have the Cloak and the map and Merlin knows what else, but I doubt Sev… I mean, with Caretaker Filch and us prefects patrolling… and how d’you reckon whoever put up those essays managed it, for that matter?”
“Oh, whoever did that almost certainly wasn’t working alone,” said Sirius firmly; he’d gone back to doing up Lily’s hair. “Wouldn’t be impossible if you’ve got accomplices – could set up a sort of perimeter, warn each other when somebody’s approaching. Like with a signal or something. We’ve done that before, haven’t we, lads?”
“Aye, and the house-elves and ghosts help if you ask nicely,” Peter agreed. “Most of them, any-road. Peeves might, too, if you’ve got a good enough bribe.”
“Usually to do with mischief-making of his own,” James huffed. “You don’t want to barter with Peeves unless you don’t mind landing in trouble yourself.”
“Right, well, Severus hasn’t got any friends,” Lily sighed. “I suppose it really might not be him.”
“He’d have the prefects’ patrol routes memorised, I’m sure. From having been one himself,” Remus pointed out. “I dunno about Filch… but Snape might be able to use a Disillusionment Charm? If anyone could, it’d be him, no?”
Lily sounded quite sardonic, in a wistful sort of way, as she said, “We’ve got a talented year, haven’t we.”
“Here’s what I don’t get,” said Sirius, “Is— if you’re so concerned about him being after Professor Vaughn, then— why don’t you just report it to the teachers? Why come to us?”
James turned slightly, only enough to catch a glimpse of Lily’s face. Sirius couldn’t see it, of course, being behind her, but James took in how sad she looked, how she worried at her bottom lip, like there were words on the tip of her tongue but she refused to let them spill.
Of course it was obvious why she’d turned to them and not the teachers – James wondered that Sirius hadn’t caught on, but then, he supposed, Sirius probably assumed no one could forgive a so-called friend turning around and calling them a blood slur; for Sirius didn’t know Lily like he did. James remembered that conviction in her eyes, when she’d declared, Unlike you, I don’t only stand up for my friends…
Lily likely didn’t want to land Snape into trouble, or at least to have him marked by the teachers, if she could help it. On the one hand, James more than understood loyalty to that degree. More than. But on the other, he couldn’t help the familiar, uncomfortable twist in his chest – a feeling he’d known all too often, through the years when Lily and Snape had been inseparable. It was a complicated tangle of emotions, sharp and bristling, that always surged whenever he’d seen them huddled together, heads bent in private conversation. It wasn’t only Snape’s sour demeanour, his utter lack of congeniality, or even his dabbling in the Dark Arts that got under James’s skin. It was also the way Lily used to look at him even when he didn’t deserve it. A part of James had always bristled at how she could see something worth her time in someone like that.
But now… faced with that melancholy stamped into Lily’s features… that feeling was suddenly easier to bear; to ignore altogether. It’d been eclipsed by something stronger – a quiet resolve.
Whatever this was, whatever was troubling her, he wanted it gone. He’d trade his own resentment to have her smiling again, any day.
“Come on, Padfoot,” he said, as lightly as possible. “You know how these things go. If it gets to the teachers, it’ll only mean a load of meetings and investigations and the like. Dragging it all out for ages. And they’ve always got to consider that lot’s wellbeing and all of that, too, being as they’re still students, at the end of the day. Who knows if it even gets handled properly? If we can keep an eye on them ourselves, we’ve probably got a better chance of stopping something before it happens.”
Sirius didn’t argue, but James was barely paying attention to him anyway; his focus drawn, instead, to Lily. She had turned her head slightly as well. Her green eyes caught his. For a moment a flicker of surprise turned them round, made her look quite young. This quickly followed by something softer, warmer. Her lips parted, like she might say something, but she didn’t.
The look she gave him – gratitude and relief all at once – was enough to make James’s heart flutter. Better than all the House Cup trophies in the world.
She smiled; he smiled back. He turned back around, back to the map, and he could feel her hands resting on his shoulders again, tentative at first, then firmer when he didn’t shrug her away.
That, that part was bittersweet. I don’t want to be friends with you, he thought, suddenly, candidly. And he hated himself for it, a little bit – that was wrong, wasn’t it? Selfish. What had Moony said? That if he really cared for her, he’d be satisfied with having her be close… well, he wasn’t. If it were really up to him, he’d turn tail and leg it like an absolute excuse of a Gryffindor right about now. If they couldn’t be… more… then this sort of closeness was actually, honestly torture. Had Remus really endured this for so long, with Sirius? Maybe that made James the prat, in comparison. But then a lot of people would be rotters in comparison to Remus-bloody-Lupin, it wasn’t exactly a fair standard.
“Oh, hang on – he’s moving again,” Remus, talking of him, interjected. James leaned forward, grateful for the distraction, eyes narrowing as they locked onto the dot labelled “Severus Snape.” The tiny mark shifted, slid away from the corner it had occupied in the Slytherin dormitories. A low rustle of robes and shuffling feet signalled that the others were pressing in closer, too.
“He’s out,” James muttered, fingers tightening on the edges of the map.
“Finally,” Sirius hissed from somewhere above and to the left of him, impatient. “Thought we’d be here all night waiting for him to stop sulking.”
Snape’s dot glided smoothly out of the Slytherin common room, weaving through the maze of dungeon corridors. James’s knuckles whitened as he tracked its steady progress. Pete, practically bouncing on his knees, craned his neck to see better.
“Reckon he’s meeting someone?” he asked, rather eagerly.
“Doesn’t look like it,” Remus said, pointing at the empty stretches around the moving dot. “No one nearby… just the fifth-year prefects and Filch. Neither of ’em’s anywhere close.”
James did, indeed, spot the dot labelled “Regulus Black,” and wondered idly if he might be Snape’s accomplice. But the idea of a Black stooping to half-blood company made it hard to believe.
Snape’s path continued uninterrupted. Then, abruptly, another dot appeared, cutting briskly across a perpendicular corridor:
“Talk of the devil,” James whistled; a grin quirked his lips up. “Filch.”
“Uh-oh,” Peter said, and jabbed a finger at the map. “They’re going to run right into each other.”
“Perfect,” said Sirius. He leaned in so far that he was fairly about to topple onto James. “Ten sickles says Filch drags him back to the dungeons by his greasy hair.”
“Hush.” Lily’s sharp whisper cut him off; he’d clearly let go of hers, and she was practically cheek-to-cheek with James now.
The dots inched closer. Filch’s moved with a predatory swiftness, Snape’s with shifty deliberation. When they finally overlapped, the Marauders (and present company) all held their breaths.
“They’ve stopped?” Remus said, perplexed. “Are they just standing there?”
“What are they doing, having a staring contest?” Sirius grumbled, leaning closer and squinting at the map himself.
“They must be talking,” James said, and he tilted the parchment slightly as though the angle might offer a better perspective. “But what could Snape be saying to Filch, of all people?”
“Bet he’s bribing him,” said Peter.
“With what?” asked Lily, thinly-veiled exasperation in it.
“Floor polish,” Sirius quipped. “Seeing as obviously Snivvy uses it on his hair.”
Peter snorted, but the joke quickly faded in the room’s growing concentration. Seconds ticked by like hours; then, at last, Snape’s dot began to move again. It slipped past Filch’s and continued along the corridor.
“No way,” James sucked in a breath, breaking the stunned silence. “Filch just let him go?”
Sirius barked out a disbelieving laugh. “Of course he did. Snivvy probably had some pathetic excuse at the ready. ‘Oh, sir, I’m just fetching more beetle eyes for my Potions homework.’”
Peter joined in with a wheezy chuckle. “Or, ‘Mr Filch, I swear on my wand, Professor Slughorn himself sent me.’”
“I suppose that might do it,” Remus said with a resigned shrug. “So much for my Disillusionment Charm theory.”
“Hush,” Lily hissed once more. “He’s moving again.”
All heads turned back to the parchment. Snape’s dot traced a slower path through the castle, ascending a staircase.
“Where’s he heading now?” Peter asked, probably rhetorically; “Up,” James said, as he followed the dot. “Looks like… er, upstairs.”
“Could be the kitchens,” Sirius offered in a lazy drawl. “Getting treats for some slimy little slumber party.”
“Or the library,” said Lily, evidently set on ignoring Sirius’s jokes entirely.
A minute later, the dot veered sharply into a corridor that did, unmistakeably, lead to the library.
“There you go,” Lily huffed, with a smug sort of finality.
“Hang on,” Remus said. His forehead creased as he leaned in closer. “Not just the library. Look where he’s headed.”
The group’s collective gaze snapped back to the map. Snape’s dot moved deliberately across the library’s floorplan, bypassing rows of shelves until it stopped at a heavily marked-off square.
“The Restricted Section?” James blinked. “What’s he doing in there?”
“Light bedtime reading?” Sirius scoffed. “Maybe he’s after Moste Evile Hexes. You know, to unwind.”
Peter snorted. “He would.”
Lily, continuing to ignore the banter, said, “It’s got to be something important if he’s risking getting caught. Unless he really has got permission from Professor Slughorn?”
James shook his head. “Slughorn? Letting someone like Snivellus loose in there? I doubt it.”
“At least he’s not spying on Professor Vaughn like we thought,” Remus offered. “That’s one less thing to worry about.”
James tilted his head, reluctant but unable to deny the point. But it was Lily, surprisingly, who spoke up instead: “Ugh, but I suppose this doesn’t mean he’s not planning on it… just because he’s there now, doesn’t mean this is all he might be up to.”
They fell silent for a minute, busy staring at the dot, now motionless within the Restricted Section. “Alright,” James said, finally, “We keep watching. In case he does.”
To which Sirius gave a great sigh. “Another thrilling night of espionage with the Marauders,” he drawled sarcastically, “Good thing I wasn’t planning on sleeping.”
The dot didn’t budge at all. Time passed slowly as the group continued their vigil over the Marauder’s Map. Sirius had finished doing Lily’s hair, by now – it fell prettily over her face in wavy, yet not quite curling ringlets – and he moved over to sit on the nearest trunk. There was half-hearted conversation, mostly in disorganised tangents, but their collective attention was far too divided for it to be particularly engaging, or even as fun as it had been the last time they’d all gotten together like this – Halloween. And the map changed hands periodically, each of them taking a turn to scrutinise Snape’s dot so that no one got too tired, even though James had to take his glasses off and rub at his weary eyes several times regardless.
But as the minutes ticked on, Sirius grew steadily quieter. At first he’d made his usual flippant comments whenever anyone passed a remark, but his responses became fewer and more clipped as time continued to drag. James kept wary note of it out of the corner of his vision – how Sirius’s posture had stiffened, his gaze dropping more often to the floor than the map. Whenever he did speak, his voice had a curt edge to it.
He’d had quite a day, James supposed; getting locked in like that, earlier, and then being reminded of Ainsley so out of the blue. James caught Remus’s eye; Remus had been thinking along the same lines already, it seemed, because he gave James a small, knowing look, and tilted his head slightly toward Sirius.
“Prongs?” he asked, more a notice than a question.
James nodded. “Yeah, go on.”
Remus returned the nod, then stood and crossed to the corner where the Invisibility Cloak hung on a hook. He draped it over his arm, then approached his boyfriend.
“Come on, Padfoot,” he said quietly, coaxing Sirius up by an elbow. “Come on, let’s step out for a bit.”
Sirius didn’t argue. He gave a noncommittal noise, then followed Remus out of the room, though his movements were slower than usual.
James didn’t need to turn around to know Lily was watching them go, her brow furrowed. “What’s that about?” she asked, sure enough, tapping James’s shoulder as soon as they’d left.
James turned his head slightly to give her a reassuring smile. “Nothing major. He’s just had a long… eventful day, you know? Mood’s all over the place, especially now that he’s knackered.”
Lily arched an eyebrow. She looked like she had several follow-up questions she was holding back, but she didn’t press the matter – settling back into her seat instead, while James returned his attention to the map.
The dormitory felt quieter, with Sirius and Remus gone. James found himself gripping the map a little tighter, realising he couldn’t pass it off to either of them now, and had to keep more alert.
Peter fidgeted on the rug nearby. Occasionally, he craned his neck to get a better view of the map in James’s hands. Lily – still perched on the armchair – rested her chin on her hand, watching along in a detached, half-interested way, every time James checked on her.
The light from the sconces seemed dimmer now, flickering lazily as the hours dragged on. James forced himself to stay attentive, eyes fixed on Snape’s dot, which remained resolutely still. But time was wearing steadily on, and Peter’s movements beside him grew slower and less frequent. Eventually Pete gave a long yawn, stretched out his arms, and slumped back against the rug. Within minutes, his breathing had evened out – he was sound asleep.
Lily held out longer, occasionally asking a hushed question or making an astute remark, but her voice grew softer every time. At some point she leaned back upon the armchair, tucked her legs beneath herself, and rested her head against the armrest. It wasn’t long until her breathing, too, became steady and rhythmic.
James glanced up at her, blinking to keep his vision clear. He thought briefly about waking her, telling her she’d be more comfortable in her own dorm, but the idea slipped away almost as soon as it had arrived; it was getting harder and harder to hold onto thoughts at all.
His own exhaustion was creeping up on him, now. The map seemed to waver and swim in his hands. The ink blurred at the edges as he stared at it. He blinked, hard, trying to bring Snape back into focus. But it seemed like the lines of the castle were shifting, slipping out of place like melting wax.
Just a bit longer, he told himself. Mustn’t fall asleep. Got to keep watching…
His grip on the map loosened slightly. His eyelids drooped despite his best efforts. He blinked again, slower this time… and, when his eyes closed, they stayed that way. Vaguely, he felt the map slide from his hands, the faint crackle of parchment barely registering in his mind… then sleep finally overtook him.
He woke with a jolt, head snapping up and heart hammering in his chest. For a brief, disorienting moment, he couldn’t quite remember where he was – it wasn’t light out, yet, and the flickering candelabras and sconces were all that painted the room. Then it came back to him – the map, the watch, the hours that had dragged on and lulled them into unintended sleep. His hand shot out instinctively, fumbling for the map, and relief blossomed when his fingers brushed the familiar texture of parchment where it had fallen beside him.
He glanced over his shoulder – checking on Lily first. She was still curled up in the armchair, her head resting against the armrest, auburn hair spilling over her face in soft waves. Her breathing was steady; her chest rose and fell rhythmically in the quiet. James let out an unconscious exhale: she looked peaceful, undisturbed by his abrupt movements earlier.
He turned; Pete was slumped beside him on the rug, snoring softly. His head had lolled to one side where it rested against the chair, and his legs sprawled awkwardly in front of him. James felt a brief pang of guilt – they’d been meant to keep watch, but here they both were, dozing off when they should have stayed vigilant…
He glanced at the map again, just in case it wasn’t entirely pointless yet. The familiar sprawl of Hogwarts stared back in precise detail, and his eyes flickered immediately to find the dot labelled “Severus Snape.” It was no longer hovering in the library; instead, it was back within the Slytherin dormitories, surrounded by a tight cluster of other names. James frowned; well, if Snape had done anything in the night, they’d only find out about it along with the rest of the school now. He sighed, then set the map down beside him. Spilt potions. Sirius and Remus weren’t back as yet, likely off cuddling and snogging in some broom cupboard or the other. James stretched…
He hesitated for a moment, but decided he couldn’t stay on the floor forever, and besides, it wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of him to let Lily stay here without her conscious choice, now that he was awake and alert enough to realise the fact. He stood, stretched out a hand, carefully brushed her shoulder: “Evans? Evans. Lily,” he coaxed softly, “Come on, time to wake up…”
Lily stirred. Her brow furrowed as she blinked herself awake. Her green eyes, hazy with sleep, focused on him with dawning recognition. Then her expression shifted abruptly to alarm, and she sat up straight: “Oh, no!” she hissed, “Did I fall asleep here? Sh—I need to get back or I’ll be in so much trouble!”
James held up a hand, offering a lopsided grin; even disoriented, she was cute. “Relax, it’s only half past five. The castle’s barely waking up; we can get you to your dorm no problem.”
Lily glanced at the wall-clock, the worry lifting slightly from her shoulders. “But Remus and Sirius took the Invisibility Cloak,” she pointed out nevertheless, brushing her hair away from her face and giving him a sceptical frown.
“Details,” James waved airily. “I like a challenge. Anyway, if we do get caught, you have my full permission to deny everything and let me take the fall. Just say I jinxed you into sneaking out.”
That made Lily laugh, at least, relaxing further as she shook her head at him. “You’re ridiculous,” she muttered, though there was warmth in it. Rising from the armchair, she smoothed out her skirt and gave him an expectant look: “Fine. But I actually will hold you to that promise, just so you’re aware.”
“Sure. I made it on my honour,” said James solemnly, though he couldn’t quite fight a grin, belying it. He gestured toward the door with an exaggerated flourish, “Shall we?”
Rolling her eyes, but smiling faintly, Lily followed him as he led the way out of the dorm room. As expected, the corridor outside was completely empty, and it was easy enough to scurry along, then down the boys’ staircase. Lily was already adept enough at masking her footfalls, it turned out, and they made it to the common room without incident.
Here, at least, there was no immediate danger of getting caught, so James slowed a little. After tossing a quick glance at the portrait-hole, he dropped his voice to a whisper and brought Lily up to speed. “Snape’s back in his dormitory now,” he said. “Tucked away with the rest of the snakes.”
Lily frowned, disappointed. “So we never found out what he was up to in the Restricted Section,” she whispered back. “All that time, and we still haven’t got a clue why he was sneaking around in the first place.”
James huffed ruefully. “Yeah, we botched it, didn’t we? Should’ve planned it better – set up shifts or something, so at least one of us stayed awake.”
“That would’ve been smarter,” Lily agreed. Her lips quirked upward in a small smile. “Well, it’s too late now. Let’s just hope he didn’t get up to anything worse than that.”
James cocked his head as he considered this. “Suppose he didn’t? Suppose nothing happens today? Should we try again tonight, d’you reckon? Plan it out better… and you wouldn’t even need to be there, really, if you’re happy with us doing the boring bit for you.”
Lily gave him a long, appraising look in response. It was hard to read her expression. Then, with a small sigh and a reluctant smile, she said, “And I can trust you with that? Honestly?”
It was a genuine question, James could tell from her tone. He gave a low chuckle, turning to face her fully. “I promise. No ratting Snape out to anyone but you.”
There were a million questions in her eyes when she met his, but no surprise. They’d reached the bottom of the girls’ staircase, by then. Lily was watching him as if he was a difficult puzzle she desperately wanted to solve; James wished he had explanations for her more logical than, “I like you more than I hate Snape,” even if that was the honest one.
She didn’t ask any of them, anyway. Only turned away, smiling at their shoes as she murmured, “Thank you. I haven’t said it, have I? I really, really appreciate it, James.”
There was a warm, pleasant ache in James’s chest. He couldn’t stop grinning.
“I mean it,” she said, lifting her head again. “He’s been… ill, or something, I don’t know. I want to know.”
James thought, if Lily ever said “I want…” in that tone again, he’d put his whole soul into getting whatever it was for her, even if he had to lasso the moon. But he didn’t dare say it, not wanting to cross the line in the sand she’d drawn between them.
Just as he opened his mouth to make a joke and lighten things, however, a soft gasp from slightly above made them both freeze. James’s head jerked up to look – a younger Gryffindor girl, a first- or second-year by the look of her, stood on the landing, her wide eyes darting between them. Her cheeks had turned pinkish, as if she’d stumbled onto something she shouldn’t have. Her gaze lingered just a second too long and James was aware what this looked like – a girl and a boy, very clearly trying to sneak back up into the dorms, having spent the night together – and he could feel his face flush. Lily had gone red, too; James mentally swore, wondering what a busybody was doing out and about already, anyway. Late Astronomy? Early riser? Just that curious to find out where the school’s resident social butterfly, Lily Jane Evans, had disappeared off to?
Merlin, he wished they weren’t them.
Lily, meanwhile, swore out loud, and hurriedly hopped up a couple of steps to get closer to the eavesdropper. “Eliza, don’t— don’t even think about spreading this around, alright?” Her tone was pleading, but firm, her own cheeks now rose-coloured.
Eliza – and of course Lily would know her by name, James thought fondly – giggled; it sounded both embarrassed and delighted. “Won’t say a word,” she whispered back, holding up a hand, as if she was swearing an oath. “Promise.”
Lily groaned, covering her face with one hand. “I mean it. Not to a single soul.”
“I’ve said I won’t!” Eliza replied, still tittering; and then she darted away, presumably back to her own dorm. Her laughter echoed faintly behind her.
Lily turned back to James, still blushing a fierce shade that almost matched her hair. “Bollocks. What are the odds she’s actually going to let that go?” Endearingly, she hid behind her hands, but was still smiling when she parted them, cupping her face instead.
“Zero,” James winced as well, equally flustered, though he hoped he hid it better. “Which, I’ll have you know, is entirely your fault. Being as you’re Lily Evans, and you know everybody.”
“Ugh!” Lily gave him an indignant knock on the arm. “Well, you’re James Potter, and everybody knows you!”
“Touché. Lock us both up and throw away the key, your honour.” James grinned. “You could always tell the busybodies you were out here telling me off. The entire school knows how much you love doing that, now.”
Lily groaned again, but didn’t fight a mortified laugh. “You’re not helping!”
James chuckled. “Not trying to help. Trying to make you laugh, so your face keeps doing that spectacular impression of a tomato.”
She swatted at him again, and they both laughed… then fell into a brief, companionable silence. Lily hesitated at the foot of the stairs; her hand trailed along the banister as she glanced back at him: “…See you, Potter,” she said softly.
“Later, Evans,” he replied. His grin softened as he watched her climb up the steps. She paused near the top, then glanced back, briefly, as if to make sure he was still there. He gave her a little wave, and she smiled somewhat. She disappeared, up, onward to her dorm.
James stayed where he was until he was certain she’d reached her room without incident. When he could hear the door at the top of that spiral of stairs clicking shut, he sighed, and ran a hand through his hair.
I don’t want us to be friends, he thought again, though it was more wistful than urging him toward doing anything – other than get over it, he supposed.
With a small, pained smile, he turned back toward the common room and the boys’ staircase beyond – though the afterimage of her laughing lips lingered in his mind, and left him feeling some odd, awful mix of fondness and melancholy all at once.
Notes:
People might potentially be in danger right now and James is like LILY EVANS? IN MY BEDROOM? :V
Kind of a drier chapter I know, but what’re you gonna do, plot’s gotta plot.
Not to geek out (he says, proceeding to geek out), but, the difference between James-smart and Remus-smart To Me™ is that if you fit them into David Kolb’s learner types, James would be a Converging type and Remus would be an Assimilating type. Which is such an IYKYK statement, LMAO, but yeah.
I know, it’s a miracle Lily hasn’t noticed about the Wolfstars Wolfstarring, but what can I say, man? Harry’s personality is so often compared to hers for a reason. (*≧▽≦)ﾉｼ)) “Embraced Black like a brother” indeed, Harold…
Chapter 14
Notes:
Your support is like a warm cup of tea on a rainy day, thank you so much for being here.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Nothing happened on Tuesday, despite Remus and the others keeping a close eye on Professor Vaughn via the map whenever they could, being as they had no classes until the afternoon. They hadn’t spotted anyone tailing her, and Snape appeared to be diligently going about his own business: lessons, followed by a visit to the library – not the Restricted Section this time around.
“I’m not convinced,” said James, over lunch. “And I’ve told Lily we’d give her a hand, so if we spot Snivellus anywhere near there tonight, we’d better have a strategy.”
“We can’t stay up again – tomorrow’s a very furry night, you berk,” Sirius scowled. “Moony needs his rest, dun’t he?”
Remus smiled into his pumpkin juice. “I don’t mind. Anyway, you lot need rest for it too, so if you can stay up, I don’t see why I shouldn’t.”
“I don’t like fighting you on this, darling, but I will if I’ve got to,” Sirius warned, with a half-concerned and half-longsuffering expression on his face.
“Calm yer tits, it’s not gonna take all night this time. Swear,” James said, rolling his eyes. He leaned in close, which prompted Remus and the rest of them to do the same – “As soon as we see Snape in the Restricted Section, if we do, we’ll just nip down there ourselves and find out what he’s reading, that’s all. That should give us a decent clue about what he’s actually plotting, yeah?”
Remus nodded and hummed thoughtfully. “Wormy, maybe you could stick close to the library, just in case. Keep one of the mirrors with you; that way, as soon as we spot Snape…”
“…You can give me a shout, and I’d be right there. Got it,” Peter said with a grin. “Sounds like a plan to me.”
“Oh, alright,” Sirius sighed. He picked up his fork, scooping up more of his food. “I don’t see why we couldn’t just lend Evans the map for a night or two,” he said regardless, around a mouthful of mashed potatoes. “Let her do her own drudgery.”
Remus marvelled at how indifferently Sirius suggested this; hardly forty-eight hours ago, the idea of him willingly offering anything to Lily – let alone something as prized as the Marauder’s Map – would have been laughable. Not that Remus wasn’t pleased by it, but still, he couldn’t help wondering what had changed between them.
He took another bite of his own lunch. “No – probably best to do it ourselves as much as we can. What if Mary and Marlene caught on?”
It was lucky that they’d kept their conversation quite hushed, because they were interrupted, then, by a passing group of girls; normally, people only hailed James unprompted after a Quidditch match or a prank or something like that, to congratulate him or wish him luck, but today he’d been getting a different sort of attention altogether.
Sure enough, this time as well, the girls slowed as they passed the Marauders’ places on the bench. One of them – blonde, with a self-assured tilt to her chin – paused just long enough to flash James a sharp, business-like smile. “Potter,” she said mildly, though the syllables nevertheless betrayed some curiosity, “Is it true you were out on a, er, late-night excursion with Lily Evans last night?”
Sirius nearly choked on his pumpkin juice, and Peter jerked up, wide-eyed. Remus said nothing, arching an eyebrow at James instead.
But James, to his credit, didn’t miss a beat. He leaned back on the bench with deliberate ease – “Oh, come off it,” he said breezily. “What’ve you heard from Evans herself? I’d wager she’s got a different story altogether.”
The blonde pursed her lips, undeterred. “She’s saying she only caught you sneaking out past curfew and ordered you back to your dorm.”
“Well, there you go.” James spread his hands, as if this settled the matter. “If Lily says it, it must be true.”
The girls exchanged looks, visibly dissatisfied with this response. Another one of them, a brunette with round features, muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Still doesn’t explain why she was out that late, though.”
James only grinned at them, his usual maddening mix of charm and cheek. “You’ll have to ask her that, won’t you?”
With no further explanation forthcoming, the girls eventually moved along, though not without a few backward glances.
As soon as they were out of earshot, Sirius snorted. “Blimey, Prongs, you’ve got the whole school buzzing. You’re going to make Evans infamous at this rate.”
James shrugged, but he was grinning ear to ear, even as he focused on his plate. “Nah, half of ’em are convinced I made it up and the other, stupider half think it was Lily. Anyway, funny how we’re the current hot topic when we weren’t the ones out shagging all last n—”
Sirius threw a bun at James’s head before he could finish this sentence, necessitating that he dodge, chortling all the while. “I’m craving venison all of a sudden, aren’t you, Mr Padfoot?” Remus contributed as well, while James made a desperate “time-out” gesture against the barrage of food that Sirius was raining on him.
As planned, they huddled around the map again as soon as they’d retired to their dormitory. “If Snivelly isn’t lurking about there tonight, we are not trying again tomorrow, Prongs, d’you hear?” said Sirius, wagging a vehement finger at James and everything. “I don’t care if he’s about to set the school on fire, Moony’s night is Moony’s night.”
“Aw,” Remus smiled as he pulled Sirius against him by the shoulders. They were sitting side-by-side on the edge of his bed; Sirius wriggled under his arm, his own expression mollified.
James – sitting cross-legged on the rug opposite them, Remus’s trunk having been shoved between him and them for a makeshift table to set the map on – shot him an indignant glower. “How heartless d’you think I am? Merlin, we don’t all have to be literally dating to give a damn about each other.”
“The rate we’re going,” Remus quipped, to diffuse any chance of a squabble; Sirius made an exaggerated noise of disgust, and James made a kissy-face at him.
“Anyway, we’re in luck. Or Lily’s in luck, rather.” James pointed at where the Slytherin dormitories were marked off on the map: “Like clockwork.”
Remus peered over. The dot labelled “Severus Snape” was, indeed, moving out of the dungeons again, now that curfew had set.
Concentration made them silent for a minute, and they watched Snape make the same journey toward the library. He managed to avoid Filch, this time around, probably by sheer coincidence – Remus was still convinced he dodged the prefects with actual forethought, the route he took matched up with this theory – and, once they could be certain he was headed toward the Restricted Section again, Remus gently lifted the shoulder that Sirius was resting his head on.
Obliging, Sirius fished out his mirror. “Peter Pettigrew,” he said into it.
Wormtail’s face materialised on the glass surface. “Look sharp, Worms, you’ve got an unholy amount of grease headed your way,” Sirius drawled.
Pete scrunched up his nose, in some approximation of repugnance. “…You ever hear two words one after the other that make you sort of sick? Ugh, don’t say ‘worms’ and ‘grease’ in the same sentence ever again. Anyway, right-o.”
And he disappeared, presumably having “gone rat” as James would’ve put it. “Good man, Wormtail,” James grinned, satisfied, as he watched the dot labelled “Peter Pettigrew” scurrying toward the library right after Snape.
The two dots circled each other for a while: Snape, quite stationary; Peter, scampering around him – probably along or beneath the shelves nearby. “Well, that didn’t take long,” said Sirius, and stretched lazily; Remus relaxed as well, but James had his eyes doggedly fixed on the map, still. Remus had to fight a smile; the things James would do for Lily. He wondered if either of them were even aware of the fact… then just felt sorry for James, remembering that Lily was determined to go against her feelings because of Snape. By Merlin, it was frustrating.
Wanting to make James laugh, or at least relax somewhat, Remus reached across and patted him on the head repeatedly. James looked up with an expression that went from confused to drily annoyed: “…I’ve got the distinct impression I’m being patronised, but I don’t know what for,” he said, flat, squinting at Remus.
“Poor old Prongs,” Remus confirmed with an exaggerated sigh.
Some tussling as James swatted Remus’s hand off of his head. About ten minutes or so later, the door creaked open, and Pete re-entered the dormitory.
“Er, so, bad news…” he said, looking flushed and distinctly embarrassed, as he stepped back inside – he was wringing his hands, eyes darting between the other three. “I, er… I couldn’t actually see what Snape was reading?”
James straightened immediately, a look both baffled and souring on his face. “What’d you mean you couldn’t see? You were right there…”
“Well, yeah, I tried!” In a defensive tone that quickly deflated into a sigh. “I even got closer than I really wanted to, but, look, it’s harder than you think, alright? As a rat, everything’s… big. The letters were enormous, I couldn’t make sense of them, and the colours— ugh, forget it. Rat vision’s not exactly ideal for reading.” He looked properly miserable at this confession, his shoulders slumped. “I even risked getting shooed away. Snivellus noticed me sniffing about, and flicked his wand like this—” He mimicked a rather dramatic swatting motion— “Probably would’ve knocked me halfway across the library if I hadn’t scarpered.”
“Mighty Gryffindor of you,” Sirius ribbed; “I’d like to see you try!” Peter protested with a glare, if red-faced.
“Alright, alright, it is what it is,” James waved for them to stop bickering. “Let’s try something else, then – one of us could take the Cloak and sneak up on Snape ourselves.”
Remus frowned as he considered this. “Hang on a minute,” he said, holding up a hand. “You realise we’d have to get really close to see the books, yeah? Even with the Cloak, Snape might hear us breathing or catch our footsteps, especially in the quiet of the library.”
“Blimey, yeah.” Peter looked genuinely horrified by the idea. “We’d be close enough to smell him. Ugh.”
“Or worse – breathe the same air,” Sirius agreed, with an exaggerated shudder, and pulled a face like he was going to be sick. “Nothing is worth that, mate.”
Remus rolled his eyes. “Not my point, but, alright.”
James sighed deeply. He leaned back on his arms with an air of genuine disappointment. “Well, if anyone’s got a better idea, I’d love to hear it.”
“Hmm…” And Remus could hear the note of epiphany in Sirius’s voice as he made the noise, so he turned – in time to catch Sirius looking at him with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Remus blinked. “What?”
Sirius’s grin stretched into a mesmerising, wicked thing. “Well, we could always…”
He leaned in and whispered in Remus’s ear.
Remus’s eyes widened. He was still gawking when Sirius eased away, that smirk of his quite smug now. “Only if you’re up for it, of course,” he sang.
“If he tells people?” Remus fretted, but Sirius only waved a dismissive hand.
“And give away that he’d been out past curfew, too? Anyway, who’d he tell? Hasn’t exactly got a wealth of friends, has he.”
Remus weighed this. It was difficult to do with Sirius watching him with that sweetly-playful grin, an utter temptation; he couldn’t possibly say no to a face like that, he wasn’t made of stone.
“…If either of you could fill the rest of us in, thanks,” James’s voice interrupted, miffed.
Remus sighed, and had to hide his amusement, if only because Sirius looked gleeful enough as it was, no doubt having picked up that Remus had caved. Remus stood: “Right, give us the Cloak, and hang on to a mirror yourselves. We’ll be right back.”
“What’re you two being dodgy for?” James sulked, but passed the Cloak to Sirius nonetheless. Pete fished out his mirror expectantly, making himself comfortable next to James on the floor.
For his part, Sirius had tugged the Cloak around his shoulders already. He left enough room for Remus to step in beside him; Remus gave him a fondly-longsuffering look, but moved under the fabric without argument.
Sirius’s arm brushed against his as soon as they adjusted the folds around them. “Just don’t get caught, pups,” James drawled lazily.
“Why would we?” Sirius answered, faux-innocent, with a wink at Remus that undermined the sentiment. Without another word, he tugged at Remus’s sleeve, then, yanking him toward the door and out of the dormitory. The sounds of James and Peter’s voices faded as Sirius eased the door shut behind them.
They started down the corridors, footsteps soft against the stone floors. Sirius could move like a shadow when he wanted to. “Right – listen,” he murmured, leaning close, so his words ghosted against Remus’s ear: “Once we find him, don’t take the Cloak off until the absolute last second. If Snivvy isn’t as stupid as he looks, the minute we ambush him he’ll hide whatever he’s reading faster than I can say ‘slimy git.’ I’ll need time to get a good look at those books: shape, colour, position. Y’know – identifiers.”
“You’ve really thought this through,” Remus whispered back, unable to help an impressed smile.
Sirius sent him a cheeky look in response. “And I’ve got a convenient partner-in-crime, haven’t I?”
Remus felt his face warm. He turned quickly to face forward, pretending to study the path ahead. The staircases were mostly quiet at this hour – though the odd shift of stone underfoot made both boys freeze mid-step, shoulders tense.
“Bloody stairs,” Sirius grumbled under his breath, when they finally reached the landing without incident.
The closer they got to the library, the more aware Remus became of the silence. The school always felt different at night, and though he had snuck out more times than he could count with his friends, it never stopped giving him that strange mix of trepidation and thrill all at once. Sirius led the way, guiding them along a narrow corridor that hugged the library’s edge. It was difficult to see much now, the only light being from the moon and a few of the teachers’ rooms – both spilling in through the windows. Remus glanced at Sirius, whose expression had sharpened into something more intent. It was a look he knew well: a Marauder laying a trap.
“Ready?” Sirius whispered as he paused before the entrance. His eyes gleamed in the dim light, and Remus couldn’t help the tug of a smile at the corners of his lips.
“Have I got a choice?” he answered, matching Sirius’s low volume.
Sirius tilted his head with that familiar, mischievous smirk. “That’s my Moony.”
And they crept inside the library. Moonlight pooled around the tables and shelves like liquid silver – not that either of them paused to appreciate this unlikely beauty; they made a beeline for the Restricted Section straight away. It was a familiar path – the Marauders had spent plenty of time there themselves, doing research for the map, and (it occurred to Remus belatedly) probably for the Animagus transformation as well.
The faint rustle of pages greeted them, as soon as they’d stepped over the rope that partitioned the area off, and Remus squinted toward the source – there, at a table tucked into the farthest corner, sat Severus Snape, hunched over a pile of books.
Remus’s brow furrowed slightly as he looked on – Snape’s hair hung forward like a curtain, obscuring most of his face, but he looked deeply engrossed in whatever he was reading. Three thick tomes were spread open in front of him, while another smaller book was clutched protectively in one hand. Remus couldn’t make out the titles, but from here, they looked old. Very old.
Sirius tugged lightly on Remus’s sleeve, drawing his attention back. He arched an eyebrow – clearly asking if Remus was ready to proceed. They were at a safe enough distance from Snape, at the minute, close enough for a decent view of the table and far enough to not give their presence away with breaths or footsteps. Remus nodded in spite of the flutter of nerves in his stomach reigniting; nodding back, Sirius moved like a predator, utterly silent as he glided across the floor with Remus close behind.
Snape – still oblivious to being shadowed – muttered something to himself, as he scribbled notes. Remus liked their chances: Snape had lit up the space with a Lumos. That meant his wand was preoccupied, and they’d stand a far better chance of ambushing him without immediate retaliation.
Still, Remus readied one hand against his own, to be safe. Sirius’s eyes were darting side-to-side quickly, clearly memorising the sight in front of him with the sort of impossible quickness that’d led to achieving nine OWLs. If Snape so much as tried to attack him Remus would summon Protego wandless, he resolved, feeling protective. But after a few tense seconds, barely any time at all, Sirius gave Remus the faintest nod as if to say: Got it.
Without a sound, the pair of them retreated. They eased back over the rope partition and into the regular part of the library, where they finally let out twin breaths of relief.
“Alright,” Sirius whispered as soon as they were safely ensconced between a pair of shelves far enough away from Snape. Without ceremony, he slipped the Cloak off them both and bundled it behind the cushion of the nearest chair: “We’ll grab that on the way out.”
Remus bit his lip, aware of what had to follow, and feeling rather self-conscious about it. “And now?” he whispered anyway, wanting time to gather his courage.
Sirius’s grin returned in full force, wicked and spellbinding. “Well, we’re just a couple of love-struck teenagers looking for some privacy, aren’t we, Mr Moony? Now you kiss me, of course.”
Remus felt a flush creep up his neck. “Padfoot,” he half-chided, but couldn’t help the slight smile that tugged at his lips regardless.
Sirius’s, meanwhile, had mellowed. He took a quiet step forward. His eyes had already drifted halfway closed, breathtakingly alluring. Remus reached out, thumbing his cheek, even as he found himself pressed gently back against the shelves. Sirius’s lips and teeth and tongue were soft and eager as always, and any sense of embarrassment Remus might have felt melted away almost instantly.
Ever since they’d broken that dam, Remus decided snogging was the best thing in the world. His hands curled into Sirius’s robes, pulling him closer… and for a while, the world beyond the touch and taste of his beloved ceased to matter.
It was Sirius who pulled away, first, with a smack and a delicious hum that made Remus’s stomach flip. “…Loud enough for an audience, d’you reckon?” he murmured, as he took Remus’s chin between a thumb and forefinger. His voice had gone scratchy, lips quirked at one corner, eyes invitingly hooded – a prowling sort of seductiveness that seemed to come quite naturally to him, and made Remus’s voice catch in his throat every single time.
Remus’s cheeks burnt. “Quiet, you,” he managed to get out, but he couldn’t help chuckling softly, either.
Sirius grinned. Two arms looped around Remus’s neck as soon as Remus eased off the shelves behind him, and Remus found his lips caught between the insistent warmth of Sirius’s, yet again. With a playful nip, Sirius whispered, “Let’s give Snivellus a show, then, shall we?”
“Gross, did you really need to put it like that?” Remus cringed, even as Sirius laughed against his mouth. He let Remus manoeuvre him forward by the hips as they started kissing again.
Together, they stumbled – giggling, deliberately clumsy – back into the Restricted Section, loud enough to disturb the quiet.
It was a fairly clever gambit, Remus granted. Believable, that a couple would be looking for a secluded area like this to… rendezvous… in peace, and Snape already knew that the Marauders got up to such things, sneaking out at odd hours, finding their way into prohibited places exactly like the cordoned-off row of shelves that they were now brazenly snogging in.
Sure enough, Snape, predictably, jerked upright as soon as they reached his table. His head snapped toward the sound of their intrusion. The revulsion on his face was immediate and palpable: “What the—?” he hissed, shocked and disgusted at the same time. “What in Merlin’s name do you think you’re doing!?”
Remus didn’t really have to pretend to look dazed when Sirius parted from him; that had been quite the thorough kiss, and he did feel almost drunk. Sirius, for his part, whipped around to face Snape with feigned surprise, as if he’d only just noticed him there.
He stepped away from Remus only enough to glower and scowl in Snape’s direction: “Do you mind?” he demanded, indignant.
Snape, already red in the face, scrambled back a step, wand now pointed out at them. “You— this— you’re not supposed— ugh! I’m going to alert the prefects—!”
“Brilliant idea,” Remus cut in, playing along now. He tilted his head, crossing his arms, although his fingers hovered cautiously by his own wand: “Except, oh, right, I am a prefect. So who found whom out of bounds, here, exactly?”
Snape froze. His expression was flustered, caught between embarrassment and fury.
“Out past curfew, and in the Restricted Section, no less,” Remus continued coolly. “Why don’t you just go, yeah? Then we can all forget any of us saw anything.”
And as discussed, he yanked Sirius back toward himself by the hips, and they were snogging once more: deliberately now, exaggeratedly, Sirius’s hands resting on Remus’s chest and round his neck, one of Remus’s braced at the small of Sirius’s back, the other tangled in his hair. Every movement choreographed for maximum discomfort, a show put on to make it look like they were far too caught up in each other to pay the slightest attention to whatever Snape had been doing.
Remus couldn’t see Snape anymore – his eyes were half-closed, the world narrowed to Sirius’s mouth and the deliberate press of their bodies – but he could sense Snape lingering, the tell-tale silence of someone fuming. Then came a sharp huff, the shuffle of feet retreating, and the bobbing glow of wandlight dimming as it moved away. When they finally broke apart, breathless and red-faced, Snape was gone.
And – thank Merlin – to their luck, in his flustered haste, he’d abandoned the books entirely, leaving them spread across the table.
Sirius waited until Snape’s footsteps faded entirely, then broke into a triumphant grin. “Well, that went better than I thought.”
Remus exhaled slowly, smiling despite the thudding of his heart and creeping warmth on his face. “…In hindsight, we probably could’ve just knocked him out with a light Stupefy whilst under the Cloak. He’d have only thought he’d fallen asleep.”
“Ah. Shit. But where’s the fun in that?” Sirius nevertheless smirked as he moved toward the table to inspect Snape’s deserted texts. “Are you or are you not a Marauder, my moonbeam?”
“What I’m certainly not is the closet exhibitionist you apparently are, starlight,” Remus returned, just as falsely-saccharine. With a sigh and a fond shake of his head, he followed Sirius, glancing at the books for hardly a second before it occurred to him that he should probably alert Peter and James first.
He fished the mirror out of Sirius’s back pocket. “James Potter.”
“Ahoy,” James’s (decidedly bored) face greeted from the glass, “Did whatever you did work?”
“Yeah, but keep an eye on Snape with the map, would you? In case he’s about to, er, come back for revenge,” Remus answered, hedging.
“Been doing that anyway,” James assured him. “Wormy’s on it right now. Well, go on, what was he up to?”
Remus barely heard James’s question, his attention caught, now, by the strange expression that had settled over Sirius’s face. He was still perusing the books, and he looked… unsettled. Brows furrowed, lips slightly parted – like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.
“What is it?” Remus asked, lowering the mirror slightly.
Sirius glanced at him, then back at the books, then ran a hand through his hair. Without a word, he strode over to Remus’s side, leaning in so he could be seen in the mirror’s reflection as well.
“Prongs,” he said, much lower and sharper than before, “You’re not gonna like this.”
James’s face immediately lost its apathy. “Like what?” he demanded, alert now.
Sirius held up one of the books. Its spine gleamed faintly in the wandlight that Remus had by now cast, and the front was embossed with ominously cryptic runes.
“These aren’t even histories and theory, they’re anecdotes. Guides,” Sirius all but breathed out. “I’d say it looks like Snivellus was reading… no, learning… about Legilimency.”
The words seemed to ring out in the silence, and Remus could only stare.
They accosted Lily at breakfast the following morning. She’d been sitting with Mary and Marlene, as always, up until Sirius stepped forward, tapped her on the shoulder, and drawled, “Oi, Yoko. Come on. Debriefing.” With a tilt of his head as if to beckon her in that direction.
“Er, sorry,” Remus offered their other classmates a more polite smile, “Could we borrow her for a minute?”
“Whit’s aw this, then?” Marlene asked quizzically, and Mary only frowned, her brow furrowed, an uncharacteristically pensive expression that Remus wondered about for a moment.
Not that he had time to dwell on it; Lily had stood, eyes alert, letting Sirius tug her forward with one arm around her shoulder. He whispered directly into her ear – hands cupped over his mouth and everything – while James walked in front of them, moving backward so he could actually face them. Every time Sirius paused his whispering, Lily gave James a shocked look, as if it’d been he who’d relayed the information to her; and James, for his part, nodded as grimly as if he could hear what Sirius was saying, even though not even Remus could despite his relative proximity.
Amused, Remus elbowed Peter, beside him, to see if he’d noticed the absurdity of the sight before them as well. Pete met his eyes and snickered.
By the time they found their own places around the bench, Lily had evidently been brought up to speed. The first thing she did after she sat down – between James and Peter, Remus and Sirius across from them – was to draw her wand under the table, and then whisper, “Muffliato.”
“Legilimency?” she hissed, as soon as the charm was cast, “But you don’t reckon he’s actually learning to use it, do you? That’s highly advanced—”
James gave her a pointed, half-amused look and the words seemed to die in Lily’s throat as she realised who she was talking to. She sighed. “Right, I suppose we’re well past that in our year… Merlin, though, Legilimency…”
“It’d explain how he knew about the locking charms, if it was him,” said Peter.
“Forget the bloody locking charms, I’m more concerned about what that’d mean for Moony,” said Sirius, darkly, reiterating a conversation they’d already had the previous night. “Because, think about it, it’d be the perfect way to get around his life debt. He’d never have to expose Remus himself; skilled Legilimens can control other people’s minds, plant suggestions and things like that. He could make Remus or even one of us do it, and that’d be that.”
“Life debt?” Lily blinked; and James supplied, “’S’how we got him to keep mum about the incident last year.”
“Oh, because you saved him,” Lily nodded, comprehending. She turned worried eyes toward Remus: “I hadn’t even considered… are you…”
Remus gave her a reassuring half-a-smile. “Like I’ve already told Panicky Padfoot over here: first of all it’s really, really difficult to achieve that level of proficiency in Legilimency, and Snape is simply not that talented. As spiteful as that might make me sound, it’s true, you know it’s true. I’d wager even Sirius and James would take at least five to ten years to get there if they tried.”
“Which sorely tempts me,” James smirked. “Given we managed the other thing in two.”
“It’s more difficult than the other thing,” Remus insisted, arching his eyebrows. (“What other thing?” Lily asked, and Pete lied, “Map.”)
“Secondly,” Remus went on, “I know Occlumency. My dad taught me years ago. My mind, as it were…” And Remus paused to rub a pacifying hand over Sirius’s back, unable to help a fond little quirk of the lips as his eyes slid toward him, “…Is an impenetrable fortress, so you can stop fretting. You’ll grow old before your time.”
Sirius stuck his tongue out at him. A faint dusting of pink materialised across his nose. “I still can’t believe you never told us you were an Occlumens before—”
“It never came up.”
“—And it’s a glaring oversight!” Sirius continued like Remus had never interrupted. “Merlin, we should know Occlumency, too, then, because we know about you. What if a Legilimens read—?”
“There aren’t Legilimens just walking about willy-nilly, Padfoot,” Remus sighed. “Unless you count Professor Dumbledore, and he’s on our side. This sort of thing is regulated—”
“—By the Ministry?” Sirius scoffed. “Yeah, and so’s the other thing, but we’ve got those, haven’t we. And if Snape’s about to try and become one, it’s a plausible threat.”
“Now, now, no need to start a whole domestic over it,” James half-joked; Lily, meanwhile, had turned scarlet, troubled eyes on the table in front of her.
Remus watched as her arms tensed, and knew she had to be bunching fists over her skirt. She looked caught between embarrassment and misery. “…It’s not like h—people, would need that to find out about Remus,” she mumbled. “I’m surprised that you, of all people, would suggest as much, Sirius. G-Given that you well know the secret can and has leaked in other ways.”
The dagger-like precision of the words made Remus’s composure falter, and he blinked at Lily, astonished. She knew about Sirius and Snape? When— how did she find out? That Lily – who was always so careful, so kind – would aim at Sirius quite like that… he wasn’t sure what shocked him more, her uncharacteristic lapse into pettiness, the way James visibly recoiled, or the fact that Sirius hadn’t flown into a rage of his own in response; he was only watching her, lips pursed.
James, who’d blanched, began, “Lily—”
But it was Sirius, to Remus’s surprise, who interrupted. “No, shut it, Prongs.” He held up one insistent finger. Ducked his head, so that Lily was forced to meet his eyes, even though she clearly wanted to keep her rapidly colouring face turned toward the table.
She looked, somehow, both guilty and obstinate; the blush on her cheeks counterweighing the tight set of her lips, her knitted brows.
Sirius, however, was just as stubborn. “She wants to have it out, let’s have it out,” he snapped back. Remus marvelled at the calm vehemence with which he delivered his words; it felt less like he was starting an argument with Lily, and more like they were only conversing, if a heated conversation could be a thing. Well, perhaps talking-tos, Remus thought…
“The fact of it is, Evans, that no matter what I did – and I did, fair enough, we’re all aware I did – it doesn’t change the fact that Snape did what he did, too,” Sirius went on firmly. “It certainly doesn’t erase the chances that he might try again; if anything, it increases them. He wanted to expose Remus. You know that. I’m sorry that it hurts you to remember it, or to consider that he might give it another go, but that’s not my fuckin’ fault. That’s his. Merlin, I know—”
And he broke off, suddenly, inexplicably emotional – his face had softened from sternness to empathy. “I know it’s hard to accept, when people you… people you’d known your entire life, or at least thought you did, turn around and— and do something so completely at odds with what you wanted to believe of them, that— fuck. You know I’ve been there as much as you have.”
Remus exchanged a shocked look with James, glad to find that this had taken even him by surprise. Regulus? Was Sirius talking about Regulus? He never even talked to them about his brother. What, exactly, had happened between him and Lily in that office?
Lily’s expression was softening, too, the guilt having won out now; she looked wretched, was worrying at her bottom lip.
“But blaming their actions on others… it’s just living in denial, you muppet,” Sirius went on, though the words held no bite; in fact they sounded more concerned than anything. “It wasn’t Prongs who made Snape go down the path he did, and I don’t care what you think, I don’t bloody well force James to have a go at him, either. You’d best wake up from your little fantasy world where everyone you like is always squeaky clean, princess, or the real one’s gonna come ’round and knock you flat on your arse. Get me?”
Remus frowned. He had no idea what Sirius was alluding to, but those words: I don’t bloody well force James to have a go at him… they were too pointed to not be in reference to something.
A concerning thought struck him – Lily wouldn’t… she hadn’t… she couldn’t have accused Sirius of having done that… could she?
He cleared his throat, eyes flicking between Sirius and Lily, trying to piece together a puzzle without the edges. Keeping his voice carefully neutral, he ventured: “I’m sorry – what about James? I’m not sure I’m following…”
Lily’s head snapped up. Her own eyes were wide, brimming with conflict. She opened her mouth as if to respond, but hesitated, lips pressing into a thin line instead.
Sirius cut in, however, his tone lighter than his expression as he set a hand on Remus’s chest. “Nothing, sweetheart.” With a tight smile tugging at his lips.
Remus didn’t believe him for a second, didn’t even have room to worry about Lily catching on to the nature of their relationship, with how obvious Sirius was being. His attention was on the way Lily’s shoulders hunched inward, the way her gaze skittered toward the floor.
There was something left unsaid here. But Sirius’s clipped tone made it plain it wasn’t a discussion he was willing to have – not here, not now.
Lily, meanwhile, addressed Sirius instead: “…Sorry,” she mumbled. “Evidently, I… I can’t always think clearly when it comes to Severus.”
“‘Always,’” Sirius snorted, but there was a teasing note in his voice, now. “See, told you you’re a dick, too.”
This was also an allusion, evidently; some sort of in-joke, for Lily’s expression cleared, and they both started chuckling ruefully.
“Luckily, I’m not compelled to hold you up to some lofty impression, Evans, unlike this lot,” Sirius drawled. “If you’re being one, I’m calling it, I don’t give a Pete’s arse.”
“Me?” Peter blinked, confused, though Sirius grinned at his own joke.
“Well, the same from me to you, Black,” Lily smirked.
And they clinked their goblets together, as if they hadn’t just been fighting.
Remus was glad to find that James looked as lost as he felt; the pair exchanged helpless, confused glances. “Er, right,” James cleared his throat. “Moving past whatever that was – I agree with Padfoot, actually. It won’t hurt to learn Occlumency, for more than one reason… if Snape found out about the Cloak or the map, for instance…”
“I mean, you could.” Remus forced his attention away from Sirius and Lily. “Occlumency isn’t half as difficult to pick up as Legilimency – matter of fact, I know loads of professions have it as a requirement. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement comes immediately to mind. It’s not usually taught to underage wizards – at school, that is – certainly, but…”
“But it can be, ’cause your dad did,” James nodded in comprehension. “Reckon he’d take us on as students, too?”
Remus had to hide a shudder at the very notion of his friends being subjected to Dad’s methods.
“Over my dead body,” he said darkly. “No, he’s a rough handler, you don’t want that. I don’t think it’d be very difficult to read up on ourselves, though. As far as I remember, I had it in about, hmm, probably two to three months?”
“So it’s back to late-night library sessions, just like third and fourth year,” Pete sighed, though he didn’t really sound very disappointed about it. If anything, there was a light in his eyes; Remus realised, all of a sudden, that it would mean they’d be spending more time together – the group as a whole that is – as often as they used to before they’d had separate classes, before Remus and Sirius spent quite so much time off on their own, before the incident last year that had created such an obvious rift between them for the better part of ’75-’76.
As if to confirm it, Pete chuckled to himself. “Imagine bumping into Snivellus while we’re there, and both he and us trying to explain why.”
Remus exhaled an obligatory, noiseless laugh.
Sirius, meanwhile, smirked at Lily: “I hope you’re not too attached to that prefect’s badge of yours, Yoko, if you’re gonna be joining us on romps past curfew, now.”
Lily rolled her eyes, even as her hand moved in a way that said she was fishing something out of her robes pocket. It emerged with a little, Muggle notebook, a spiral-bound thing with a glittery pen attached to it by a piece of string. “Right,” she said decisively, “You’d better give me a proper plan, because I’ve got a packed timetable and I’ll not compromise on at least six hours’ sleep, thank you very much.”
“…Are you going to use code? Please use code,” James squinted at her notebook distrustfully; then, “Hang on, right now? Work out timings right now?”
“Ugh. Fine.” Lily sighed, pocketing her notebook again. She turned to Remus instead, with an affable smile: “I can trust you to keep this to a sensible schedule, right, Remus?”
Remus wasn’t sure what was in his expression, being as when she’d met his eyes he couldn’t help but remember what Sirius had let slip again. But her smile faltered, her brows furrowed – she looked baffled, if not wary.
Remus hastily forced a smile back. “Yeah, no, of course.”
“Now – what’re we doing about Professor Vaughn?” Sirius asked. “I don’t like the idea of her not knowing there’s about to be a Legilimens on the loose, but… I can’t think how to tell her without explaining that we found out by stalking Snape, either.”
“She might know Occlumency,” Remus hummed. “Lots of adult witches and wizards do. But I suppose we can’t be sure…”
Lily made the half-surprised, half-triumphant noise of a dawning epiphany. “I can find out! I’ll ask her if she knows it – tell her I’m looking for a trusted adult who does, because I’d like to learn it, because everything that’s been going on lately has made me concerned about my safety as a Muggle-born student.”
“Blimey.” James arched his eyebrows at her. “We’ll make a proper mischief-maker out of you yet.”
Lily laughed, delighted.
Talk turned to more trivial matters at last, and they dug into their breakfasts properly. But there remained an uncomfortable feeling in Remus’s gut despite the jovial atmosphere – and it didn’t even have anything to do with the pull of the moon that would rise later that night.
He surreptitiously placed a hand on Sirius’s knee, under the table, where Lily couldn’t see. Squeezed, once, feeling inexplicably protective.
Sirius responded with a light tap of his boots against Remus’s. Their legs entwined as far as they could.
It settled something in Remus’s heart… although he still glanced at Lily, James, and Peter raucously joking and laughing across from him, and thought that she really was becoming one of them, and that if this was the case then she’d have to learn to understand…
Well. The things that a Marauder must.
He took a sip of his pumpkin juice. Whatever she and Sirius were hiding, he’d get it out of one of them sooner or later.
Notes:
So, I know JKR’s writing is infamously riddled with plot holes, and normally that’s not that big of a deal to me – I don’t mind meeting a work halfway to let it do its thing, I don’t subscribe to the CinemaSins style of narrative critique. But! I wanted to patch up the plot hole of the Marauders harbouring so many secrets despite brushing shoulders with two (2) whole Legilimens – Dumbles and Snape – just because it’s important to the overarching plot here in particular. Like, for instance, how come neither Dumbledore nor Snape ever figured out that Lily and James had switched Secret Keepers? Or that Peter was the spy, or that James had a Deathly Hallow, or that Remus was hiding something about Sirius in PoA, etc., etc., etc.…
So, yeah, I needed a way for all of them to be Occlumens; hence this subplot.
Snape seemed pretty aware of Wolfstar having been a thing in PoA if you read it with homoromantic-subtext lens™ on, so I had to have him find out somehow, LMAO.
Comparing Lily and Remus here, vs them in Chapter 17 of Part I (spring), is so freaking funny. Lily pre- and post-SWM, Remus pre- and post- Sirius not rejecting him. For her… denial is a river in Egypt. For him… Remus, bestie, double standards much?
Chapter 15
Notes:
Thank you yet again for all your encouragement and kindness!
(To the tune of She’ll Be Coming ’Round the Mountain:) The POVs are out of order from this point, the POVs are out of order from this point, the POVs are out of order, POVs are out of order, the P—[is shot.]
Here’s James again. And shoutout to Red for inspiring the Patronus stuff!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It turned out (according to Lily’s report) that Professor Vaughn did, in fact, know Occlumency. So did Professor McGonagall, evidently – Lily relayed that it was part of the Animagus registration process for those who gave reasons of “covert operational necessity.” The irony of it amused James to no end; the Marauders would have had to become Occlumens at some point anyway, it would seem. Be that as it may, it left them with more questions than answers as to what Snape was up to, what the plot against Vaughn could possibly have been.
But they couldn’t really do anything more about it, not without some further clue, so they wound up focusing their efforts on learning Occlumency, instead. If James was being perfectly honest, by the time January passed into February, he’d all but forgotten that they were supposed to be looking out for a plot at all. Nothing suspicious happened after the incident with the office door, and – between teaching themselves an illicit skill past curfew, weekends now taken up by Apparition lessons, and practice for the final match against Hufflepuff – he’d been quite distracted.
…If he was being even more honest, it had little to do with any of those things and more with the fact that Lily spent her time with them every evening now. She’d become a permanent fixture in their nightly get-togethers, which was both a thrill and a distraction in the most confusing way – James was starting to get intimately familiar with the odd sensation of being both pleased and pained to have her around, and he marvelled sometimes that a human heart could bear so many conflicting emotions at the same time.
It was those thoughts that had followed him into sleep, and it was to them that he woke now, with a small start. His neck felt rather stiff from the odd angle at which he’d fallen asleep, and the stillness of the library surrounded him. Light filtered in through the high windows already; he blinked, his mind still a little bit hazy as he took in the sight around him. Evidently he’d drifted off in the middle of Occlumency research yet again: books and notes were scattered in a chaotic pile by his side. Groaning lightly, he pushed himself up and stretched out stiff limbs. As usual the cold stone floor had not been the most comfortable of beds.
His eyes then fell, inevitably, on Lily. She was still seated at the table looming above his spot. Her head rested upon her arms which were folded over her own pile of research. Her hair tumbled in auburn waves across open pages, and her face, peaceful in sleep, was bathed in the dawn sun streaming in. A smile tugged at the corners of James’s lips; in her sleep she looked so serene, it bordered angelic. That amused him – unable to help thinking of Lily on one of her tirades. She was anything but that when awake (well, perhaps the avenging sort of angel); but breathtaking, all the same.
His heart clenched.
Forcibly ignoring it, he turned to check on the others instead. Sirius and Remus had, somehow, wound up curled up together by one of the shelves – Remus was leaning against it, his face tilted toward Sirius, and Sirius had his head resting on his boyfriend’s shoulder. James shook his head fondly; at this point he and Pete ought to have started a bet on when Lily would cotton on about them already. They just couldn’t help themselves, the lovesick idiots.
Pete, talking of him, had wound up beneath a window, head tilted back, resting on a mountain of texts. His mouth was half-open, whitish-blond hair completely askew.
James got to his feet carefully, keen not to disturb the peaceful silence. He turned to Lily, stepped closer, and bent to shake her by the arm.
She blinked awake, bright-green eyes still heavy with sleep as they landed on James. “Ugh, don’t tell me we drifted off again,” she muttered, bleary and half-annoyed.
James chuckled. “Alright, I shan’t.”
Lily groaned lightly, although she was smiling now, sitting up and rubbing her face. She glanced around with the slight confusion of half-wakefulness: “Oh, I don’t even want to move right now,” she declared, sighing in exhaustion. James sympathised; Remus hadn’t been wrong about the theory bit of Occlumency being much, much easier than Animagus research, but practicing it was awfully draining. It was no small thing to muck about in one’s psyche, as it turned out.
Still, he gave her a playful grin. “Well, you’re gonna have to, unless you’d like me to give you a piggyback ride back to your dorm,” he quipped, nodding at the wall-clock just behind her. “Don’t panic or anything, but it’s almost seven.”
She did not, in fact, panic; even though this meant breakfast was in fifteen minutes. She only leaned back against her chair in a languorous stretch, her head dipping all the way and resulting in such a lovely curve from her chin and neck down to her chest and stomach that James had to quickly look away, or he’d have embarrassed himself.
“D’you know what, I’m actually tempted to take you up on that offer,” she yawned.
Smiling to himself, James shrugged— then raised his hands. He stepped close, and wiggled his fingers like he was about to snatch her up – “Fine. Terrible chore, but who am I to say no when a lady asks?”
Lily’s eyes widened as she caught his intent. She scooted back in her chair, laughing silently, if alarmed. “James Potter, don’t you d—!”
He lunged toward her. She yelped, her laughter muffled as she tried to avoid him, wriggling out of her chair just in time.
“Stop it!” she hissed. She tried to dodge him as quietly as possible whilst still giggling uncontrollably. James managed to catch her arm for a moment, but she twisted free, poking him in the ribs as soon as she escaped far enough to be able to. He bit back his own laugh, and retaliated by poking her side, too, which sent her into a half-stifled fit of mirth.
“You’ll wake everyone!” she gasped, in between giggles. She batted at his hands even as she fought to tickle him back.
“Me? You’re the loud one!” James grinned.
“Whose fault is— no, no, don’t!”
They danced around each other in the little space between the chairs and table, struggling and failing to quiet themselves. James finally managed to grab her round the waist, making her shriek lightly as she doubled over, trying to escape his hold and laughing even harder.
“Shh, shh,” he whispered, still chuckling, but let her go within the same second, not wanting to cross the line into inappropriate.
She, on the other hand, was still clutching his arm as she fought for her breath back past helpless mirth. For a moment, they stood still, equally breathless, equally amused.
Then Peter gave an abrupt snore. They whipped around to look at him – he only rolled onto his back, still fast asleep – then back at each other. Couldn’t help but burst into quiet laughter again, leaning on one another for support as they tried to compose themselves.
“Merlin.” Lily giggled. “You’re so… daft. Go on, find your Cloak – you might not care about missing breakfast, but I do.”
James made an indignant noise, “Eh? What’s the magic word?”
“Potter Obedire Evans,” she quipped, with a smirk and arms crossed in clear challenge.
Shaking his head (and with a theatrical sigh), James made a great show of picking his Cloak up, off the back of the chair they’d draped it over. By the time he’d unfolded it, tossed it around his shoulders, and held out one end for Lily to scuttle under, he found her attention already caught elsewhere – she was watching Sirius and Remus with an amused smile.
“That’s quite the sweet picture,” she laughed under her breath, as she walked over to James, letting him all but curl an arm around her so as to wrap the Cloak around them both.
James grinned. “Told you. Puppies.”
She chuckled. They started away from their little space, the two shelves between which they worked, and around which they’d cast a ward to rival the teachers’: Disillusionment Charms to hide their presence from prying eyes (it’d not been as difficult to master as Remus alluded, James scoffed self-importantly), Muffliato to mask the noise, an Imperturbable Charm to magnify both. When he and the lads had been younger and smaller, they’d all just scurried under the Cloak, huddled together while they worked. They’d gotten too big to try that now, however (and, quite honestly, James didn’t think he’d be able to bear the proximity to Lily for that long anyway), so adjustments had been necessary.
Lily chatted with him freely, even when they’d crossed their magical barrier, if in a hushed voice. She’d gotten far more brazen thanks to their influence, James thought with some amusement; it’d been the same with their Moony years ago. Gone from fretting about the rules to not only becoming used to breaking them, but in fact rather more adept at it than even the rest were.
“—Making remarkable progress,” she was saying, now. “I reckon we might be done before the end of term.”
Privately, James somehow hoped she was both wrong and right at the same time. He’d miss having her around, but it’d also help him put his feelings to rest – like he was supposed to be trying to do.
He’d not been giving it any effort, to be honest.
“Didn’t you say Professor Vaughn asked you to see her about learning Occlumency in the summer?” he said, abruptly remembering so. “That’ll be funny – you having mastered it already by the time you take her up on her offer.”
Lily exhaled amusement obligingly. “She did – said she’s too busy at the minute. Anyway, it doesn’t matter, I’ll just tell her I’ve changed my mind, by then. If she even remembers…”
They were out of the library, now. The corridors were still completely empty, save for a passing ghost or two. Lily seemed to have meant it about not missing breakfast, as she’d quickened her steps, so they didn’t have much room to chat for longer. James wished she would; they had to stand quite close to fit under the Cloak, and he wanted the distraction.
They ducked into the shortcut that would take them straight to Gryffindor Tower. Once there, James surreptitiously glanced around, ascertained they were alone, and took the Cloak off just as they reached the portrait.
“Password?” asked the Lady, thankfully not one to pry, although to be fair James supposed she must see a lot of couples sneaking out past curfew— a thought he vehemently aborted.
“Fortune favours the bold,” Lily obliged; if only that were true, thought James, sighing internally.
The door swung open. He hopped over, then turned to offer Lily a hand. Hers was soft and warm to the touch, but her grip (as it held his), quite firm. There was trust displayed in that, fancied James, smiling.
When she let go, there was the faintest brush of their fingertips against each other. The sensation lingered as though her warmth had etched itself into his skin. He swallowed, resisting the urge to look down at his palm, where the ghost of her touch seemed to hum.
For her part, Lily cleared her throat softly, and James followed her gaze, darting now to the bundle of silvery fabric still clutched under his arm. “You’d better hide that,” she said briskly, though her voice was slightly higher-pitched than usual. Without waiting for a reply, she stepped closer and reached out, tugging at the Cloak with a quick, efficient motion. “Here. Under your slipover,” she added, in a determinedly practical tone. Her cheeks had inexplicably gone rather pink.
James froze as her fingers brushed his chest for the briefest moment – she was tucking the Cloak in place, the act so fleeting he wasn’t even sure it had happened. He glanced at her, catching her biting her lower lip in concentration.
“There,” she declared. She straightened up and stepped back. Her hands fell to her sides, and she clasped them tightly together, as if to stop herself from fidgeting. She looked up at him, then gave a small, awkward laugh: “Not that anyone’s about to come snooping right now, I don’t think.”
“R-Right, of course,” James nodded, though he wasn’t entirely sure what he was agreeing to. His mind was too busy playing her touch in a loop, leaving him standing there gawking like an idiot.
She rolled her eyes, more amused than annoyed. “Honestly, Potter. You look like I’ve Confunded you.”
James shook himself and forced his usual grin onto his face. “Nah, just impressed by your speed, Evans. You’d make a brilliant thief, apparently.”
“Oh, shut it,” she said, though the corners of her mouth tugged upward. “Someone’s got to keep you out of trouble for once.”
“Trouble’s half the fun,” James replied, if a bit half-heartedly – words for the sake of words.
They were just loitering there, in the middle of the common room, now. James thought he ought to say his goodbyes, but couldn’t bring himself to do it, and Lily didn’t seem eager to, either.
She arched a teasing eyebrow instead. “If that’s your idea of fun, I can see why you’re so bad at it. You nearly tripped over your own feet back there.”
“Oi, that shortcut’s dodgy,” James protested, his grin stretching. “The floor tilts. You didn’t exactly handle it all gracefully yourself, thanks.”
“I was holding the Cloak for you, genius,” Lily retorted, her own smile wide. “Some of us multitask under pressure.”
James chuckled. He’d been about to respond – Oh, is that what you were doing, I thought you were just showing off, or something like that – when a loud yawn interrupted.
Startled, he and Lily both jerked up in time to watch one of the seventh-years stumbling down the staircase to the boys’ dorms, rubbing his eyes and stretching.
Right, they’d completely lost track of time, James internally groaned as he realised – breakfast. More footsteps followed, the rustle of early risers signalling the start of another day.
He fought the urge to sigh out loud, stuffing his hands into his pockets, shoulders tensing, as the sound of other Gryffindors milling about filled the common room. It wasn’t only the interruption that annoyed him; it was the way the air palpably shifted. He could feel the attention, the sidelong stares, the whispers just on the edge of hearing.
There was no need to look to know what that was about. James Potter and Lily Evans? Together in the common room, before breakfast? Merlin, it was irritating how easily they could become a gossip goldmine for the rest of the school for no reason other than he happened to be good at Quidditch (and winding people up) and she was so impossibly herself that barely anyone disliked her at all.
He missed the privacy of their little hideaway in the library…
Lily, of course, had sensed it, as well. She crossed her arms, turned away slightly – clearly trying and failing to appear nonchalant, for James caught the slight flush on her cheeks. There was a general air of sheepishness between them; not that he blamed her – the way people talked, you’d think they’d been caught snogging by the fireplace. Multiple times.
She turned again; their eyes met with some shared understanding. What now? Leaving too abruptly would only fan the flames of speculation, and yet, lingering felt even worse. They were both intimately familiar with the rules of Hogwarts’ social dynamics, well enough to realise there was no winning here.
Lily let out a soft huff, part exasperation, part amusement, and James couldn’t help but grin. They chuckled together… and for a moment, he didn’t care about the meddlers. Her smile, her real smile, was enough to banish the stares and whispers into the background.
“Suppose we’re giving them plenty to talk about,” under his breath, and still grinning.
“You’re making it worse,” Lily murmured back. But her lips twitched in a half-smile, and she didn’t sound upset – more resigned, as if she’d accepted that this was just how things would go with the pair of them – couldn’t be helped.
Perhaps she had.
Their eyes met again. For a minute, James thought about saying something – anything – to prolong the conversation. But he couldn’t think what, and before he could work out how to part ways gracefully instead, a group of passing fourth-year girls spotted them, evidently, for they were stealing glances over their shoulders, exchanging conspiratorial looks among themselves. One of them – a curly-haired girl with a mischievous grin – nudged her companions, then called out, “Morning, Potter! Morning, Lily! So… what’s Hogwarts’ most happening pair doing for Valentine’s Day, then?”
James blinked, caught off guard; they clearly had some sort of rapport with Lily, to be teasing her like that, but he had no idea who they were, and couldn’t think what to say. And Lily had now stiffened, opposite him. Her entire demeanour changed – the good humour in her eyes abruptly replaced by visible defensiveness. She’d crossed her arms tight, her jaw set in a manner James recognised all too well. “We’re not spending Valentine’s together,” she returned, sharp. Her tone wasn’t… that harsh, per se, but all the same, it left no room for misunderstanding.
The answer stung sharper than James wanted to admit. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t known that’s how she felt, but to hear her say it so bluntly especially after the comfortable moment they’d just shared… it felt like a cold slap.
He gave the floor a bitter smile. Then forced his usual grin back, lifting his head and raising a hand of acknowledgement at the girls. “’Course we aren’t,” he said, as glibly as he could. “I’ve got to spend Valentine’s with the love of my life, haven’t I? Sirius Black.”
They burst into laughter, at that, chatting appreciatively amongst themselves as they wandered off. James let his grin fade and dropped his arm again, slipping his hand back into his pocket.
The mood between them was… different now, discomfort having settled in the space where laughter had just been. Lily looked away, her lips pressed into a tight line – and James couldn’t tell if she was annoyed with him, or just embarrassed. Either way, it was clear that their gaiety had been ruined.
“Right,” she said briskly, “I’d better get upstairs – Mary and Marlene dawdle forever if I’m not there to hurry them along. See you, Potter.”
“Yeah,” James gave her a smile, despite the lump in his throat. “See you…”
He watched until she’d climbed up the stairs to her dormitory, wishing he could claw away the ghost of her hand brushing against his shirt, or at least that he could stomach it all with a bit more equanimity than this.
Sirius did, in fact, barge past James’s bed-hangings and throw himself on the bed, the Friday a few days from Valentine’s. “Oi!” James hissed indignantly, having been so rudely pulled from the edge of sleep, but Sirius only made himself comfortable beside him without apology.
“Hush, don’t wake Moony,” he whispered instead, as if James had been the one intruding.
James rolled his eyes, but nevertheless leaned up and groped around for his glasses. “What’s the matter with you?” he asked; but registered (having put on said specs) that Sirius didn’t appear to be evading a nightmare or anything like that – he’d brought things along with him, what looked like a record, and some parchment, and one of those multi-coloured, ink-swapping quills.
“Go back to sleep, Prongs,” he said. There was half a smile tugging up a corner of his lips, his concentration on whatever he was scribbling. “Just making sure Moony doesn’t catch me.”
“Well, if I’m to be your gallant guardian against the menacing Moonster then I demand to know what’s going on,” James returned, arching an eyebrow.
Sirius chuckled. He waved his wand in the by-now familiar movement for Muffliato – they had it down non-verbally, by this point. “Valentine’s gift, obviously,” he gestured at the things. “Merlin, d’you have any idea how difficult it was to find a copy of the only single version of Zeppelin’s Thank You that exists? It’s an exclusively Japanese release! I had to write to Dorcas, who passed me on to some other bloke in London, who passed me on to this other— ugh, you get the point. But I’ve got it now, and you’re not to say a word to Remus, because he’s going to fret about how much it would’ve cost me. I only used up my birthday and Christmas money!” With an impish laugh.
James grinned as well, amused and endeared at the same time. “You’re hiding away to write Moony a Valentine’s note? My God, Padfoot, he makes a complete girl out of you. Are you going to cut it out into a love-heart and everything?”
“Fuck off,” Sirius shoved him, though he was still, uncharacteristically, smiling. It was an innocent and slightly bashful thing that had James hesitating to poke fun any further; a side of Sirius he knew only Remus tended to get to see. Rather heart-warming, and unlike Sirius himself he wasn’t so cynical as to “dash it against the floor,” so to speak.
“No, d’you know what – I actually did consider just writing the lyrics out on a card or something like that,” he was saying – well, fairly giggling, really. “Except that wouldn’t be very memorable, would it? It’s our first Valentine’s as a, y’know, a proper… thing.” Sucking in a sharp breath, “Great Godric, this is more nerve-wracking than I thought.”
“…It is?” James laughed – squinting at him half in puzzlement. He was propping his head up on an elbow, now. “I mean – that’d certainly explain why Moony’s been running about like a headless Augurey trying to come up with something for you himself. But you’re not supposed to know that, so don’t go telling.”
“Has he really?” Sirius’s smile stretched.
James shook his head fondly. “I don’t get ya. You’ve known each other forever.” Now, if he’d been crafting something for Lily, that might’ve been a different… ah, but best not to go down that road… he cleared his throat. “Incidentally, if you did want anything in particular, you should tell me and I’ll let it slip the next time he asks.”
Sirius gave him a wide-eyed look, as if the very concept of wanting a gift out of Remus was incomprehensible to him. “But it’s going to be perfect just having him there. A Valentine’s date with Moony. That’s all.”
“Right?” James pointed with four fingers of his free hand, feeling vindicated. “That’s exactly what I said you’d say! Won’t listen to me, though, the plonker.”
Sirius huffed an amused breath. He’d gone back to scribbling now, and James stole a peep: less curious and more just bored with the silence. Anyway, if Sirius didn’t like it, he could just shove James’s head away.
ROCKIN’ MOONBEAM, the garishly-coloured letters declared, Did you know you’ve got me listening to tracks I usually always skipped? The rubbish that dragged on and on and now has got me SWOONING LIKE A MAIDEN because I think of you I can’t help it SOS. I hate you actually, never mind that one time I told you the opposite. Happy Valentine’s my love from your
LADY STARLIGHT
James bit back a smile. Merlin, but they were sweet, they really were. Underlying how genuinely happy for them he was there was a twinge of heartache all the same. That Sirius could be this, this innocent about it. Could act like any other teenager in love for the first time. He’d always seemed so world-wise that James had assumed he’d be mercenary about matters of the heart, as well. Evidently not, and he both seethed and despaired to think of Sirius approaching that damned Professor Ainsley with the same sort of naïve openness, the obvious craving to love and to be loved plain for anyone shrewd enough to see, and then abuse so cruelly.
He shut his eyes against the flash of rage that came with the memory; odd how it haunted him more than it seemed to Sirius, who’d actually gone through it. But then how many nicks could an already scarred heart take before it stopped feeling like anything altogether? Maybe one day there’d simply be so many that it’d all just crack, out of the blue—
Disturbed by the image his mind had conjured up, James threw an arm across Sirius’s middle and snuggled up to him, heart hammering. God, he was glad Remus existed, that he didn’t have to love Sirius entirely on his own.
“I’m not ditching Moony to spend Valentine’s with you, no matter how many cuddles you’re trying to bribe me with,” Sirius quipped.
James laughed. “Ugh, you’re so heartless lately.”
Chuckling, Sirius set his things aside on the nearby set of drawers, then wriggled under the sheets himself, lying down next to James. “And self-important,” James went on loftily. “I’m spending Valentine’s on a date with Wormtail, obviously, I couldn’t care less what you two get up to.”
Sirius rolled his eyes, then leaned up on an elbow as well. “What are you doing for Valentine’s, really?” he asked.
“Other than dodging the usual barrage of chocolates laced with dubious love potions that girls are bound to ask me to pass on to you as always?” James raised both eyebrows. “Nothing. What’s there to do? It’s a boring old Monday this year, innit.”
“Oh?” Sirius stubbornly held his gaze. “So you’re not going to be spending it moping about Evans?”
James groaned. He let his head drop back onto his pillow. “You’ve gotten boring, Sirius Black, are we always going to be talking about Evans when we’re in bed together from now on? Innuendo intended. Intennuendo, if you will.”
Unimpressed, Sirius shoved his shoulder lightly. “Stop taking the piss – I’m trying to ask if you’ll be alright, you twit.”
“’Course I will,” James squinted at him, confused. “I’ve been alright, haven’t I?”
Sirius said nothing for a moment. Then he sighed and rolled over onto his back. “Okay, look—” he stretched out a hand up at the canopy as if in declaration of something, “I dunno how attuned you’ve been to the rumour mill lately, but half the school’s speculating about you two being an item, and the other half’s convinced she’s going with that Hufflepuff bloke.”
James quirked an eyebrow. “And?”
“And she’s probably going with that Hufflepuff bloke,” said Sirius, with a touch of impatience, as if his meaning was perfectly obvious, and James was the one being deliberately obtuse.
“Er, you’ve lost me, mate,” James squinted at him, confused.
Sirius gave a tremendous sigh. “How’d you think it’s going to look when she turns up with a date and you don’t? Might I remind you, Monday or not, everyone— or, well, at least the people with nothing better to do— are gonna have their eyes on you, neither of you can help that.”
James blinked. “So?”
“So I don’t want you to seem like a, a pathetic, pining loser.” Exasperatedly. “Which is exactly what they’ll assume happened – that she turned you down and you’re whipped for her regardless. Meaning… y’know… she’d win.”
James frowned, vaguely defensive. “Have you got to make it sound like some daft competition? I thought you two were getting on, now.”
“Yeah, she’s alright, but my problem was never with her anyway, Prongsie,” Sirius huffed. He’d turned on his side again, facing James. “I just don’t want to see you get… hurt. Made a fool of.”
He didn’t really need to spell this out, thought James, who’d already known it anyway.
“Only because it’s Valentine’s,” Sirius went on. “I know it’s daft, but it’s always a big deal to the school, so it’d probably be best to have a date for it, then let them leave your business alone as soon as it’s over. …Or as alone as they have done thus far, anyway. Heavy is the head that wears the antlers, eh.”
“Hmm. I dunno, I don’t like the idea of lying to someone,” said James. “To get a date, I mean.”
“So don’t,” Sirius shrugged. “Didn’t you say Sania Shah’s not interested in going steady with you? Snag her for Valentine’s. Should do the job without breaking any hearts.”
James considered this. He must have taken a bit too long to respond, because Sirius interjected, “Think of it like this, mate: Evans only wants to be friends with you, yeah? You’d be doing her a favour, too, if you didn’t seem all lovelorn while she’s got somebody else. Show her you’re moving on and she’s bound to be so much happier for it, don’t you think?”
“Probably,” James conceded with an involuntary sigh. “You should’ve seen the way she reacted the last time someone teased her about us. Like they’d just delivered the absolute worst insult.”
“…Okay, we are sort of friends now, she and me, but I still say that’s utter bollocks,” Sirius harrumphed, mutinous. “Honestly, anybody else would’ve taken it for the compliment that it is.”
James laughed. “You’re bonkers if you actually believe that, but I love you. Er, in the way that I love you, before Moony decides he fancies some venison on the next full moon.”
Which sent Sirius into a fit of laughter, too. “Right,” half gasping for his breath back as he hoisted himself upright again, “Talking of which, I’d better, you know, head. I can hide these here, for now, can’t I?” And he gestured toward his gift.
“Yeah, o’ course, feel free.”
Sirius swept his things into James’s drawer in the same fluid motion as when he eased out of the bed. Then they said their goodnights, and that was that.
Still, it was harder for James to fall asleep again. He kept daydreaming about what he would’ve given Lily, if it’d been him; imagined scribbling out lyrics like Sirius had meant to; didn’t expect a song to float to the surface of his mind so quickly, so naturally, like it’d been lurking inside his head all along. That Rolling Stones tune off of one of Sirius’s records: My sweet Lady Jane… when I see you again… your servant am I… and will humbly remain… just heed this plea, my love… on bended knees, my love… I pledge myself to… Lady Jane…
He made an abrupt noise, as if to physically drive the song out. Eh, it was probably about cannabis, anyway.
On the morning of Valentine’s Day, a bit after breakfast, when James had called Sania away from her friends to ask her about a date, he realised – too late – that both he and Sirius had made a grave miscalculation, actually.
It was her enthusiasm that tipped him off. He’d spotted her, Bonnie, and Maeve passing their spots at the Gryffindor table, so he’d hailed her, asked if he could have a word. Then they’d found a slightly more private corner of the Great Hall, and he’d begun, “Right, so, here’s the thing – I know you’re not exactly the hearts-and-flowers sort, and I’m not looking to start writing sonnets either, but, you see, there’s this small issue about our resident gossipmongers.” He’d grinned, a touch self-deprecating, leaning one shoulder against the wall in a way he’d hoped looked casual. “Bloody relentless, you know, always buzzing about who’s dating whom – it’s getting rather exhausting, honestly.”
Sania had arched a well-groomed eyebrow, arms crossed, but a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Go on,” she’d prompted.
“Well,” James had gone on, “I was thinking – strictly in the spirit of self-preservation, I mean – that maybe you’d do me a favour? Spend the day with me? Just for show! A bit of hand-holding, some smiles, and voilà – they’ll have their story, and I can finally get some peace. No strings attached, I swear. I’ll even bribe you with chocolates – the good sort, not that Honeydukes rubbish the first-years hoard.”
Sania’s painted lips had twitched, and for a moment James had thought she was going to laugh and call him silly. But then her expression had softened, and when she’d answered it hadn’t been with the easy nonchalance he’d expected. Instead, her voice had gone quiet, almost… shy. “Oh, I’d… like that very much, actually, James.”
He’d blinked. Something about the way she’d said it – her tone awkward, cheeks faintly flushed – made him falter. Sania Shah, quick-tongued and famously unimpressed by just about any and everything to do with romance, had been rather… bashful. And in that instant, James had a sinking realisation: this might not be as simple as he’d thought.
Now he was caught in a date that felt suspiciously like a date, and he had no idea how to wriggle out of it.
He and Sania were strolling along the edge of the Great Lake. No one was actually out of uniform, it being a Monday afternoon, but all the same she’d clearly made some effort: she always did wear makeup, and things like that, but James thought her hair looked different, too. It wasn’t in a ponytail or plait, for one thing, cascading along her back in a lush, black curtain instead. She’d also put on extravagant gold earrings, the sort that were shaped like little bells – James had seen Ma and Priya wear ones like that before, if they were going somewhere fancy.
Her usual confidence had given way to a giddy, tittering sort of air that ricocheted off of James’s own nerves, making him feel vaguely uncomfortable. Jumpy. He hoped his hand, where it was holding hers, wasn’t drenched in sweat.
“I don’t even really understand Valentine’s, I mean as a concept, do you?” she was saying, much shriller than he was used to. “Honestly, taking one, single day out of the entire year just to say you fancy somebody – it’s all a bit contrived, don’t you reckon? If you really did like them, you wouldn’t need to prove it with something as forced as that.”
James gave a noncommittal hum, mostly because he wasn’t sure what the safe response would be there. Sania was clearly angling for something, it was evident in the hedging way she spoke, but he couldn’t tell what. Did she want him to agree with her? In order to confirm that he was just as uninterested in a proper relationship as she was? Or worse, did she expect him to protest? Hoping, maybe, that he’d admit he wanted to spend Valentine’s with her based on more sincere intentions than he’d let on?
Merlin, he hoped not. And yet instinct was telling him as much. When had that happened, he wondered? Sania fancying him? It wasn’t as though they had anything in common. She hated sports and set a lot of store by wishy-washy subjects like Divination and enjoyed musical theatre and could carry an entire conversation on nothing but pointless gossip. He couldn’t bore her with talk of Quidditch, or even schoolwork because their fields of interest were so far apart, and the one time she’d waffled on and on and on about her beloved West End, James had been inundated with so many unfamiliar names that he could’ve sworn he’d fallen into a sort of stupor. And he’d thought introducing people to the teams of the Quidditch League was confusing…
It’d never been a problem before, because usually, when they got together, their mouths were, er, otherwise preoccupied. But today – strolling along the school grounds along with all the other sixth- and seventh-year couples that were taking complete advantage of the free time they had between lessons – they had no choice but to actually converse.
At first James had played along as best as he could – he wasn’t actually terrible at doing this, at least not that he’d been told. Flirting, especially, came easy to him: it wasn’t that different from banter, he only had to pay close attention to the other person’s reactions to know when to lean in and when to pull back. But – like banter – it was put on, a performance. It wasn’t honest, and he couldn’t keep it up without tiring, especially not with someone he didn’t share a certain history with first, to, er, liven up the repartee.
Like being caught in the world’s most boring tennis match. He’d do better – he mused – with an opponent who actually knew how to break the stalemate. Someone who could deliver a blistering serve or pull off a sneaky drop-shot to keep him on his toes. This, though – this endless volley of polite exchanges and forced jokes – felt like being stuck in a game where neither player was particularly good but both were too evenly matched in mediocrity to ever let the ball drop. They just kept lobbing it back and forth, back and forth, until the minutes stretched into hours and boredom set in like a cramp.
James would’ve killed for a bit of unpredictability, a wild card. Someone who could lob a googly – er, metaphorically speaking, seeing as tennis didn’t have googlies – at him just to see how he’d react. He didn’t even mind losing, as long as it meant that the game had been worth playing. But with Sania… well, every time she opened her mouth, it was like she was telegraphing her next move from a mile away. He could predict exactly how to make her smile; blush; gasp. He could do that with a lot of girls, honestly. Merlin’s beard, it wasn’t as though he disliked her, per se. She was nice. Pretty, too, in that polished, conventional way that made people turn their heads when she walked into a room. Her laugh was infectious, and her personality wasn’t half bad, either. But there was no spark. No tension. No thrill. She didn’t challenge him, not really. And without a challenge, what was the point?
He’d always felt the same way about a lot of things, after all. Subjects that were too easy. Quidditch matches that got predictable. Teams with winning streaks. Maybe it was some fundamental flaw of his, but it certainly existed.
Even Sania was running out of things to talk about, he could tell, with him too exhausted to be particularly forthcoming. She wound up reaching for the only thing they did happen to share: “So, er, whereabouts in India is your family from, exactly, James?”
He blinked, then smiled, pleased to have finally found a subject that wouldn’t be too dull. “Goa, originally,” he answered, “Ma’s side, that is. But she’s a half-blood, not that the distinction means much over there, except that her Muggle dad was too Christian to tolerate magic, so she ran off to live with her mum’s family in Delhi instead. Rather than hide her magic the way nani did.”
“Oh, no way! We’re from Delhi as well,” Sania beamed; then promptly deflated. “Well, for the most part. My family’s split between Delhi and Karachi.”
“Oh.” James winced. “Sorry to hear that…”
Sania waved it off with a bittersweet smile. “Do you visit, ever? I’ve been, once.”
“Yeah, couple times.” James shrugged, idly kicking at one of the pebbles along the edge of the lake. International travel was a lot easier with Apparition, in all fairness.
“I’d like to go again,” Sania declared. “I was too young to have really made the most of our trip, last time. What about you, do you like it there?”
James snorted. The very idea was as amusing as it was nonsensical. “What, do I like the veritable army of cousins just itching to take the piss, call me a coconut in twenty different languages?” He laughed, making her chuckle as well. “No, not really. And then the heat, and the caste rubbish that makes me actually, physically ill to even think about. Nah, I know where home is—” And he affected a grand accent— “This royal throne of kings… etc., I forget the start… this blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England! And however the rest of it goes.”
He feigned a curtsy, twirl of the hand and everything.
No doubt tickled by the thespian reference, Sania clapped and chuckled a little. “But that’s so odd to hear,” she said, nevertheless. “The pure-blood world must be so different. I’ll bet the name Enoch Powell doesn’t even mean anything to you.”
“Who?” asked James.
“Exactly,” Sania sighed. “Suppose I can’t hold it against you, though – it must be nice, to be so wholly accepted. I love this country, too, but, well… it certainly doesn’t love me back. They built a great, and, yes, ‘demi-paradise’ of a nation upon our stolen wealth, then on top of it they ask us to come and help build it again after what the war wrought. But they don’t welcome us into the fold. I envy you, I really do.”
James hummed, contemplative, shoving his free hand into his pocket. This was the most substantial conversation the pair of them had ever had, he thought.
“It wasn’t all hunky-dory for my mum,” he said fairly. “I suppose things are different for me because I was born and raised here.”
“Yes, but, being born and raised here is enough to make you as British as the next bloke,” Sania smirked, wry. “It’s not the same, among Muggles. And then they tell us we can’t even complain about it all – that we should just go back if we don’t like it here. As though we didn’t come over for a reason. It’s a bit like being in unrequited love, eh? You can’t choose who you fall for.”
“…No,” James agreed, thinking immediately of auburn hair and fierce eyes; he had to shove it aside, clear his throat. “Erm, but if they feel so strongly about origin and all, they ought to deport the royal family first.”
Sania barked out a delighted laugh. “Was there really nothing about your trips that you liked? At all?” she asked, eventually.
James took a moment to consider it. “Well, the colours,” he decided, smiling as he remembered them – every vibrant hue, along almost all the streets, shops, houses, even vehicles. “Europe is all browns and whites and beiges, don’t you think? Architecturally. Actually, I daresay even the flora’s sort of… I dunno, muted. Mostly, er, pastel. I remember India, like… hmm. I dunno. Like it was breathing in technicolour. I suppose.”
When he glanced over, he caught Sania eyeing the side of his face with a rather fond look, a bit too tender to be platonic. He squirmed; how was he supposed to field this off? Short of acting a right knobhead to make her lose interest in him? But he didn’t really want to do that, not to a girl. What would Ma say? Honesty, he longed for the freedom of some honesty…
His thoughts were interrupted by a relatively distant voice calling his and Sania’s names. James looked; a few paces ahead of them, on one of the long benches that dotted the border along this end of the lake, sat Lily and her date, that Hufflepuff bloke, beside Mary Macdonald and (presumably) her own Valentine, another Hufflepuff James didn’t recognise.
Well, Lily, Mary, and Adrian-What’s-His-Face were sitting down, anyway. There wasn’t enough room for Hufflepuff Bloke the Second, who quite chivalrously hovered beside Mary instead. James thought, irritably, that that Adrian fellow might have bothered to do the same, rather than giving the girls such little space to lounge. Basic courtesy, wasn’t it.
He’d intended to just wave a greeting back and move along, but Lily was beckoning him over with a casual gesture and a smile. He couldn’t have helped stepping forward if he’d been physically restrained.
“Alright?” He nodded first at Lily, then her little party, crooked half-a-grin in place: “Hiya, Mary. Er… mate. And… other person.”
Lily exhaled an amused breath. “Stay for five seconds, won’t you? Maybe us chatting while we’ve clearly got dates will finally convince those idiots that we’re honestly just good friends.”
Sparse laughter all around; James ignored the twinge in his chest, obliging, “Glad we’re on the same page…”
With an oblivious smile, Lily turned around and indicated her companions: “This is Adrian. That’s Reginald. You guys know James and Sania.”
“You alright?”
“Yeah…”
“Hiya…”
“Are you having a picnic, then?” asked Sania politely. “Nice weather for it, isn’t it.”
“Is it a picnic if we’re neither sitting on the ground nor eating?” drawled Adrian, giving Sania a look like she, and not the pedant, had said something silly.
Sania (understandably) seemed weirded-out in response, and she and Lily did that thing all girls seemed to know how to: glanced at one another, eyes twinkling, fighting back mirth.
“Adrian’s just been saying that the fundamental problem with magical society is cultural, not political,” Lily said mildly, necessitating that Sania look away to hide the upturn of her lips, disguise a helpless laugh as a cough into her fist.
“Oh, yes,” Lily went on, tone impressively neutral. “Because of how little we question the constructs of power inherent in… well, everything, really.”
“Exactly.” Clearly pleased to have had his wisdom acknowledged, Adrian straightened against the bench. “That we even tolerate a concept as medieval as blood purity, or the façade we call our Ministry, is rooted in the normalisation of power imbalances in our day-to-day… take Hogwarts itself.” He waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the castle’s distant silhouette. “Nothing but an indoctrination machine masquerading as a school.”
Lily was now frantically sipping at the straw of the drink she’d been cupping. Her face had gone a lovely shade of powder-pink, her eyes dancing with their own aurora borealis: she was holding back laughter.
Charmed, and wanting to make her crack, James tilted his head, as though mulling it over seriously. “You’re absolutely right, mate,” he said. “Like, why do we even use wands, really? Isn’t that the ultimate symbol of control? Who decided it was wands or nothing?”
Adrian blinked, visibly caught off-guard, though he didn’t seem displeased, either. “In a way… precisely. Wands can be symbolic tools of oppression in that—”
“And uniforms!” James cut in, feigning vehemence. “All of us wearing the same thing every day? I tell you, might as well be sheep. Ever thought about that?”
Lily’s lips were now twitching incessantly. She had to clear her throat quite a bit before she finally managed, “Not to mention house points. Classic example of rewarding conformity.”
Adrian nodded, his sincerity betrayed by the fact that his nonchalant slouch against the bench – one arm draped possessively across the back of Lily’s place upon it – straightened. “That, and—”
“Oh, and Quidditch!” James interjected, again. “Nothing says ‘systemic power imbalance’ like a sport where one player can win the whole game just by catching a shiny ball. I mean, what’s that supposed to teach us about collaboration, eh?”
Lily couldn’t catch herself this time. A short laugh escaped her, which she quickly disguised as having swallowed her drink wrong – making a big show of stroking her windpipe.
James almost broke character at the sight, and had to forcefully bite back his grin.
Adrian frowned this time, having apparently caught on that something was off at last, but he was clearly unable to pinpoint exactly what. Even his mate Reginald (still standing there awkwardly) looked like he wasn’t entirely sure what was happening, and Mary gave James a rather maternal look of disapproval behind Lily’s shoulder, making James shoot her a subtle wink in response.
“…You know,” Adrian said, after a beat, “I think you’re simplifying it too much, Potter. The wand issue, for example, isn’t about… conformity, so much as it is about the centralisation of magical praxis—”
“That not being political in the least, of course,” James interjected solemnly, nodding along, as though Adrian had made the most groundbreaking point of the century.
That was enough to make Lily laugh outright this time, her shoulders quaking as she pressed the back of a hand to her lips. “S-Sorry,” she gasped, managing to compose herself just enough to glance at Adrian. “It’s just— James is so— insightful, isn’t he?”
Adrian gave James a considering look, visibly torn between agreeing and being annoyed. “Well, he’s… got a knack for unconventional perspectives, I suppose.”
“Oh, cheers, mate.” James exaggerated delight, beaming. “Coming from you, that’s high praise.”
Sania cleared her throat softly. James turned, expecting to find amusement in her expression, as well, but… there was something about the tightness of the smile she directed at the group that threw James off – if he didn’t know better, didn’t know she was among her own friends, he’d have thought she was annoyed.
Abruptly, she looped an arm through James’s. The smile she sent him was far more winning as she said, coquettishly, “Well, that’s your five seconds gone, isn’t it, Lil? We’d better go, James, if we want to be able to sneak up to your dorm before the juniors get back from lessons and all that, and spot us!” This with a charming laugh, its meaning plain.
James arched a quizzical eyebrow at her, though he returned her smile, regardless. Not like he was opposed to this change of plans, but they hadn’t discussed it prior, so he hadn’t been aware it was, er, on the itinerary.
Mary had now gone pink, giggling; and Adrian arched an eyebrow at James in a look that was appraising in a congratulatory way: some sort of laddish, “wink-wink” camaraderie that had James struggling not to roll his eyes. He rather admired Sania’s brazenness, but well, her reputation existed, and she took pride in it, and he supposed that meant no explanation was necessary.
One other reaction gave him pause, however.
“Oh, don’t worry,” said Lily, in a rather odd voice that had James turning toward her again – she wasn’t looking at them now, eyes on her drink, lips suddenly stripped of all mirth. They were all but pursed, in fact, and James thought she sounded, for whatever reason, standoffish. “It’s actually easier this time of day,” she went on – coolly, even though the tone was nevertheless sing-song in some facsimile of friendliness, if obviously put-on. “People milling about, y’know. Masks the sound of that irritating step near the top – the tricky one that always echoes.”
James blinked, baffled. Mary’s head had snapped around to Lily, and she was frowning deeply, but Lily didn’t notice – or at least didn’t show it, if she had – having turned to Adrian now, smiling winsomely as she started on some new topic of conversation. James couldn’t hear what, could barely manage a quick goodbye, because Sania was now insistently tugging him away.
The side of Sania’s face that he could see was a deep scarlet. “She’s been to your dorm, then, has she, James?” she grit out, falsely-saccharine: it didn’t matter how brightly she smiled, James could hear the strain in it.
Ah. James’s eyes went wide as he floundered for a response: confirm it and tell the truth that nothing along the lines of what Sania must be imagining had happened, and he’d just give her the impression that he was defensive. She’d be mollified, but at the cost of giving her false hope that he fancied her too; effectively stringing her along, which was the opposite of what he wanted.
Lie, and deny it… and wind up humiliating Lily by making her out to be some attention-seeking rumourmonger.
No. That wasn’t even an option. It had to be a choice between hurting Sania’s feelings a little bit, or a lot.
I’m never listening to you ever again, Sirius Black, James internally cursed.
“…Yeah,” he feigned a smirk, a confused furrow of the brow. He kept his hands nonchalantly in his pockets; added a careless shrug to hammer it home. “Why? That’s not a problem, is it?”
Sania’s cheeks went even redder. She laughed: a hasty, anxious, brittle thing. “No, no! Of course not. I-I’m just surprised. A prefect…”
James fought not to wince. Wonderful, he thought. If he’d known his love life would turn this laughably complicated as soon as he hit sixteen, he’d have skipped the whole Hogwarts bit and just signed up for that daft soap opera that Ms Pettigrew adored, what was it? Coronation Street something or the other?
Forcing back a sigh, he gave Sania a more genuine smile, praying it didn’t betray sympathy. “Actually, d’you know what, I’ve just remembered that my mates will be indoors today – homework and that. Left it last minute.” He gestured toward the castle with a thumb. “Care to grab a bite or something like that instead? I know a way into the kitchens, and the house-elves will genuinely make you anything if you ask politely. Bit nippy for an ice-cream, but panna cotta’s close enough – seems the sort of thing people would do today, dunnit?”
Don’t let it be said that James Potter went and ruined some girl’s Valentine’s Day, he prayed…
“…Sounds alright,” Sania smiled back, if slightly more bittersweet – necessitating that James hide an exhale of sheer relief.
He did his best to steer clear of Sania for the rest of the week, aside from the occasional “hi” and “bye,” unsure how else to turn her off him. She didn’t react badly, thank Merlin – going about her own business normally enough from what James could see – so by the time Friday rolled around he’d more or less moved on; it’d never been in his nature to dwell, after all.
Besides, Professor Bordastrega was finally starting on Patronuses, a lesson the entire year had been looking forward to from the instant they’d spotted the word in their textbooks. The buzz of excitement inside the Defence classroom that afternoon left no space for James to fret; it was much too contagious.
“—For the past century or so one’s Patronus has been traditionally defined as ‘the shape of one’s soul’ by theorists such as Editha Plinth and Lucien Éclat,” Professor Bordastrega was saying, as she paced in front of her desk per usual. “But in recent years there has been a shift from such, eh, metaphysical terminology to more concrete labels; most notably by Dhiren Joshi, the author of Threads of Light, which I suggest you pick up from the library. This comes partly because of modern debates about the nature, the definition, even the existence of a soul. But also for more practical reasons, which, if you remember your third year Defence syllabus, you should be able to connect. Hmm? Anybody?”
She gave the class an expectant look. She hadn’t asked them to sit, when they’d entered, so all the students were huddled around her in a semi-circle that framed her own spot, at the front of the room. Which usually meant the lesson would lean toward practical application more than theory, and so James eagerly strummed his fingers against the pocket where his wand was waiting. Remus, on the other hand, never did mind this bit of their lectures; he called out, “Is it to do with distinguishing them from Animagus forms, professor?”
“Very good, Mr Lupin.” Bordastrega nodded. “Yes, Joshi prefers the terms ‘core’ and ‘affinity’ when describing the phenomenon of animal manifestations of one’s internal self – terms borrowed from wand-lore, as some of you may recognise. A ‘core’ in this sense is like the essence of who you are – your true, unchanging self, analogous to a soul. This is what determines the shape of the Animagus form. The Animagus transformation always reflects one’s core.
“Now, pay attention here, because this distinction is important for your NEWT exams. A Patronus, unlike the Animagus form, does not always represent the ‘core.’ Instead, it is shaped by what Joshi calls ‘affinity.’ That is, a Patronus reflects what you are most, eh, predisposed to, at a particular time in your life. For many people, this affinity aligns closely with their core, which is why their Patronus will be the same as their Animagus form. But for others, it can change, caused by significant life events, emotional upheavals… essentially, transformations in identity. This is why a Patronus can shift, while the Animagus form does not. Understand? The Patronus is fluid, but the Animagus form is fixed.”
June Alderton, nearer the front than James and his friends, giggled excitedly as she raised her hand. “Professor, is it true that your Patronus changes to match your soulmate’s when you fall in love?”
It set off a chain-reaction of sparse, equally giddy tittering, particularly among the girls. Professor Bordastrega, however, frowned. “Ah, Miss Alderton… I would caution you against using such… romanticised… ideas, in your thinking, especially for your exams,” she said; firm, though not unkind. “This is what I mean when I say to avoid metaphysical terminology, sì? It will not be helpful for theoretical understanding.”
She clasped her hands together, addressing the room now. “Yes, it is true that a Patronus can change to reflect a significant person in one’s life. And yes, this is often observed in, eh, romantic partnerships. But it is not limited to this. Such changes can also occur between close friends or family members, those with deep emotional bonds. But—” Her gaze swept the room, pausing just long enough to draw their attention, “I wonder, would you find it so… romantic, if I told you that such changes are always caused by emotional trauma?”
James could see June’s smile falter, from the side of her face.
“I am now speaking from personal opinion, not strict theory,” Bordastrega went on, solemn. “So I caution you – do not repeat this in your exams or essays unless it is clear that such things are allowed, yes? In my experience, the changing of a Patronus is not something to be celebrated. No, it is quite the opposite. Such a shift means you have lost your affinity to your core. You are out of alignment with yourself. Put simply, you have, in some way, lost yourself – and even more troubling, lost yourself in someone else.”
She shook her head. The words hung heavily in the air, and the liveliness of the classroom faded into thoughtful silence.
Her posture relaxed, her expression softening. “Ah, but let me say – I do not dismiss this idea of ‘soulmates.’” In a gentler tone of voice. “Though, I would ask – must they always be romantic, hmm? Perhaps, instead of a Patronus changing, it is a sweeter thought to imagine that someone’s Patronus could simply complement your own. As it is, without needing to change at all. That, I think, would show that the person is, at the very least, a kindred spirit – a term I much prefer to ‘soulmate,’ myself,” she added, and her lips curved into the faintest of smiles.
“Like if your Patronuses happened to be a wolf and a dog, for example, professor?” James teased, grinning when Sirius elbowed him in the ribs in response, although Sirius couldn’t quite hide a smile, either.
“Why not, Mr Potter, why not.” Bordastrega shrugged. “Or perhaps a wolf and she-wolf. Sì.”
She paused to draw her wand, then demonstrated a swirling, circular motion with it. “Now, to summon the Patronus, this is the wand movement you must make. As for the intention, we will go deeper into that when we discuss the theory in more detail, especially about what ‘edifies’ versus what ‘crushes’ a soul, or core. You see, the Patronus Charm will respond only to what ‘edifies.’ A good shortcut to tap into this, which most practitioners recommend, is to picture a happy memory. And finally, the incantation is: ‘Expecto Patronum.’ Do you understand everything? Practice the wand movement and repeat the spell after me, please. Expecto Patronum.”
James, along with the rest of the class, fished out his own wand and mimicked the twirl of Bordastrega’s wrist. “Expecto Patronum.”
To his surprise, silvery light immediately shot out of the tip. It was like a ribbon, tapering off into an orb a bit like a giant Lumos, until eventually, it took shape… and became a magnificent stag.
Several students gasped, and even their professor had raised both her eyebrows. “…You must be very attuned to what makes your soul happy already, Mr Potter,” she half-smiled.
James grinned. It was true; none of the other students had conjured anything, and he was certain they – like he – hadn’t really been picturing a happy memory or putting any thought, let alone intention, into it at all. He’d only been aware, as usual, of his friends standing beside him. Evidently, that had been enough.
“Well, it is a good opportunity to touch further on the theory of forms,” said Professor Bordastrega, “Without having to summon my own.”
She gestured toward James’s stag (now prancing about the front of the class) with a wave of one hand. “As you can see, the Patronus can move independently of the caster’s wand, unlike the Wand-Lighting Charm. Some theorists in fact consider it a form of astral projection. While this is a bit simplified, it is not incorrect, since the Patronus as we have established is a representation of one’s inner self.”
She clasped her hands together again. “As for the animal it becomes: language-based systems of magic like ours rely heavily on meaning, of course. Semantics, semiotics, symbolism. In other words, while it may be tempting to interpret the animal literally – to say, for example, ‘this is the kind of creature the caster is’ – you must not fall into this trap. It is actually highly dependent on systems of meaning, which naturally, are influenced by one’s cultural references. For instance, Mr Potter’s Patronus is a stag, yes? If you are not careful, you might assume this means – since the stag is a prey animal – that Mr Potter is something like… easily spooked.”
Everybody laughed, and James offered a good-natured smirk of his own. “Oi.”
Professor Bordastrega’s lips had quirked up, too. “This is obviously not true. He is a Gryffindor, is he not? No, the stag within your cultural system of meaning, perhaps, represents, eh, nobility. Masculinity. Courage, leadership, a wild and untamed spirit – these are all qualities that could possibly make up Mr Potter’s core.”
“It also represents virility, professor. Maybe he’s just a randy bugger,” Sirius called out, making everyone laugh again.
“Perhaps,” Bordastrega chuckled. “My point is that, the form is not a literal representation of one’s core, but rather a symbolic one. Someone with a Patronus of a rabbit, for example, may not be a weak person at all, but perhaps it hints that they are, say, fun-loving. Or maybe cunning, if you think about the story of the tortoise and the hare.”
“Can the animal mean a different thing in different cultures, then, professor?” asked Kingsley.
“It can. Well spotted, Mr Shacklebolt.” Bordastrega nodded. “A European caster whose Patronus takes the form of a snake, might be considered deceitful. Untrustworthy. An Asian caster with a snake, on the other hand, might be considered… wise. And so on.”
She stepped forward, necessitating that the semi-circle of students part to make space for her. “But we will leave the theory there, for now, yes? We have covered enough for an introduction. Next Friday, we will go into more detail about the actual uses of the Patronus Charm, and its function as what some theorists term a ‘guardian spirit’ and a ‘projection of positive energy.’”
She only had to nod for them all to know what to do, being used to it by now. They shuffled into two neat rows on either side of their professor, wands at the ready.
Sure enough, she instructed, “Please practice the incantation and the wand movement. I also want you to start putting in some ‘intention’ – picture a happy memory as you try to summon your Patronus. I do not expect you to achieve this on the first try: even the incorporeal Patronus, which is just a wispy light, not yet in animal form, is very difficult to summon, let alone the full, the corporeal version. But you should at least be able to summon some light. If it is not working, try to think of an even happier memory than the one you used. You may begin.”
James raised his wand, unsure what he was meant to do now, but Bordastrega passed him and said, “Use Finite to stop your Patronus Charm, Mr Potter. You are free to practice it again if you like, or assist your classmates.”
Relieved, James casually cast Finite nonverbally, and his silvery stag disappeared. He turned to assess his surroundings: beside him, Sirius and Remus had set to work, murmuring the spell and waving their wands. James noticed that Lily stood rather close – she was among the queue opposite theirs, standing next to Marlene, only a few paces away from James. Pleased, James tried to catch her eye, and when he managed they exchanged little smiles of greeting. Then Lily returned her concentration to casting the charm, and James privately thought that he’d have been able to summon his stag again with even less effort, after that exchange.
He went back to observing everyone else. There were the usual vehement shouts of the incantation from people who erroneously felt volume might help them cast more effectively; some light from some corners; and from a few others, less ephemeral threads of shining, silver beams that danced twisting patterns in the air. Sirius, next to him, was muttering the incantation over and over again, making small, frustrated flicks with his wand. It must really be a difficult charm, James thought, if Sirius was having trouble. He couldn’t help but watch for a moment longer, mildly surprised by how his best friend’s usual knack for charms had completely deserted him at the moment. The pair of them normally finished first in lessons…
He glanced over to Remus – flanking Sirius’s other side – who also struggled, for a bit. Remus’s wand was moving in that precise, careful way that he always did things, but, the air around him remained stubbornly empty. Unlike Sirius’s fruitless attempts, however, after a few more tries, a faint light began to form in front of Remus. It flickered weakly… growing brighter… and slowly beginning to take shape. It wasn’t quite corporeal yet, but James could tell it was almost a proper Patronus, at least: a silvery figure of something vaguely canine-like.
James blinked, surprised. Of course Remus was a werewolf, but he hadn’t really expected Remus’s core to be a wolf, as well. He’d only been ribbing Sirius, earlier. Or perhaps it was a dog…
Suddenly, the light brightened and shifted again, and there it was – distinct now. A full, corporeal Patronus in the form of a wolf, no more room for doubt. It was beautiful, its fur shimmering in the light, and it seemed to stand with purpose. But Remus immediately looked horrified. His face drained of colour, and he hastily flicked his wand again, dispelling the wolf in a burst of light.
The instant the Patronus had gone, Remus stepped away. His hand gripped the back of his neck, visibly rattled. James, though he didn’t fully understand, felt a pang of sympathy for his friend.
He considered saying something, but thought it might be better to pretend he hadn’t seen. Sirius hadn’t, after all: he was clearly too busy with his own ordeal, and hadn’t remarked on Remus’s. James watched him: the frustration was building up on his best friend’s face, a furrow at his brow now, and the jerky way he flicked his wand almost frantic. The charm simply didn’t seem to want to cooperate, and Sirius’s usually insouciant manner was slipping.
With a sharp exhale, and shaking his head in exasperation, he turned to James. “Mate, how’d you manage it?” he asked irritably. “There’s a trick to it, in’t there?”
“I dunno,” James answered honestly, with a helpless shrug. “I wasn’t even really picturing a happy memory or anything like that…”
Remus gave him an odd look, at that. “…Well, the standard spellbooks – y’know, the Goshawk ones – do mention that the Patronus Charm is a sort of… positive force, like, an antithesis to dark magic more or less,” he said. “They’re supposed to be made up of things like hope and happiness and the will to live and… I guess Prongs is erm, a happy person by nature already, so… maybe he doesn’t… have to try to be?”
And now Sirius was giving James that odd look as well. James had to resist the urge to squirm.
That chasm that sometimes opened, between him and his dearest friends, yawned wide. Even though they were still standing right there, right next to him, James instantly felt shut out as soon as Sirius turned once more. It made his heart sink; he slid troubled eyes away to his own shoes. That stag would probably be a bit harder to conjure up right then…
“But I’m not upset,” Sirius was saying, now, with a frown more confused than anything. “Well, I mean, I’m annoyed now, because I can’t fuckin’ work it, but I’m not like… generally, y’know…”
“Yeah,” Remus nodded, understanding where James failed to. “What memory were you using?”
“The poem,” said Sirius, in a hushed voice – and this must have been alluding to something shared between the pair of them, because Remus turned pinkish, and James had to look away again.
Damn. He felt rather lonely, now.
He was still somewhat lost in thought when a sharp gasp caught his attention. Curious, he glanced up: it had come from the row opposite theirs, and was now accompanied by a lot of murmurs that sounded delighted – mischievous – teasing.
Someone else had managed a corporeal Patronus, James realised. And, unlike the others, it’d been greeted with shock, because… because…
James gawked.
Because it was a doe. A lovely, majestic, graceful doe.
And Lily Evans had gone as red as her hair, and still had her wand pointed out, like she was too frozen to withdraw it.
The whispers were quickly becoming a cascade. James could only stare. Everyone around Lily, everyone close enough to have seen, was giggling, nudging one another. A tremendous feeling so big it threatened to rip James’s chest open overwhelmed him – excitement, elation, whatever went beyond that – and he had to hide the daft grin that split his face behind a fist. Kindred spirit, Bordastrega’s voice said in his head.
A doe, a doe, a counterpart to his stag—
But the elation was abruptly shot down as soon as it’d come. Lily had turned to him, now. There was no echoing delight in her face at all. She’d gone pale, her stare almost… accusatory.
James’s heart plummeted into his stomach.
Their classmates were full-on teasing, now, elbowing James, elbowing Lily.
“Stag and doe, eh?”
“Aw, Lily, who knew you had such a connection with Potter?”
“You’d better settle down now you’ve found yer soulmate, James!”
None of them were mean-spirited, but all the same, James felt each one like an arrow to the chest. Because Lily was frowning deeper and deeper, and eventually she wrenched her eyes away from James altogether, and snapped at the nearest girl still ribbing her: “Would you shut it, already? Grow up!”
His chest felt hollow, like the lightness of mere moments ago had been cored out, leaving only this intense ache behind. He tore his own gaze away, staring hard at the floor, as teasing laughter continued to surround him. He clenched his jaw, willing the lump rising in his throat to stay put, and swallowed hard.
“…Prongs?” Remus’s voice was low, concerned, but James couldn’t bring himself to look. If he did, the tightness in his chest might burst, he thought. He shook his head faintly, pretending not to have heard; fixed his eyes on the polished tip of his shoe.
The class carried on for a little while longer, but James barely noticed. He murmured vague responses to questions from his friends; his hand gripped his wand so tightly it hurt. The once-bright feeling of connection he’d felt with Lily now felt like nothing more than a cruel, fairly sadistic joke.
Finally, Professor Bordastrega clapped her hands together, signalling the end of the lesson. “Enough for today,” she said, “We will continue with more practice next time, and please remember: the Patronus is not a race, yes? Everyone progresses at their own speed.”
As the students began to pack up and chatter, her voice cut through the noise again, directed at Sirius: “Mr Black, if you could stay a minute, I would like a word.”
Sirius frowned, but nodded, muttering something under his breath as he remained behind, standing there while the rest of the students filed out.
James hardly registered a thing beyond that. His chest still felt too tight, and the sting in his eyes threatened to spill over if he lingered a moment longer. He shoved his wand into his pocket and hurried out of the room, ignoring everything around him.
“Prongs!” Remus’s voice trailed after him, worried now. “Prongs, would you wait—”
But James didn’t stop, didn’t look back. He couldn’t. Not with the fierce ache in his heart and the lump in his throat growing so large he was afraid it might spill over before he could get it under control.
“Prongs.” Remus – having caught up to him, at last – fairly spun him around by the upper arms. Damn his werewolf’s strength, James thought, as his friend fairly yanked him away, toward the relative privacy of a nook underneath the nearest staircase.
“…You alright?” Remus asked, searching James’s face as if he expected to find injuries there.
James forced something like a noiseless laugh, eyes flitting this way and that to fend off the burning feeling that lined them. “Look, Moony, don’t you start, alright?” he hissed. “Padfoot’s said it all already, I know it, I know Lily only wants to be mates and nothing more and that’s fuckin’ great and I’m— and she— and she’d be happier if I could just pull it together and stop reacting like a complete twat every time she shows what she’s— she’s already made crystal-fuckin’-clear a hundred times before—”
“James.” Remus cut him off so sternly James’s mouth reflexively clicked shut.
His hands had settled on James’s shoulders, eyes as sombre as they were sympathetic. “That’s all true,” he granted, “But just because it’s true doesn’t mean it’s not allowed to suck, mate. You can’t logic your way out of everything.”
The words made something in James’s chest give way, and he shut his eyes hard. Had to concentrate on his breathing quite a bit to force it to even out.
Remus enveloped him in a firm, brotherly embrace, and James could only grip back tightly.
Notes:
…As an ex-Edinburgh resident I am obliged to disclaim that there ain’t no way the sun would actually be up by seven in Scotland in February, but, well. We choose to ignore.
Sirius treating high school popularity dynamics like political intrigue cracked me up so much y’all. It probably seems a little bit weird to be manoeuvring to this extent, but IDK, it feels realistic to me – having been on the periphery of this flavour of teen drama back in the day, image is everything to cliques. (I mean it’s probably different with cis boys, but hey, write what you know.)
Placing Euphemia Potter in a ’verse where she’s Indian: well, while the name “Euphemia” has Greek origins, it can also be tied to early Christian saints, most notably St Euphemia, the martyr of the fourth century. Being named after a saint isn’t at all unheard of among India’s Christian population, which is concentrated in regions with histories of missionary influence (on top of colonial, I mean), particularly the northeast, parts of the south, and along the west coast. I ruled out the northeast because, my family being from there, I’d heard that (at least AFAIK) the Scots, Brits, and Welsh brought a stronger Protestant influence than Catholic (although there are Catholic communities there as well, of course). Also I just feel kinda weird, making James the same as me? LMAO.
And then there’s the fact that there are southern states with a significant Christian presence that nevertheless resisted the colonisation of their linguistic heritage, to the point where “Euphemia” wouldn’t be likely to crop up as a name, IMO – Kerala, for instance, even though St Euphemia is particularly venerated in the Orthodox and Anglican traditions, both of which have a strong base in the area. Oh, well.
That narrowed my search down to Christianisation from elsewhere in Europe, not (by-then) Protestant England. Goa and Mangalore both have strong Catholic communities thanks to Portuguese influence, and Goa stood out as the likelier choice – it was under Portuguese rule for over 450 years, leading to a widespread adoption of European names among its Catholic population. Names like Euphemia would be more common there, given the Catholic affinity for using the names of saints; in contrast, Mangalorean Catholics, while also influenced by Portuguese missionaries, tend to favour simpler biblical or Latinised names, at least according to my research.
So a combination of Goa’s Catholic roots, cultural history, and connection to European naming traditions made it the perfect fit for Euphemia’s background in this world. Removing them from an actual Christian background took some thought, though! I need James to not be a Christian, for reasons that will become apparent once I post the instalment titled dies irae.
Employed a generous amount of artistic license on Patronus theory because no, Joanne, “eternal unchangeable love” is not, in fact, what comes to my mind when they change. It’s creepy as all fuck! So I mostly discarded the extra-textual information, and then did try not to contradict Remus’s textual lecture – Bordastrega is just focusing on a different aspect of the theory than him here, because he had to teach Harry to actually use it against Dementors, and she’s just covering your standard info for exams.
(Also JKR’s extra material on Patronuses keeps mentioning the kind of “pure of heart” bullshit that she seems to love incorporating and that I, on the other hand, absolutely fucking neither care for, nor believe in. You bet I’m reworking.)
I literally only went on that tangent about the animal forms being symbolic because I saw a stupid Reddit thread where one of Reddit’s typical idiots-who-type-faster-than-you-can-say-Dunning-Kruger-Effect said that James couldn’t have been courageous or a natural leader because stags are prey animals. When I tell you I was like… bitch…
Chapter 16
Notes:
Your support makes all the time and energy I put into this worthwhile! Thank you!
The flash-forward in the first section is set a few days before Sirius dies.
Chapter TW: Self-harm (not cutting), brief/non-graphic allusion to suicide, discussions of child abuse, cruelty toward and murder of house-elves, murder in general, brief flashback of Marcus’s attempted assault, and technically a non-consensual medical procedure? The magical kind, anyway. This chapter’s an absolute doozy for Sirius, huh.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Sirius wasn’t certain how long he’d been standing there: at the foot of the stairs, gazing sightlessly at his mother’s portrait. If she’d actually been present, human and alive, he might have been able to tell by the hoarseness of her voice after quite this much yelling; but Walburga Black was long dead, a remnant on the wall now, and she could screech at him as much as she liked with no evidence of tiring. Good for her, he mused, wondering if that would have been exactly her idea of heaven in the end. What a pathetic thought; and he surprised himself with the extent of how much about her suddenly seemed pathetic, right then. He took another drag of his cigarette. Once upon a time he’d quit for Remus’s sake, but he owed Remus nothing now, so he had gone ahead and traded with Mundungus for a pack sometime ago.
“FILTH! SCUM! TRAITOROUS WRETCH, SULLYING THIS SACRED HOME WITH YOUR FOUL PRESENCE! HOW DARE YOU STAND THERE SMOKING LIKE SOME COMMON MUGGLE? BLACK BLOOD RUNS THROUGH YOUR VEINS, AND STILL YOU SPIT UPON IT! YOU SHAME ME, SHAME THIS GREAT HOUSE, WITH EVERY BREATH YOU TAKE—”
Mother had been at it exactly like this for a while now. Ever since Sirius had left his room, having run out of alcohol, with the vague idea of searching the kitchens for more. He’d been ambling, half-drunk, down the stairs; had stumbled on the last step; accidentally swore loudly as he tried to regain his balance. That had roused the hag’s portrait, and she’d started right up: “INSOLENT BOY! UNGRATEFUL, CONTEMPTUOUS, GOOD-FOR-NOTHING! DO YOU KNOW WHAT I SACRIFICED TO KEEP THE FAMILY NAME UNSULLIED? YET HERE YOU ARE, CONSORTING WITH HALF-BREEDS! BLOOD TRAITORS! MUDBLOODS! FLAUNTING YOUR DISGRACE FOR ALL THE WORLD TO SEE!”
Swearing up a storm to rival hers, Sirius had struggled to yank her curtains shut once more, but then she’d said something that made him pause altogether:
“—YOU ARE NOTHING, DO YOU HEAR ME? NOTHING! YOU SHOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN BORN! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO BE HERE! YOU WERE NEVER SUPPOSED TO BE HERE!”
And now, there he was, leaning against the banister, staring at what was left of his mother as he marvelled at his dawning epiphany.
Lucky for them both the house was completely empty. Again. The Order busy as usual, leaving Sirius behind with her. He didn’t know where Kreacher was; didn’t particularly care, either. If the house-elf had been about he’d have materialised by then, probably, if only to bask in his beloved mistress tearing into her much-reviled firstborn like this.
Sirius would never have gotten the chance to just… soak it in. Allow the realisations to settle. He squinted at his mother, brow creased, lips a contemplative line around his cigarette. “‘Supposed to,’” he echoed, under his breath…
He shook his head. Absently flicked ash onto the carpet, stamped out the embers with the heel of his boot. “But, mother, I’ve always done what I wasn’t supposed to,” he said, not bothering to raise his voice above her shouting; let it be a strange accompaniment to an equally strange conversation – if it could be called that. “You say I wasn’t supposed to be born? Alright— but I was. Here I am. I wasn’t supposed to be a Gryffindor, and I did that. Chose it, as a matter of fact. Wasn’t supposed to befriend a Potter, wasn’t supposed to love a werewolf. Or be loved by the angel in disguise he has always— stupid, perfect soul that should have known better— always been. Damned and doomed into wanting me, but Merlin, mum, he wanted me.”
He exhaled amusement at the floor. Mother went on, but Sirius was hardly listening now. “I wasn’t supposed to have this house, either, after you turned me out… but our idiot Reg took care of that, didn’t he? Bet that was a nasty surprise for you, wasn’t it? Poor you. Betrayed even by the son you did accept, however grudgingly, in the end.”
His lips quirked up ever so slightly, relishing in the way Mother got even louder, at that.
“I wasn’t… supposed to survive Azkaban. Merlin knows, I wasn’t supposed to survive Azkaban.” He swallowed around the lump in his throat, shut his eyes against the awful, inevitable flashes of memory. Didn’t he used to do this, there, as well? Talk to himself, just so he wouldn’t forget language?
“…But I did that, too,” he murmured hoarsely. “I even escaped it. Without the Dementors aiding me like they did Bella and that lot, either. Isn’t that incredible, mum? I did that.”
Everything about you, here, like this, right now, is incredible, how can you be so blind to yourself? Remus’s voice echoed in his head. Sirius smiled wryly. He’d thought Remus meant it the way he always meant it: that it was only another expression of his ill-advised affection for Sirius, his skewed perspective of Sirius as this amazing thing despite having front-row tickets to the actual rotten mess of him.
But no. Incredible in the literal sense: that Sirius had done incredulous things. Impossible things. Things he wasn’t “supposed to.”
“I should have died, shouldn’t I? You’d have loved that. I should have died,” Sirius marvelled. “No wonder you’re so infuriated. I spite you at every turn— don’t I just? I inherited your madness, mum, and even that I master, somehow. Unlike you, I would never hurt Harry if I can help it. I have, I do, I likely will, but never if I can help it.”
He glanced up, met her eyes, barely recognised any humanity in them, the way they bulged as she spewed her hatred.
“Mum, I don’t even have a role in Dumbledore’s grand plot to save this— wretched world of ours. That’s why he’s stowed me here.” Sirius folded his arms. “But I am here, aren’t I? I’m fuckin’ here. Ever the spanner in the works, eh? Wouldn’t you all just love for me to get out of the way…”
Wry laugh. He stepped closer to her portrait, uncaring that her voice went a whole octave higher in response, screeching nonsense that went in one ear and out the other. “By Merlin, it rankles, doesn’t it? I did everything I wasn’t supposed to, and to top it off, I have enjoyed every. Damned. Second of it. I can’t even have the decency to st—” Breathlessly, but he forged on, a smirk as manic as she sounded turned up at her now: “To stop after all the punishment life has thrown at me for daring to be— to go— to stay where I wasn’t welcome.”
It was true, wasn’t it? This was not his story. It wasn’t “supposed to” be. And yet— by Merlin, and yet it’d been a good one. Thorn in his maker’s side, he was, wasn’t he?
He felt like crying and laughing at the same time somehow, settling for a permanent grin, never mind how deranged it must look. “I’m nothing? Yes, I know, you made sure I would be. Nothing but a hungry stray, isn’t that right, mum? But look how it’s backfired on you. I’ve done what every hungry stray does: fought for scraps that I wanted, with no qualms about whether or not I’d been given them. Whether or not I had ‘any right.’”
She was fuming, now, visibly red even with a two-dimensional replica of a body; her fists clenched, spittle still clinging to her lips. Sirius’s grin stretched.
“Does it make you terribly angry? It should, you know. Good. I’ve had a good life, one that I’ve clawed out for myself. With everything against me. And my luck may be running out at last, but you can’t even gloat about that, can you? Because I haven’t lost. Not really. You might have been playing the game, mum… but I was always cheating. By those standards… I’ve actually gotten away with quite a bit… haven’t I?”
He barked out a laugh. “Do I have regrets— by Merlin, yes. Many. Too many. But not one of them has been that I only did what I was supposed to.”
She’d actually run out of retorts, for once, and Sirius revelled in it, wrapping his fingers around her frame so that he could get right in her face. “D’you know why it bothers you so much? I do. Because you— you did what you were supposed to, didn’t you? You played according to the rules. You weren’t really given much of a choice, I know, but, how much of one d’you really think I got? We were both caught in their spider’s webs, mum. Except you spent what little choice you had left on resentment. Cruelty. Me? I chose life. However much of one I could pinch.”
He laughed. “And so you’ve lost, and you know it, even if the rest of the world looks at you… then me… and believes, somehow, that you got the last laugh – the state of me, these days.”
He smirked. “But we know the truth, don’t we? I might be alone and trapped and scarred, but for a while I knew happiness. Love. Even freedom. It was never going to last, yes, but that’s only because it was always stolen – I stole. I took. I fought the game, and I’m only meeting my reckoning. You, mum? What’s responsible for your misery? Does it seem to you like I’m in a cesspit? Maybe. But what a view of the sky it’s been. What a view it’s been.”
All the colour had drained from her face, now. She looked more like the waxen corpse she must be, down in the mausoleum where she actually lay.
His own grin softened into something closer to a contemplative smile. “Everything that I’ve lost, I’ve lost because it was taken from me. Not because I was too afraid of the consequences to go after it. Everything that I’ve lost— at least I had. Once.”
He let go of her frame, leaned back, tilted his head to consider her better. “I am sympathetic to what you went through, you know. But it wasn’t right of you to blame me for it. Although it was never really that, was it? All these years, I thought you hated me, but it’s not that. Or not only that. Did you know? Did you ever work it out? You’re jealous of me. You are. You wish you’d had the gall to do what I did, and damn whatever might have followed.”
He shook his head, folding his arms. She was staring at him, silent for the first time in months.
“Jealousy is only the darker manifestation of admiration, mǔqīn. You wouldn’t resent what I do, what I had, if you didn’t want it for yourself,” he murmured. Adding, in Mandarin: “In your own, twisted way… you are actually proud of me.”
For a long moment, silence. The portrait utterly still, the only sound in the corridor the faint crackle of his cigarette as it burnt low. Mother’s painted expression – frozen mid-gesture – was now unreadable: her lips slightly parted, tight mouth robbed of its usual vitriol. It was as though she’d been struck dumb by the weight of his words, too stunned even to summon more venom.
Sirius lingered, watching her, waiting to see if she would recover. But no sound came, no shattering scream to follow the silence. Her eyes, which had burnt with so much fury, seemed rather… glassy, all of a sudden. Her face sallow and lifeless under the dim light of the space.
He allowed himself a small, triumphant smile. A quiet satisfaction spread through him. It was a pyrrhic victory, perhaps… a long-overdue confrontation with the spectre he’d carried far too long, but in the end she’d been a plaything of circumstance, too, hadn’t she? As much a prisoner as he was? It was only that he, unlike she, had won. He’d won. He’d come out of the other side a bit monstrous, but not a monster. Not the monster she’d been – that they’d all, Blacks, been.
With a soft exhale, he turned away, taking the stairs back up, two at a time. The house still felt heavy with shadows, but something had shifted, if slightly. The ghosts of Grimmauld Place were always there, pressing down on him like the very stones of its foundation, but tonight the weight of it had lightened, its chains loosening their grip.
Back in his room, he shut the door with a nudge of his foot, sealing himself away from the unusual silence. His bed was still unmade, the desk cluttered with old letters and scraps of parchment he hadn’t yet had the heart to throw away. It was chaos, but it was his chaos, and for once, the sight of it didn’t feel so oppressive.
He perched on the edge of the bed, taking one last drag of his cigarette, then stubbed it out in a chipped ashtray on the nightstand. Smoke curled, lazily, through the air, catching the faint glow of the candle he’d left burning by the window.
Reaching for his wand, Sirius flicked it toward the battered record player sitting on the floor. The needle lifted and settled with a satisfying crackle, and the room filled with the sound of music – not Nymphadora’s, not the children’s, but the old tunes, resurrecting that bygone decade he dared to cherish no matter how much it hurt to have lost it.
Suzi Quatro sang of how she never looked for trouble, but she never ran, and how she didn’t take no orders from no kind of man; and Freddie Mercury picked up after her, declaring he was a shooting star, leaping through the sky, like a tiger, defying the laws of gravity; and Sirius smiled and smiled and smiled. Couldn’t stop smiling.
Leaning back against the headboard, he turned toward the photograph of him and his friends beside him. His younger self gave him a curious look, no doubt confused by the incongruent mix of their records and Grimmauld Place.
Exhaling amusement, Sirius winked at him.
And across the years, that brazen little fifteen-year-old, with the rest of his life and all its tragedies waiting, to spite Fate itself— dared to grin right back.
Professor Bordastrega didn’t say a word until all the other students had filed out, at which point she swept some of her things up off her desk, approached Sirius, and briskly instructed: “Come with me, Mr Black,” without preamble.
Blinking, Sirius followed her out of the classroom, if with a quizzical quirk of his eyebrow. He’d hoped that what she wanted wouldn’t take up that much time – Prongs had been acting strangely, and Moony had gone after him, and Sirius itched to join them – but it would seem whatever Bordastrega had asked him to stay behind for, it wasn’t only brief tips on conjuring Patronuses.
“Er, is something the matter, professor?” he asked, even as he hurried to keep up with her confident strides. “Because if this is about me not being able to summon any light – I swear I wasn’t being difficult on purpose or anything like that, I really was giving it my best—”
“Yes, I know,” Bordastrega nodded, olive-green eyes sliding to the side to regard him rather than her turning her head. Odd gesture, Sirius thought, feeling a bit like he was being scrutinised by an owl.
“You are normally among the most adept students,” she went on, matter-of-fact. “Not being able to summon a corporeal Patronus is one thing, but for someone of your talent to not be able to produce any light at all… it suggests there might be some… underlying… problem. Well, but we shall see in a minute.”
And, without further elaboration, she carried on walking. Thoroughly perplexed, now, Sirius nonetheless followed after her—
Then drew up short when he realised they were headed in the direction of the Hospital Wing.
“I’m not ill, professor,” he frowned.
Bordastrega said nothing to that, instead giving him that sideways-owl-stare again. “…No,” she echoed at last just as they reached Madam Pomfrey’s door, “Perhaps not. But there is more than one type of ‘ill.’ It is my duty, as your teacher, to check.”
With that, she knocked on the familiar old wood. Hardly seconds after, Madam Pomfrey obliged, her head peering out around it.
“Scusi, Madam Pomfrey,” said Bordastrega, “May I speak with you?”
“Oh. Professor,” Madam Pomfrey sounded just as surprised as Sirius felt. “Of course. Come in.”
She ushered them inside. Sirius knew Bordastrega would step into Pomfrey’s office as soon as he entered the main ward, and (since no explanation appeared to be forthcoming still), he sighed and gestured toward the nearest bed outside of the little cubicle: “I’ll just wait out here, then, shall I?”
“Yes, please do that,” Bordastrega gave him a dismissive wave. Pomfrey – evidently unable to help herself – sent Sirius a curious look of her own; Sirius shrugged, letting her know he was just as out of the loop as she was.
He sat down on the bed, while the adults disappeared into the office. It was some time before they emerged; Sirius thoroughly bored in the meantime, staring at his shoes, the ceiling, the beds all around him, empty as ever.
Then the door clicked open. Perking up, Sirius noticed Bordastrega’s darkly-painted nails holding onto the knob, not pushing it fully open yet. It meant he could hear their raised whispers: “—Will be able to ascertain, of course, but other than that this is not my area of expertise,” Pomfrey’s voice was saying, “Whatever happens afterwards, I might not be able to…”
“Sì, I understand,” Bordastrega’s answered. “If you will please prepare the potions, it will help. Mr Black has a right to know… if it is…”
And then the whispering stopped. The door pushed fully open. Sirius frowned again; that didn’t bode well, and the adults both had grim looks on their faces as they hovered over him, now.
“…Look, I’m really not feeling sick,” he tried again, but Madam Pomfrey only gave him a tight smile, crouching to his seated height.
“No, of course, Mr Black. I’m just going to check, alright? Would you close your eyes for me, please?”
Frowning deeper still, Sirius did. He felt her thumbs press against his eyelids, and then a light thread of magic pulsing through them. An odd sensation, bit ticklish and irritating like someone was running a feather up and down his eyelashes. And then—
Something seemed to shift inside him. Something leaping up in response to Pomfrey’s magic like pins drawn to magnets; it felt deeper, more intrusive, as though whatever the spell was digging for was buried far beneath the surface.
Images flashed, unbidden and too fast to stop: Mother’s face frozen mid-screech, the corners of her lips downturned with utter disdain; the tapestry, its threads frayed where names had been scorched away; Regulus with downcast eyes, avoiding his; Remus’s haunted expression as he mouthed, “You did?”; Marcus looming above him, “Shame not to have a little fun while you’re still aware of what we are…”
Pressure built, like a dam threatening to burst. Sirius’s chest felt tight, his breathing shallow, and then came a jolt— a deep, churning sensation rising, clawing its way up from his core…
Help. Sirius wasn’t sure whether he’d thought it or voiced it. Magic surged entirely beyond his control, but it didn’t feel like his magic at all. Cold and hot all at once, ice tipped with fire— it burnt as it tore its way out of him.
There was a crack. The world around him blurred. He felt the bed jolt beneath him, the wooden frame groaning in protest. Dimly, he registered Pomfrey’s startled cry, and Bordastrega’s voice, shouting something he couldn’t make out.
Then silence.
When he came to, his heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst through his ribs. His throat was dry, his head light, and he had no idea how much time had passed.
He blinked, disoriented, and realised he was lying back on the bed. Across from him, on the wall nearest the bed, a charred, blackened mark marred the stone. It spread out in jagged lines like the roots of some twisted tree, or the aftermath of lightning striking the earth.
It looked like dark magic.
Sirius stared at it, breathing raggedly. Swallowed hard, his mouth tasting of copper and ash: “Wh—” he croaked, “What just happened?”
Pomfrey and Bordastrega were hovering over him, the former pale and wide-eyed, clutching her wand tightly; the latter with an inscrutable expression, sombre eyes flicking between Sirius and the scorched wall.
Even past the disorientation, something occurred to him, following Bordastrega’s line of sight, and he felt himself blanch— he managed, “I didn’t do that… did I?”
Pomfrey exchanged a glance with Bordastrega. Her lips pressed into a thin line. Bordastrega stepped forward:
“Not purposely—” she began, but it was all Sirius registered before she could clarify; horror raced along his spine and he sat bolt upright: “I can’t have done, though, that— that looks like—”
“Dark magic.” Bordastrega pursed her lips and nodded grimly. “Yes.”
Sirius was shaking his head, over and over again. He felt both panicked and indignant at the same time, vehement words of denial escaping him, and not quite with his conscious input – he was raving. Madam Pomfrey briefly disappeared into her office during his tirade, then emerged with a trolley on top of which sat a tray and a bunch of—
“—Oh, no, no, no. Fuck no.” Sirius glared at the all-too-familiar bottles of potions, not even bothering to censor himself, too incensed for it. “I don’t need those!”
“Mr Black,” said Pomfrey gently, “They’re not going to do you any harm, they’re only potions that will—”
“I know what they fucking are!” Sirius snapped. She goes running for the shelter, of her mother’s little helper, and it helps her on her way… “When you’ve found me talking to myself, or dead people on my wall, or seeing things that aren’t there and blasting my wand at nothing, o-or yelling at people for so much as saying hullo or frightening children and animals and house-elves or—” He had to pause to swallow. “Then you can give me those. I don’t need them yet. I d—I don’t need them yet.”
Silence greeted this outburst. His chest rose and fell hard, Pomfrey watching him with a pained look on her face that overwhelmed Sirius with the urge to claw it right off.
Thankfully she slipped her professional mask back on immediately after, giving him a brisk nod. “…Very well,” she sighed. Leaned down and picked up only one of the bottles, its bluish contents familiar: Calming Draught. “Just this?” she coaxed. “Remus takes it. You’re aware he does.”
Sirius pursed his lips. His jaw still felt too tight. It was true, but Moony only needed it sometimes, and Sirius… someday, Sirius wouldn’t be able to trust himself around other people without… not yet, but someday, he knew that…
“You don’t think lesser of him for it, do you?” Pomfrey went on softly. “Mr Black, I simply cannot let you go without at least one of these potions after a procedure like that. Older and far more experienced wizards than you struggle with the aftermath. And I do mean I literally, contractually cannot. Why not try the one you’re familiar with? Just one dose.”
Despite her typical sternly-kind demeanour, Sirius could, nevertheless, hear a steely, adamant note in her voice that said he didn’t actually have a choice. Eyeing the bottle warily, he decided he could trust one that Remus managed to stomach more than the rest, those he’d seen strewn wherever his mother happened to be – the living room, her nightstand, even the kitchen table. God – did Uncle Cygnus and Aunt Druella’s bizarre “as-long-as-she’s-your-problem-and-not-ours” approach to dealing with Bellatrix go so far that she… didn’t have to take these, or did she… was he being compared to…?
He swallowed. No choice. He gave Madam Pomfrey a curt nod.
Shoulders relaxing, she approached and perfunctorily fed him a spoonful. It was cold on his tongue, leaving a soothing trail as it slid down his throat and settled in his chest. Almost immediately, the tightness in his ribs began to loosen, breaths coming easier. His hands stopped shaking, though his scowl remained firmly in place.
“There,” Pomfrey murmured. “Good lad.”
Sirius, for his part, half-glowered up at Professor Bordastrega, who was rubbing the back of her neck in visible discomfort as she watched all this happen. He couldn’t drum up any more anger, after that potion, but he still managed a clipped tone as he demanded, “Are you going to explain why the hell you just put me through that?”
“…I’ll leave you to it,” said Madam Pomfrey, pushing the trolley away, making for her office once more. Professor Bordastrega still had one hand at her neck, the other a fist resting on her hip, and as her eyes followed Pomfrey – probably to avoid Sirius’s – Sirius could hear her muttering under her breath, in Italian. His and Regulus’s governess had only taught them the usual on top of standard English – Latin, French, German – so he only understood a handful of it: Bordastrega was, apparently, annoyed about how futile it was that she’d deliberately not married or had children, being as she’d always known she was never the sort; then (as a result?), she cursed Dumbledore six ways to Sunday for putting her in charge of youngsters.
Eventually, she turned to Sirius, something as sympathetic as it was awkward in her eyes. “Mr Black,” she said, “Other than in my class, have you ever encountered this topic of souls— that is, cores— in any other subject?”
Which was not where he’d thought this was going. Frowning, Sirius took a moment to consider it, then answered, “…Not that I recall.”
“So you are almost completely unfamiliar with the theory?” asked Bordastrega. “You’ve never heard, for example, of Horcruxes?”
“Of what?”
Bordastrega gave him a long, sombre look. Then she sighed, closing her eyes in visible exasperation. She sat down on the edge of the mattress, just by his knees. “My Durmstrang education is showing,” she said, matter-of-fact. Using one hand to part her outer robes, allowing the other to reach into the inner pocket there, she fished out – to Sirius’s surprise – a pack of cigarettes.
She slipped one between her lips. Arched a questioning eyebrow at Sirius: “You do not mind the smoke, no?”
When Sirius shook his head, she shrugged at the floor and told it, wryly, “No other patients to be bothered by this, eh?”
Sirius watched her light up with envy. “…There’s no chance at all you’d let me bum one, is there?” he asked, because honestly, why not at this point.
She turned toward him. Shrugging again, she held out the pack, and Sirius accepted one with relief.
They both took a drag; him for fortification, her evidently gathering her thoughts. “…The house of Black,” she murmured, on an exhale, at length. “I gather it is well-known for being a house of dark witches and wizards… yours.”
Sirius’s head jerked up, horrified. “You think I just used dark magic on purpose? I d—”
“Ah, no. Please, you misunderstand,” Bordastrega cut him off – she’d turned toward him again, that strange sympathy back on her face, even if she still didn’t smile or fuss over him or any of the other things another teacher might have done. “It is the same as my family, yes? I only mean to say that, perhaps, I understand.”
Some of the tension lifted off of Sirius’s shoulders, but all the same, he frowned. “Understand what?”
“…You see, Mr Black…” Bordastrega’s words were halting, cautious, as if she didn’t quite know how to phrase what she had to say. “It is that… your core… it has started to crack.”
Sirius’s frown deepened. He didn’t quite comprehend, and the closest he came to it was what he’d always heard Moony say about using dark magic: “I… have a corrupted soul?”
“No, no. These are two different things.” Bordastrega shook her head firmly. “When you say ‘corrupted soul,’ you are implying a soul that has lost, or is about to lose, its humanity. The path of those who would use dark magic indiscriminately. No, a split soul is another thing altogether. In fact there are those who would seek to split theirs on purpose, but we will not be discussing that here. There is dark magic, and then there is the utterly profane.” This with a deeply disapproving frown at, evidently, the very idea of it.
“Your soul, or core, is actually neither; corrupted nor split. Splitting is… it, eh, takes a lot to… well, we would know.” She ran a nervous hand through her hair once. “Let’s just leave it at that. If it was, we would know.”
“I don’t understand,” Sirius frowned.
“Your core has cracks – fractures. This is, unfortunately, a much more common phenomenon,” said Bordastrega. Her eyes slid toward him again, hands returning to her pockets. “There is, I’m afraid, no hope of you casting the Patronus Charm in this state. You have no chance of attuning to your core… yet. But it can be healed—”
“Wait, but, no, hang on, that can’t be right.” Sirius shook his head; leaned off the headboard he’d been sitting against so that he could inch closer toward her. “I know what my animal form is.”
Bordastrega arched an eyebrow.
Colouring, Sirius searched for a less illegal explanation: “I’m, erm, quite good at Divination. Just ask Professor Rallis. I know I’m supposed to be a dog.”
Bordastrega twisted at the waist so that she, and not just her head, were fully turned toward Sirius, now. “Alright.” With an inscrutable, piercing look. “Why are you a dog?”
“…Because…” But try as he might, Sirius couldn’t find an answer. Because he was loyal? He’d betrayed Moony. Protective? He’d left Regulus behind in that godforsaken— a hunter? Of what? He only wound up staring at the sheets, in the end, with a furrowed brow and half-open mouth.
Bordastrega nodded as if he’d answered anyway. “You English, you prefer to get your wands from Ollivander’s, no?” she asked. “Tell me, Mr Black – how easy was it for Mr Ollivander to find a make and core that suited you? When you went and bought yours?”
Sirius felt his lips thin. It hadn’t; it hadn’t been easy. At all. Mr Ollivander had emptied half the shop before he’d settled on the ebony-and-dragon-heartstring that currently sat in Sirius’s pocket, and even that he’d only half-heartedly parted with when Father had lost his patience and demanded that Sirius just be given whatever would do for Hogwarts, after Ollivander had shoved ash, cypress, hawthorn, holly, and spruce, by turns, in and out of Sirius’s grip.
Professor Bordastrega seemed to have read his mind. “You see? No affinity at all. It may be true that your animal form is a dog, I do not know. But even so, you are not aligned with this dog… you are not aligned with yourself.”
The statement left an odd, hollow feeling in Sirius’s chest. He thought, absurdly, of every time he’d ever tried to put his internal state into words… how, every time, he tended to describe it as… well, “brittle.”
It suddenly made him nauseous in a way it never had before. “…Why are you calling me fundamentally broken?” he hissed, half-accusatorily, as though he hadn’t done it himself a million times.
Bordastrega clucked her tongue, something like concern sitting in the furrow of her brow. “Nothing so cruel…” But then she sighed. “Ah, no, but it is cruel. That it ever happened to you.”
Sirius brought the cigarette back up to his lips with trembling fingers.
Bordastrega turned away. “Do you know how cores form, to begin with, Mr Black? It is not something we… human beings, that is… are born with, you see. It is developed. You have the saying, ‘no man is an island.’ This is true. Humans do not form a… sense of self… an identity… outside of other humans. It is not possible. Human identity is inherently social, and the first contact with society we experience, it is of course—”
“—Family,” Sirius rasped, comprehending. He was grateful for the Calming Draught in his system, suddenly, because he didn’t think he’d have felt so detached talking about this, otherwise.
Bordastrega nodded. “…Family.” She shifted, squinting at the wall opposite her. “It is the family that teaches the child… what is the word I want…? Not just a sense of one’s core, one’s self, but a, a good sense?”
Sirius exhaled a bitter, noiseless laugh. “Self-worth.”
“…Sì.” Bordastrega sighed. “It is the family that teaches the child self-worth.”
It was all Sirius could do to restrain himself from uttering the swear word that wanted to leave his lips; he actually physically gritted his teeth against it. “But you’re wrong, professor,” he bit. “I mean sure, alright, whatever, family’s important and all that— but you can’t honestly say that nobody else can make up for it? If you happen to have been saddled with a— bloody useless one? I’ve got new family— my friends, my lover, my— I have happy memories, professor, it wasn’t like I had nothing to picture when I cast the spell!”
But Professor Bordastrega was shaking her head no. “I’m sure you did,” she said, fairly, “But the picturing of a happy memory… it is nothing but a shortcut to help you, eh, ‘tap’ into that which actually powers the Patronus Charm, Mr Black. I did hear your friend, Mr Potter, tell you he had no need for it. No?”
Sirius ran an agitated hand through his hair, but had no choice but to hum affirmation.
Bordastrega nodded, as well. “I’m sorry. There is no point to using shortcuts if they are trying to pull from an empty well.”
“You’re still calling me broken beyond repair!” Sirius angrily hissed.
“And you are still putting words into my mouth,” Bordastrega returned, smiling at last, if wryly. “Beyond repair? Not even a little bit that, Mr Black. I would not be able to cast a Patronus myself if that was the case.”
That broke through Sirius’s defences somewhat, and some of the wariness gave way to curiosity. He watched as the professor drew her wand and almost lazily cast. A silvery screech owl flew out of the tip, circling them once before it disappeared into shimmering glitter.
“Solitary creature,” she mused. “According to some legends, sacred to Proserpina, or Persephone, as well.” Bordastrega’s expression seemed faraway. “…Hers is not an easy calling.”
Sirius blinked, frowning again. “You’re not about to tell me you actually believe the gods exist?”
“No. What I speak of is archetypes.” (Almost as if she was talking to herself, rather than Sirius.) “Ours is a language-based system of magic. We deal with such things. And hers is, as I said, a difficult type. Painful.”
Her eyes slid toward Sirius in that uncanny way again. “…The mother-wound… loss of agency… but above all, to be tasked with bringing spring after emerging from the darkest depths. Not just once, but over and over again.”
Sirius’s frown deepened, baffled now. Catching this, Bordastrega shook her head as if to physically shake herself out of it. “But that is not our current topic of discussion,” she said. “It can wait for some other time. Eh… yes, Mr Black, mine is also a fractured soul. I do not wish to make many assumptions about your story, but you have consistently displayed, in your schoolwork, an – I suppose, ethos, that seems contradictory to your upbringing, sì?”
“Sì,” Sirius echoed, half-heartedly mocking.
Bordastrega didn’t seem to mind, only nodding again. “Then I hope you will not mind if I say that yours is probably not so different from mine, except perhaps in the details. Broadly, I am sure that if you were expected to become a dark wizard but chose another way, then your family does not accept this graciously.”
Sirius huffed, humourless. “No.”
She mirrored his wry smile. “Then, if you please, allow me to use an analogy to help you understand about cores. Picture that every child, when it comes into this world, is given a little sapling.” And she cupped her hands as if to hold this imaginary plant; Sirius couldn’t help but do exactly as she’d asked, picturing soil between her fingers, green peeping out of it. “This is its core. Now imagine, by the rules of this world, that the child is incapable of caring for this sapling. Of course it is – it is only a baby, possessing nothing.”
Sirius’s throat felt rather tight, but he nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
Bordastrega continued. “The other rules are this: it is the duty of the child’s parents – the family – to help care for this sapling. Everybody else is free to help as well, yes, but for them it is not duty. They may or may not. Sometimes… ah, no, most of the time… they will help only if they receive payment in return. Following?”
“…A bit too well, actually, professor,” Sirius managed a half-hearted joke, if hoarsely.
She exhaled a noiseless laugh, too. “Some children… their saplings receive plenty of care from their parents. Some, not as much, but still enough. Some…”
“…None at all,” Sirius whispered.
Bordastrega nodded. “And some have evil parents who dash the soil from their hands and uproot the plant and crush the seed.”
Sirius lifted his head, and their eyes met, and sombre understanding passed between them. “They may turn to the others – who are not their parents, who have no duty to help them,” said the professor, “And, yes, this world is not so cruel that they will not find it. Help. But sometimes they will have to pay, and they have very little to give, so do not always know… exactly how much may, perhaps, be too much to be asked.”
With a shudder, Sirius shut his eyes against every bad memory of Marcus that chose to rear its ugly head just then.
He swallowed hard. “And… and even when people help out of the goodness of their hearts… expecting nothing in return…” he deduced, “It still means that sapling will be… rather stunted when it comes down to it, doesn’t it? In comparison to the others’, I mean. Because the care came a lot later?”
Bordastrega’s smile turned quite teacher-esque, then, in that she seemed rather proud of him for having pieced that together. “Sì,” she said. “I was not calling you broken, Mr Black. I meant it like that – that you have a different starting point to your peers, I think. Well, no, I know, because of Madam Pomfrey.”
She turned to face forward again; paused for another drag of her cigarette. “If it helps you to know, I was not able to summon a corporeal Patronus until the age of twenty-eight.” She smiled, swivelling back around toward Sirius. “Which was not so long ago.”
Sirius nodded to himself – it did, actually. Help to know.
He drew his knees up, resting folded arms on them, and then his chin on that. “…Suppose your parents favoured the, er, old-world idea of discipline, too, then, eh.”
She hummed. Nodded. “Beheaded my sister for falling in love with a Muggle. I left after this.”
Stunned, Sirius whipped around to stare at her. He sucked in a sharp breath, “E-Er, you’ve got me beat? I’ve never heard of mine—” But he had to cut himself off, an ancient sadness that he’d buried a long time ago resurrecting itself in his chest. “Well… not toward humans,” he mumbled. “They behead house-elves. Erm. When they get too old, y’know, to be able to… yeah.”
He had to swallow.
Bordastrega was giving him an expectant, if grim, look, so he went on, though he had to clear his throat first. “There was this one, erm… Peg… she raised me, more or less. Merlin knows mum couldn’t be arsed to.” He shook his head, shut his eyes, took a breath. “She got too… so they… and th—and they— her head. Erm. It’s still on the fuckin’ wall. Mounted like a— bloody trophy.”
It felt like there was an Erumpent sitting on his chest. His throat worked around a great lump; he gritted his teeth.
Bordastrega’s free hand squeezed his knee, a brief touch there and gone again. When he looked, he found her squinting at nothing ahead of her once more.
“…It is not easy,” she said, “To discuss these things with, eh… others. Who have not… yes? I find that… shock and sympathy is only… it is not the same as understanding.”
“…No,” Sirius agreed hoarsely, turning morose eyes toward her. “I don’t… talk about cellars.”
Equally grave eyes met his. “Nor I, whips.”
They sat in silent empathy, for a minute. Then Sirius brushed his hair out of his face: “Erm… so that sapling analogy was about how cores form, yeah? What about how they… break, or split, or however it is you put it?”
Bordastrega’s hands returned to her pockets. “Ah, this analogy may have reached its limit now. Imagine that as this plant attempts to grow, it is constantly being attacked. People preventing it, uprooting it. So, eh… in order to protect itself… it hardens. The roots, eh… no, the plant as well…”
Sirius couldn’t help a short, amused breath. “This being some Herbological wonder that’s got diamond stalks or something.”
“…Perhaps.” Bordastrega chuckled, too.
Her smile didn’t last, however, gravity returning to her expression almost immediately. “But it does not harden like diamonds, Mr Black. It hardens like coal. In attempting to protect itself, it has actually become easier to break. Instead of bending with the blows, now… now it is able to… crack… underneath them.” She turned her head toward him again. “In class, we spoke briefly about ‘edification,’ yes? This is the opposite of that. What ‘crushes’ a soul. Violence, you see. In every form it takes. Violence and neglect… against one’s core.”
Oh, Sirius thought, feeling rather faraway.
Bordastrega turned, once more, nodding at the hideous mark that Sirius’s magic had – somehow, inexplicably – left on the wall. “And now we must speak of… ah, now things are going to seem very unfair. Very unfair.” She clucked her tongue. “If you will remember, I have said that this is a… common phenomenon. The cracking of a core, that is. Many of your peers struggled to cast a Patronus, too, no? Mr Potter is the rare one… you, on the other extreme. You see, it is actually a prerequisite to casting dark magic. Sì, in other words, dark magic is impossible without this.”
That surprised Sirius, and in spite of everything he found himself wanting to know more, furrowing his brow as he leaned toward her.
“In class, we have covered that dark magic, it requires pure intention, yes?” she went on. “The desire to cause harm for the sake of causing harm. A core that is… normal… whole… cannot find this level of… whether rage, or sadism, that makes one capable of that.”
“But that can’t be right,” Sirius blurted out, thinking of Bellatrix. “I’ve known people who’ve been absolutely coddled by their parents – who’ve had good lives – and are the worst, the worst sort of dark witch or wizard.”
“Coddled by parents, in spite of using dark magic?” Bordastrega returned, an eyebrow arched. “You do not think this is also a form of neglect? Mr Black, children have very limited… what is the word… eh, unselfishness? It is the adults who must teach them to see beyond themselves. Take for example – plenty of children do not know not to hit animals. Did you know this? They do not know their own strength, that they have the capability to harm. If their caregivers, instead of correcting this, encourage it, facilitate it…”
“…Or look the other way,” Sirius murmured, comprehension dawning and making him blanch. “Blimey. There’s so much talk about innocence and purity and all that, that I never…”
“What is the difference between innocence and ignorance?” Bordastrega shook her head. “Much of the harm that exists in this world, exists because people simply do not know better.”
Sirius gave the sheets a contemplative look. “And… that’s why it’s so common?”
“Sì, I think so, but that is my opinion, not established theory.” Bordastrega shrugged. “As long as we live in a society built upon the slave-labour of house-elves… wizard or magical supremacy… and stealing from Muggles… which of us is truly innocent? Even the children, born here, live sustained by the exploitation of others. I have always believed that there is no use in thinking in such terms. And I do not trust those who consider themselves incapable of causing harm – in my experience, they become the monsters.” She squinted. “No, better to live your life with the intent to cause as little harm as possible, then make amends for those times you will, inevitably, fail. It is the best that we can do, those of us without the power to change anything.”
He couldn’t quite wrap his head around that bit of it, so settled for a perplexed frown at the side of her face – then changing the subject altogether, when no further explanation appeared to be forthcoming. “Right, well, if it’s so common and that, and plenty of others do apparently struggle with Patronuses because of it, how’d they still manage it? When I couldn’t even summon light?”
“There are degrees of it,” Bordastrega clarified. “Some might only have, eh… I suppose something like hairline fractures, as a Healer might say of bones. Yours, Mr Black, is as close to splitting as mine used to be, I’m afraid. It has not split yet, don’t worry. That would require an act so inhumane your core refuses to grow again, whether on your part or externally. At this stage, you can still heal it.”
Sirius swallowed, eyeing the black mark on the wall. “…You’re saying I’ve got to, aren’t you?” he whispered. “Or I’d be capable of… of that.”
Bordastrega nodded sombrely. “Unfair, is it not?” she murmured, sympathetic. “But, yes, the more broken a core, the more powerful the dark magic. This is why there are those who would do it on purpose. Break their own cores, violate their own humanity. The most powerful dark magic is also the most heinous. In this sense, the word ‘soulless’ becomes quite literal. Soullessness is exactly what is required to perform that.” She pursed her lips. “It feeds into itself, as well. If your core is cracked, you are likelier to be capable of the kind of harm that will crack it further.”
“So the violence and neglect can come from yourself, too, not just other people,” Sirius frowned.
“Sì.” Bordastrega sighed. “Experiencing violence and perpetrating it are both things that ‘crush’ a core, if in different ways. But now we are entering the territory of corrupted souls – as distinct from fractured ones, that is. I think, for the sake of not confusing yourself, we should not go further.”
She leaned back, met his eyes. “More important to discuss, is the ‘edification’ of it. For that is how you heal it. Seek out that which feeds – nourishes – the soul. It is no easy task, not the least because it will be different things for different people. But, broadly, everyone needs… for their core… as in the analogy about the saplings—”
“—Love,” Sirius mumbled.
Bordastrega gave him a wry smile. “Too vague a term to be useful, Mr Black. I prefer to say ‘nurturance.’ And you say you have that? New family?”
He managed a small, bittersweet smile back, nodding some confirmation.
“Good. Good.” She nodded firmly. “The other important thing is time. As they say, healer of all things. You must find some way to distance yourself from what might crush—”
“Oh, I’ve done that.” Sirius huffed. “Left home. Over the summer.”
There was utter relief in the way Bordastrega swiftly turned around, clapped a hand on his shoulder.
“Meno male— excellent. You are on the way already,” she exhaled. “Now you must only seek out the things, specific to you, that bring… joy… purpose… hope. The real fuel behind the Patronus Charm. And you must be careful to avoid the things that will widen the cracks – careful not to give into the rage, the cruelty.”
Sirius hung his head. Fat chance he’d be able to do that.
As if having read his mind, Bordastrega gave him a rueful smirk. “Oh, you think this is a difficult thing I am asking? I have worse news for you. It is an unfortunate truth, but… very few people have the patience to spare a broken core, because it is so capable of cruelty. Here you stand with a stunted sapling, due to no fault of your own, and yet the ones with flourishing trees dare to demand why you are so behind.” She barked out a sharp laugh. “Ah, life, eh? You will already work so hard to heal yourself, and in the face of that… you must also take responsibility for when it results in shortcomings. Ah, and for you and I, we must also take a little bit of responsibility for the harm caused by our families, as well, eh? Is it any wonder that dark magic tends to breed within certain bloodlines? Any fool would be able to see that this is a self-perpetuating mechanism.”
Sirius managed a short, bitter chuckle, too. He remembered the way Bordastrega had been confronted in class, that very first time, and wondered when it would be his turn to experience that, and if he’d ever be able to drum up as much strength as she had to be able to stand there and take it, knowing it wasn’t really directed at her. At him.
“…I’ve found some of that, I think,” he rasped, with a bittersweet half-a-smile. “People that are… patient with me. ’Specially my lover… I got lucky enough to have bagged the most patient m—person in the world. Fuck knows how.”
“I am so very pleased to hear that.” Bordastrega smiled back. “It has not been easy to do this alone. Though not impossible. And, Mr Black, if you ever feel it is too hard… if you ever feel that, God forbid, you would prefer to stop trying… please do not hesitate to reach out to me. It is rare, to find someone who understands, sì?”
Touched, Sirius swallowed around the lump in his throat, hoping the grateful look he sent her wasn’t entirely glassy-eyed. “…Professor…” he began, then hesitated: it was difficult to word, what he wanted to know. Did it get any easier? Would it ever feel entirely alright? “…Do, erm… do you… like… your life?” he mumbled. “Now?”
Her own smile mellowed into something knowing. “…I do,” she murmured, like a promise. “Even the worst day away from it is still better than the best day within. I hope you always remember that.”
It settled something in his heart, though how much of it was her words and how much was helped along by the Calming Draught, he wasn’t sure. “Thank you,” he said, understanding that she’d shared something invaluable with him, even if what, exactly, that was, hadn’t quite sunken into his mind yet, and even if he knew he’d have to turn it over, later – ponder it, for that to happen.
Nodding in response, Bordastrega stood up off the bed, all professionalism again as she briskly straightened her robes, Vanished her cigarette. “You are certain you won’t let madam give you a few potions, Mr Black?”
He knew his answering look was stubborn, because she sighed, if warmly. “Vabbè. Just, please, spend time relaxing, after this. Madam Pomfrey was not exaggerating – this has taken a lot out of you. It is a demanding process for anyone.” As if she thought it might help, she added, “I will be doing the same.”
She didn’t give him the chance to respond; making straight for Madam Pomfrey’s little cubicle, knocking on the door, then poking her head in, rapidly saying something to the matron.
Madam Pomfrey emerged. “I’ll be giving you a note to exempt you from… wherever you need to be next, Mr Black,” she said, without preamble. “Do please return to your dormitory and try to rest. Or if you’d prefer to rest here—”
“No,” Sirius cut in hastily. As an afterthought, “Thanks.”
Pomfrey seemed visibly dissatisfied, but nodded, nonetheless. There were a few formalities that followed – Bordastrega reminding him of how he’d have to take care of himself, his core, from now on; Pomfrey checking that all was well. Her magic didn’t prompt another burst out of his, thank Merlin… all the same, however, Sirius’s eyes couldn’t help but flick to that mark on the wall, again, even as he stood to follow Bordastrega out of the room.
“Don’t worry,” Madam Pomfrey said, evidently having caught him staring. “I’ll have that fixed up straight away. It’ll be gone by morning.”
Sirius forced a smile, just so she wouldn’t fuss over him again, but the sight of that blackened mess lingered in his mind regardless.
So that was what he was capable of. That lay at the heart of him.
The thought followed him all the way back to Gryffindor Tower.
Evidently, the effects of one small dose of Calming Draught only really lasted about four to five hours – because that night Sirius found himself tossing and turning behind his bed-hangings. The others had only just settled in themselves, in fairness; their dorm never really quieted until it’d gone at least eleven; but Sirius had genuinely taken Madam Pomfrey’s advice and napped instead of heading to dinner, so had been in bed a lot earlier than them.
Now, however, sleep evaded him. He’d barely been able to explain what had occurred to his friends, it was all so confusing. The most he’d said was that Professor Bordastrega worked out why he couldn’t summon a Patronus, and that she’d told him how to solve it; other than that, he couldn’t find the words, even though that much barely even scratched the surface.
The sight of that charred mark on the wall still haunted him, try as he might to distract himself from it. And it’d only gotten worse now that the others had climbed into their own beds, now that relative silence had settled.
Sirius felt as though there were a thousand tiny insects underneath his skin, crawling about, nipping at him. He knew that wasn’t literal, but he still couldn’t help digging nails into his arms – as if he could actually claw the sensation out.
His thoughts were a restless tide, one incomprehensible wave of chaos giving way to another and another and another before he could grasp hold of it. Everything felt too quiet now, amplifying the noise in his head – he tried shifting positions, pulling the blanket tighter around himself, even squeezing his eyes shut, but it was no use. Every attempt to calm down seemed to make it all worse, pressure building and building; prickling skin; thoughts doubling back on themselves.
With a huff of frustration, Sirius flung the covers off and swung his legs over the edge of the foot of his bed. Yanking the hangings open, he called, “I can’t sleep,” rather louder than he meant to.
Muffled rustling from the other beds, instantly. Remus’s frown of concern peered out from behind his hangings as he parted them with his typical calm slowness, and he half got out of bed too, sitting on the side of his mattress so he could face Sirius’s beside his. James, across from Sirius, also inched toward the edge of his, and the speed of it made Sirius distantly realise that James likely hadn’t been sleeping either – probably sitting up reading, or something, so that he’d only had to push forward to see what was going on. Peter, on the other hand, took a little bit longer to emerge, and with a bleary-eyed look that said he’d been halfway to dreamland.
“Everything alright?” Remus asked, at the same time as James’s uncharacteristically gentle, “’S’matter, Padfoot?”
Sirius worried at his bottom lip. Good question, actually. He couldn’t put into words the television-static inside his brain, and half-consciously, the fingers of one of his hands trailed up to dig nails into the soft flesh of his other arm. Almost immediately Remus materialised at his side, prying his hands apart, taking them in his, holding on firmly. “Don’t do that, love,” he coaxed. “You don’t have to do that.”
The touch helped, Remus’s grip warm and solid as ever. “I just…” Sirius began— then shook his head, then had to stop for the headache it was giving him— he closed his eyes. Remus evidently didn’t trust Sirius’s hands enough to let go of them, but all the same, he sat down next to him and leaned in close, all but pulling Sirius against him.
“What if I’m not really a Gryffindor?” Sirius blurted out, thinking of how that burst of dark magic had burnt as it tore out of him. When he opened his eyes again, he deliberately glanced over at James, something half-desperate – pleading – knocking against his chest.
James’s eyes went round behind his glasses; Pete only frowned in confusion.
“What’d you mean?” Pete asked, and even Remus was giving him a puzzled stare.
Sirius grit his teeth. “I asked to be put here, didn’t I?” he clarified. “The stupid sodding Hat was about to say Slytherin, only I wanted— I just wanted to be where Prongs was.” (Meeting James’s rapidly sympathising gaze.) “What if I’m actually a Slytherin, only Sorted wrongly because—?”
“No one’s ever Sorted wrongly.” James shook his head. “Not how that works, is it? The houses… it’s all just archetypes, mate. That’s the way language-based systems of magic operate, yeah? It’s about meaning-making, fundamentally.”
Which of course eerily hearkened back to Professor Bordastrega’s words. Sirius frowned at James, wanting more; James obliged, evidently anticipating his thoughts as per.
“Well… people are more complicated than that, aren’t they? People embody different archetypes in different contexts,” he said with a shrug. “The context for Hogwarts houses isn’t personality, right, it’s values. Wouldn’t that mean we’ve all got a little bit of each of them? Isn’t it just that we get Sorted based on which archetype – which traits – we’d like to abide by the most?”
And James gestured at Pete and Remus. “Here, didn’t you lot have other houses suggested to you by the Hat, too? Before it settled on Gryffindor, I mean? I know I did.”
“Yup.” Peter nodded emphatically. “Merlin, I’m glad you forgot how long it took to decide on mine. Back then, everybody was staring and everything.”
“Mm-hmm. It considered Ravenclaw at first, for me, but then didn’t because of my secret,” Remus agreed. “It didn’t think it’d be a good idea to put me around people keen enough to work out the whole thing. …Then it said every day I wake up and don’t kill myself for being a werewolf is proof of great courage.” With a chuckle, despite the others’ horrified stares.
“What the fuck?” A startled James half-gasped, half-laughed. “Well that’s just the sort of thing you want to be telling an eleven-year-old, innit…”
“What house were you suggested?” Sirius asked, not quite believing it – he couldn’t think of anyone more Gryffindor than James.
Even in the dim light of each Lumos they’d cast, the colour on James’s cheeks was visible. He mumbled something; Pete leaned sideways to hear better and asked, “You what?”
“Hufflepuff, alright?” James admitted, defensively. Peter laughed; Remus chuckled; even Sirius managed a little smile.
That turned James’s expression sheepish as well. Now that the tension had eased somewhat, he leaned forward, meeting Sirius’s eyes: “…Said I was loyal and compassionate and noble-minded and all that rubbish. Whatever. But don’t you see, Pads? That means even if you have got a couple of Slytherin traits, it doesn’t really make a difference. Likely, the Hat was only about to put you there because you’re a Black. Prestige and legacy are Slytherin values, too, aren’t they? Probably why so many of that lot are related.”
“Right, and then you went and fought with it. The actual Sorting Hat, Sirius Black,” Remus agreed. “If that isn’t the most Gryffindor thing I’ve ever heard…”
He smiled. “You’re honestly the most Gryffindor Gryffindor I know, darling. To quote a somewhat-wise bloke: you’d fight your own shadow if you could.”
James sent Remus an appreciative wink.
Despite the calm it brought Sirius… despite how it settled some of the turbulence inside of him… he wasn’t entirely convinced. Maybe the Hat had seen his potential as a dark wizard, he thought. He couldn’t say it to the others – how would he ever tell them that he had some capacity to use dark magic? – but it flickered in his mind, regardless.
“Come on,” Remus coaxed, squeezing Sirius’s hands where he still held them. “Let’s try and get some sleep. You’re alright, love. I’ve got you.”
Evidently satisfied with this for a resolution, James gave them a cheery wave, and then retreated back behind his hangings. Pete followed suit after a yawned-out goodnight.
Remus gently eased Sirius downward with him, tucked him in, took his time drawing the bed-hangings closed again. When he lay down next to Sirius, he reached out and stroked his hair on the side that he could. “What’s brought this on?” he asked, softly.
Sirius couldn’t meet his eyes, frowning at the tiny gap of sheets between them instead. Absent-mindedly, his hands wrapped around himself, and – likely assuming Sirius was about to claw, yet again – Remus quickly grabbed them.
Sirius sighed. “Nothing really. I just feel— I worry— ugh. What if there’s… nothing but rot, at the core of me, Remus? What if… that’s why I can’t summon something fundamentally made up of good things…?”
Remus gave him a long look, his smile fading. At length, he sighed, too, melancholy in his own eyes as he whispered, “My Patronus is a wolf.”
Sirius blinked. “Sorry?”
Remus nodded morosely. “Neither of you noticed, but… I summoned a wolf. In class. …God. That’s what’s at the core of me, Padfoot.”
Concern for his beloved momentarily drove out Sirius’s despondency. “Not the same thing at all. Not even a little bit,” he rushed to assure Remus, prying his hands back and curling them round Remus’s neck. “Didn’t you hear Professor Bordastrega? It’s symbolic. Wolves are fuckin’ gorgeous creatures, Moony. And they mean strength, and guardianship, a-and devotion, and—”
“They’re still beasts of prey. The ‘were-’ sort or not.” Remus gave Sirius’s chest a forlorn look. “And it isn’t exactly comforting to think that I was somehow… destined to be bitten, either.”
“Oh, Moony.” Sirius rubbed his back in slow, comforting circles. Frustrating though it was, he knew all too well that he wouldn’t be able to convince Remus that he wasn’t secretly a monster.
He exhaled, resigned. “D’you reckon mine would’ve been a dog?” he murmured instead. “I mean… ’cause black dogs are usually… bad omens, regardless, aren’t they? They’re always creatures from hell and that. The Grim. Black shucks. That Welsh one I can never pronounce.”
“Cŵn Annwn?” Remus obliged. “Or gwyllgi?”
“There you go.” Sirius sighed. “Harbinger of death and misfortune and hellish Dark Arts shite, apparently, me.”
Remus’s hands, being free to now, wrapped around Sirius’s middle and tugged him closer.
He smiled. “Come off it. Maybe you might have had me cowering if you were a great mastiff, or summat like that, Pads – but as long as you’re one of the most noted ‘gentle giant’ breeds that exist, to the point that they’re recommended as pets for actual toddlers, I’m not even a little bit frightened of you, I’m afraid.”
Despite his mood, Sirius couldn’t help a soft chuckle. He inched upward so they could be at eye level. “Well, you wouldn’t be, would you?” he managed to joke. “Big, bad wolf that you think you are.”
“…Fair play.” Remus huffed an amused breath that Sirius felt against his lips – they were that close, now. “No, d’you know what your Animagus form actually says, about you? Bark worse than yer bite, that’s what. Always has been, always will be.”
Sirius obliged with a quiet laugh, although he rolled his eyes. “I dunno. Even Lily reckons I’m a bad influence on Prongs or whatever. That he’d be straighter if he hadn’t met me.”
“…She does?” There was a troubled set to Remus’s frown, something only partly concerned and more… steely… in the furrow of his brows. For reasons Sirius couldn’t articulate, it set off alarm bells in his head. Frowning himself, he reached out with both hands and brushed Remus’s fringe away from his face.
He kissed Remus on the forehead. In response, Remus closed his eyes. The pensiveness of his expression eased a little.
One of his hands remained curled around Sirius’s waist; the other trailed downward, pulling Sirius closer by a thigh. Hesitating for only the briefest second, he rolled them over, so his body was draped over Sirius’s, now. Sirius let him, pushing back against the pillow, and their lips met.
They kissed for a while, hands roaming. By the time Remus pulled apart – Sirius’s hands still buried in his hair – Sirius felt much calmer, though melancholy still.
“It should’ve been enough,” he whispered, upset. “The memory of even one of these nights should’ve been enough— to conjure a thousand Patronuses.”
Remus smiled down at him, a tender and bittersweet thing. His thumb wiped beneath Sirius’s eye as if to brush away a tear that Sirius swore wasn’t there; “It’s funny,” Remus murmured, “The Patronus Charm was supposed to put us in tune with positive energy. Yet here we are, so gloomy after that class. You and me and Prongs, all…”
Sirius exhaled a humourless laugh. “Wormy got the better deal in the end, then.”
Remus chuckled. He pressed firm lips against Sirius’s forehead, then didn’t quite pull away entirely, brushing their noses against each other instead.
Sirius smiled back. He wished, desperately, that the world was only this enclosed four-poster, the warmth of Remus’s arms around him, forever and ever.
Notes:
Bruh it’s been a decade and then some and I’m still not over Sirius Black… CAN SIRIUS PLEASE HAVE ONE SINGULAR DAY THAT IS WHOLLY GOOD NOT EVEN A LITTLE BIT BAD. (He says, as the literal author…)
Last time, Sirius mentioned that he suspected he was (literally) cursed, thanks to Walburga’s hate becoming blood magic. Basically, the flash-forward here is him realising that – if that was true – by the standards of a cursed life, he’d had a pretty darn good one. I’m not half skilled enough to have gotten that across without this note author-splaining it, unfortunately (；´∀｀)
One must imagine Sisyphus happy.
Mǔqīn: Old-fashioned term for mother.
The adults in this are really like: informed consent? What informed consent? (But it’s the seventies so you know.)
Souls in the HP-verse are canon real™ and actually integral to magic important to the plot (like Horcruxes and the Fidelius Charm), so I figured we might as well establish some theory up in this bitch.
“That he’d be straighter if he hadn’t met me…” – In more ways than one, babe (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵)
But also moot point, we all know if Sirius had lived, she’d have transitioned. I mean what who said that.Did you know Nana, the dog in Peter Pan, was supposed to be a Newfie? I recently found out (at the time of writing this) and bruh. What a coincidence.
Chapter 17
Notes:
Thank you for showing up, supporting this fic, and being amazing, you’re an absolute legend!
IDK if this warrants a trigger warning, necessarily, but just a heads-up that, uh, Lily growing closer to the Marauders means she’s gonna bump up against Marauder trauma, too, now. (Which is to say, she mostly spends this chapter getting sorta kinda trauma-dumped at? RIP.)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
February had been a rather quiet month overall for the newspaper, something Lily would normally have hated – it would have meant dreary weekends with nothing to do but homework. Yet, on the Sunday after Valentine’s, she found herself rather grateful for the excuse to not have to linger in the office.
The reason was simple: Sania was on the editorial team, and things had turned a bit… awkward… between the two of them. Lily still couldn’t quite put her finger on what exactly had come over her during their last conversation; she supposed it was the way that Sania had so blatantly tried to provoke her, calling James away like that in the middle of their conversation. It had irked Lily enough to goad back in the way that she had. Still, justified or not, that had led to Sania giving her the cold shoulder, at the minute.
They still exchanged polite greetings and such, but Sania refused to say or do more with Lily. And of course, with Sania keeping her distance, Bonnie and Maeve, being her closest friends, were following suit.
“It’s just so childish,” Lily huffed as she relayed all this to poor Greta, who probably had far better things to worry about than petty rubbish like this. Honestly, sometimes Lily wished she’d been Sorted into Ravenclaw, too.
Greta, ever the friendly one, obliged, “Absolutely.”
But then she pushed another stack of submissions across the table, toward Lily. “Should probably try and get these done now, too, yeah? They’re the only ones left, and we could have a whole week of free afternoons if nothing else turns up!” —In a cheery tone that said she, preoccupied with work, hadn’t actually been listening to half of Lily’s whinging.
Lily sighed. Fair enough, she thought, as she turned the first piece of parchment over. The only reason she’d been inflicting this on Greta to begin with was because lately Lily could hear herself around Mary and Marlene, hear the way everything she talked about related to James, all of a sudden. She was boring them, and she could tell.
But it was hardly her fault – she couldn’t honestly be expected to take it all in stride, all the rumours, the gossip, the ribbing. It’d been bad enough, of late, thanks to the frequency of her being spotted around James, the school body being blissfully unaware that she was only spending so much time with that lot in order to learn Occlumency. Then the incident in Defence had occurred – her and James’s Patronuses happening to complement one another’s – and made it even worse. Lily almost wished Professor Bordastrega hadn’t dispelled the myth about supposed “soulmates” sharing the exact same Patronus, if only so that no one would have interpreted complementary Patronuses as romantic, in their place, like they’d been doing…
She shook her head, forcing her attention back to perusing and correcting the handful of articles left on the proverbial queue. The ironic thing was, if she’d still been friends with Severus, she’d have actually had someone to air all this out to without feeling silly. Certainly, he hated the Marauders – especially James – but that was exactly why he’d have leapt at this chance, to chat with her about the utter ridiculousness of the entire situation.
But no, she thought – not at this frequency. He’d have gotten jealous that she was quite so preoccupied. Lily frowned down at her quill, feeling a bit melancholy now. Had that always been what it was, she wondered? She’d always thought Sev, understandably, resented James for humiliating him so often, but maybe… now that Lily knew Sev had feelings for her… had it partly been…?
And— it suddenly occurred to her— what about on James’s end? Had he harboured feelings for her in secret for just as long, too, or was it more recent? If it’d been the former, did he… Sweet Circe, he couldn’t have singled Sev out to torment because of… could he…?
How responsible did that make her? For any of it?
She made a frustrated noise. “Helen of Troy did nothing wrong,” she blurted out irritably.
“I quite agree,” said Greta, with an amused look. “What’s that got to do with our riveting piece on the quality drop at Gladrags, though?”
Lily felt her face warm, even as Greta laughed. “…Nothing,” Lily answered sheepishly, “Sorry, I’m just—”
“Ah, never you mind. Bit knackered, are we?” Greta smiled. “Here, why don’t I finish those for you, and you go get some rest? I don’t mind. You’ve been at it for longer.”
Lily hesitated, her quill still poised between her fingers. It wasn’t that she was tired, really. Only rather… distracted. Her mind felt too tangled up with her own goings-on to focus properly, and if she stayed, she’d only wind up making a mess of the articles. Greta’s well-meaning offer was tempting, but in a way that made Lily feel a bit guilty…
But no, she decided. She wasn’t doing anyone any favours by forcing herself through this when she could hardly keep her mind on the page. Greta was right – she’d been at it long enough.
“Alright,” she said, setting the quill down and gathering the stack of submissions into a neat pile. “Thanks, babes. I appreciate it.” She passed the sheets over with a small, sheepish smile.
“No worries,” Greta replied cheerfully, already flipping the half-done article over. “You go on now. Clear your head.”
Lily beamed back. She slid her chair out from behind the meeting table, rose to her feet. Smoothed her hands over her skirt, then started for the door.
At the smaller table by the entrance, Professor Vaughn was going about her own work whilst talking to Sirius Black. It was a sight that Lily had grown quite accustomed to by now – Sirius would have her hide if she called him a teacher’s pet, but that was demonstrably exactly what he was when it came to their Muggle Studies teacher. He wasn’t actually a part of the newspaper team, but he (sometimes accompanied by his friends) ran errands for Professor Vaughn so often that it didn’t really make a difference; he could often be spotted in their office, regardless. Much like James with Professor McGonagall, or Remus with Madam Pomfrey, or even the way Professor Slughorn tended to favour her.
“Professor,” said Lily politely, as she reached them, “Could I please be excused? I’ve proofread the last bunch, and Greta’s taken over the rest.”
“Oh, certainly.” Vaughn smiled. “Thank you for your efforts as always, Miss Evans.”
“Wait for me,” Sirius interjected with a quick gesture in Lily’s direction. “Muggle-borns aren’t supposed to be about on their own— I can go, too, right, prof?”
Lily marvelled at the boys’ audacity, the way they addressed the faculty, sometimes. Nobody ever really minded, though, or perhaps they had so much sway that anybody who did wouldn’t say as much. Whichever, Professor Vaughn dismissed him just as amiably, and then Sirius and Lily were strolling out together.
“Where are you off to, then? The Tower?” he asked as he slung an arm across her shoulder.
“I haven’t actually decided,” Lily answered with a half-annoyed sigh. “I’m meant to be ‘resting,’ I was so unfocused. You haven’t got anything fun planned, have you?”
“Nope, not today.” With a languid stretch of his own. “Say, d’you reckon it’s Occlumency practice that’s doing it? Like, I swear on Merlin, my mind’s felt a bit foggy as well, lately…”
“…Announce what we’ve been getting up to to the entire wizarding world, why don’t you.” Lily shook her head, elbowing him, and earning herself an unapologetic smirk. She obliged, “Might be,” even though she well knew her problem was something else altogether.
“I tell you what,” said Sirius, “Prongs should still be out on the pitch – he stays behind, after Quidditch practice, to work on his own tosses, because he’s a madman and fanatical like that. D’you want to go watch and make fun?”
Lily laughed, delighted. “Is that what you do when you’ve got nothing better to?”
“It’s an art form, really,” said Sirius, faux-loftily. “The art of the heckle. It’s good practice for when he’s pro and will have to deal with a proper crowd, see.”
“Ah, because the one at Hogwarts only worships him,” Lily played along, just as sagely. “Hmm, I do see, yes. Better hop to it, then, eh?”
“Let’s,” Sirius grinned, arm back around her again. They were just shy of the first threshold along the corridor when they spotted Remus approaching from the other direction; he paused when he noticed them, with a soft smile of greeting, and Sirius peeled away from Lily, fairly bouncing toward him.
“Moony!”
“Hullo, d—Padfoot.” Remus chuckled, fond amusement in the way he watched Sirius all but shake with how excited he seemed to be to have spotted his friend. In Lily’s direction, Remus nodded a friendly, “Hiya, Lil,” and, “Done for the evening?”
“Just about, yeah,” Lily answered. Sirius added, “We’re going to antagonise Prongs, d’you want to come?”
“No, you aren’t. You promised me you’d start working on that Charms essay tonight,” said Remus, arching both eyebrows despite the smile still on his face. Sirius groaned; he made a big show of stomping in place like a petulant child as he sulked, “Here I thought you’d come down to walk with me, but no, you’re just here to mind my—”
“Someone’s got to make sure you stay a top student. You’ll thank me one day,” Remus returned, still smiling as he took complete advantage of the extra inches he had on Sirius in order to pet him on the head, exaggerating condescension. Lily laughed as Sirius made an indignant, garbled noise.
“Well, we’ve got to drop Yoko off first, in any case,” Sirius began, but Remus shook his head, warmly but firmly.
“If you let yourself have one excuse to put it off, you’ll only come up with another, and another, and another – till before you know it, it’d be time for dinner,” he said. “I’ll drop Lily off, alright? Go on, Pete’s already in the library, all by his lonesome.”
“Ugh, alright,” Sirius grumbled. He gave Lily an insouciant, half-a-wave sort of gesture (a hand raised briefly); then beamed at Remus: “Meet us there, right?”
“Of course,” Remus assured him.
Evidently satisfied with this, Sirius went on his merry way. “Congratulations,” said Remus, as soon as he was out of earshot, and with a sideways smile at Lily. “Once Sirius decides he likes you, you’ve got a friend for life.”
“I’m starting to see that,” Lily smiled back, falling into step with Remus’s slower pace, now. “He’s a laugh, honestly. Amazing that you can get him under control like that, though – doesn’t seem the sort to be ordered about, otherwise.”
“Oh, he’s not. It’s probably only that I don’t make a habit of it,” Remus answered, modest as always; Lily wasn’t convinced, however. Now that she’d gotten to know Sirius better, it didn’t take much to work out that Sirius rather looked up to him. Surprising, really; hardly a few months ago she’d have thought Sirius’s role-models would all be rebels and anarchists like himself. Not the insightfulness and patience and civility that Remus embodied.
“Are you still heading to the Quidditch pitch?” Remus was asking, at the minute. “Because I’ve just been outside and there was a drizzle – probably raining, by now.”
“Ugh, rather not, then. No, I reckon the common room,” said Lily, so they adjusted their route accordingly.
While Remus never did walk as briskly as she tended to (out of necessity; she was always expected to be someplace or the other), Lily, frowning, thought he was being particularly slow, today. Not the languid pace of someone who simply preferred to do everything calmly, but the purposeful lag of a person lingering for a reason. She felt a twang of concern – was he ill? Could he not manage walking? Ought she to—
But then he spoke. “I’ve been wanting a word, actually,” he said, squinting at nothing ahead of them; his smile had disappeared. “Lily, could I ask you something?”
Her frown had deepened along with her concern. Remus’s tone was sombre, and while they’d been friends for long enough now that she’d learnt the difference between his genuine smiles, and the sort of artificial, polite one that he used to slap on for her and everybody else, at the start, the one he feigned around people he wasn’t close to, presumably to disarm them and protect his secret; she’d never been subject to this… rather grimmer side of him, however. It felt a bit like he was about to deliver devastating news, of the sort she’d find in the headlines of the Prophet.
Alert now, Lily turned to look at him, in profile. “Yeah, of course.”
“What’s been going on between you and Sirius?” he asked – fairly blurted out, really. He’d turned to her, as well, and his expression was quite grave. Wary.
Perplexed, Lily tilted her head. “What’d you mean?”
Remus held her gaze. “Your conversation at breakfast, that time we all sat together,” he clarified, “And… Sirius has implied you… did you really tell him you thought he’s been a bad influence on James?”
“…Oh. That.” Lily sighed, turning ahead once again. She’d thought Remus had been acting rather strangely since they’d let that slip, but it’d been buried in the back of her mind, what with, well, everything else. “It was stupid, really,” she confessed. “We’d been fighting, and Sirius said I wasn’t fair to James, so I thought— to get him back for that, y’know— I thought I’d say as much, that James can be wonderful, but that Sirius eggs him on – you know he does – and…”
The words died in her throat. She’d meant to say that she was only trying to insult Sirius as she’d been insulted, and that they really were getting on now, had put all that behind them, but then she caught the look on Remus’s face – rapidly blanching, horrified – and was so confused and startled by it, she couldn’t quite continue.
Remus had pursed his lips, was now all but glowering at the corridor, having wrenched his eyes away from Lily as if he didn’t want her to see how incensed he was. “You told him James was an alright sort, but that Sirius is responsible for when he isn’t?” he bit out. “Right, because out of all of us, it’s James Potter that’d need defending.” This dripping with bitter sarcasm.
It was such a baffling reaction that Lily couldn’t even find room to be offended by it, not least because she’d never seen Remus angry before, and felt so caught off-guard she didn’t know how to respond. Even when Remus had been arguing in James’s favour, after their big row last year, Remus had been as reasoned and level-headed with his words as he always was. And Lily had said far, far worse to James than she had Sirius. She’d taken it back – apologised – for that very reason; that she knew it hadn’t been fair to accuse him of enabling a cause she’d been well aware he was vehemently against.
But in this, however, she wasn’t wrong. Not really. Perhaps in her delivery, but not in her facts: Sirius did egg James on. Remus knew that, and she knew Remus knew that, because he wasn’t the sort to be quite that blind to his friends’ faults. He always agreed with her, when she criticised James fairly, so why… this time…? She remembered how, when he’d been defending James, he’d told her he’d have stood up to James just the same, if James had been the one slagging her off.
And yet now, even though Lily had specified that Sirius had instigated their spat, Remus hadn’t even offered the same courtesy.
Perplexing. With a deep frown, she reached a tentative hand out and set it on Remus’s arm. “Look, I’m aware I lost my temper,” she began, “But Sirius was the one who started it. He’d say as much, too, I’d bet.”
Remus’s eyes slid toward her again, that cross furrow still between his brows. He turned again, swivelling his head this way and that, as though looking for something, and upon spotting a more or less empty spot by one of the arches that flanked this particular corridor, he started for it.
Understanding that he wanted privacy, a proper conversation, Lily followed. As soon as they’d settled into their spots – Remus leaning against a pillar, Lily half-seated across the low wall next to it, one leg slung over the stone, the other firmly on the floor – Remus said, “D’you know what I’d bet?” Without waiting for Lily to respond, “I’d bet Sirius said you’d been cold to James. Which you had been—” (Lily opened her mouth to protest, leading to him raising his voice slightly, enough to talk over her:) “I know you had reason to. I know. But was it incorrect? You had been.”
Lily pursed her own lips. She felt rather like she was being cross-examined in court. “Did he get any more personal than that?” Remus pressed on, and even though his tone was hushed – mild, even – he didn’t take that piercing stare off her, either. “Did he?”
“…No,” Lily had to admit.
Remus sighed. “Whereas you went right for the jugular, Lil. You had to have known how important his relationship with James is to him – wasn’t that why you said it to begin with?”
Lily watched him, both baffled and vaguely indignant, now. She folded her arms: “It was,” she relented, “But I wanted to hurt his feelings because he’d hurt mine, y’know. I’m sure for him this is all very gallant and touching of you, so surely you can understand me standing up for myself, seeing as at the time I hadn’t got anybody to do it for me the way you are?”
“That’s the thing, Lily,” Remus shook his head, “He hadn’t been trying to hurt your feelings, he’d been trying to defend James. You don’t reckon there’s a difference?” He leaned off the pillar so he could turn toward her. “Sirius has never done anything out of malice, for you or anyone else. Ever. Sirius does things out of love – he always has, and he always will.”
Incredulous, Lily thought of Severus – Severus being sent toward a werewolf on a full moon night, Severus almost dying. Out of love? she’d meant to retort, heated, but Remus went on before she could.
“Listen, do you consider us proper friends, now? All of us, I mean, me and James and Sirius and Pete?”
“You know I do,” Lily frowned; opened her mouth to bring up Sev and that incident, except she was still too slow to interrupt him.
“…Then, you should probably be made aware of this,” he said. One of his hands reached up to cup the back of his neck, his eyes trained on the floor. “Sirius— Sirius is a lot more… vulnerable… than he seems. Than you— than anyone— thinks. I-I know, I understand you’ve got to defend yourself, of course you have, but there are ways— better ways—” A sigh of frustration aborted it midway, Remus evidently searching for the right words. “Look, Lily – he doesn’t come from a happy home. Imagine the worst one you can, then triple it, and— it still wouldn’t come close to the reality of things. Surely you’ve seen and heard enough to guess, right? The Howlers? D’you reckon any loving mother would speak to her child like that? And you know he’s stood against… gone as far as to cut ties with them because of their beliefs. You’re aware how dangerous they are. You don’t reckon his rebellion comes at a price?”
Lily considered this. Distant horror knocked against her chest. She knew Remus could see it in her eyes, for his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly.
“Just that much ought to paint enough of a terrible picture,” he went on. “Never mind the things you haven’t witnessed, that I’m not going to share, because that’s for him to decide, not me.”
“A-Alright.” Lily shifted, thoroughly uncomfortable now. “I’m sorry to hear that, I really am, but what’s that got to do with—?”
“Sirius defends people the way he wishes he’d been defended in the past, Lily,” Remus returned before she’d even gotten her last syllable out. “He’d risk his neck to stand up for his loved ones because no one ever stood up for him – and yes, maybe it does cross a line at times; I don’t think he’s aware of how much is too much, given he’s never received a crumb himself. But digging fingers into that wound isn’t going to make it better, now, is it?”
Lily squirmed under his gaze.
Remus sighed. “You’re one of the kindest, most sensible people I know,” he said, “And there would’ve been ways out of that situation that’d have been kinder and more sensible, but, you didn’t choose either. D’you see?”
Lily eyed the brick of the wall beneath her, digesting all of this. Sympathy for Sirius tugged at her heart, yes, but floating above it was still the utter bafflement regarding where this side of her friend had been when she’d said what she said to James. Though maybe Remus was right… it didn’t sound as though James needed half as much protection as Sirius did…
“…Yeah,” she conceded, haltingly. “Yeah, alright, I do. See.”
Remus visibly relaxed. “Good,” and he painted a brief smile back on, there and gone again. “As long as you understand.” He tilted his head to the side, as if to ask her if she wanted to continue on their way.
Swallowing around nothing, Lily hopped off the wall. They started along the corridor again.
“…My turn to ask you something,” she said, a contemplative look turned to the floor. “You’ve said Sirius… does things out of love, and that he defends people the way he wants to be defended, and— Remus, I can’t help but wonder…” She paused, searching her mind for tactful phrasing.
But Remus seemed to have an inkling of what she meant to say, for he gave her an encouraging, if sombre, nod. “Go on.”
Lily bit her lip. Summoning every ounce of Gryffindor spirit she had in her, she decided to just go for it: “Is that true of the incident last year?” she managed. “H-He… no matter how you slice it – what he did to Sev was wrong, Remus. He could’ve killed, o-or turned… of all people, you should know— sorry, I know you know how awful— of course you do, I know you wouldn’t wish that on Sev. On anyone.”
She turned anxious eyes toward Remus, who was staring ahead with an unhappy smile on his face, now.
“Death is kinder than that,” he agreed, in a murmur. “Yes. I know. All due respect, Lily, I’m more aware of what the consequences of Sirius’s actions would have been than any of you are.”
“So why…?” Lily shook her head morosely. “T-That is, you fell out for a while, didn’t you? Even James was absolutely gutted by what Sirius… so what, erm, what changed? How… how could you of all people…?” She couldn’t think how to word it without antagonising Remus all over again.
Remus, however, understood, evidently. He turned slightly, giving her a bittersweet smile. “How could I forgive him?” he confirmed.
Lily nodded, cheeks warming with discomfiture. “I’m sure he was sorry, or else you— and James and Pete— I’m sure, but…”
Remus hummed. He’d swivelled his head back around to the path before them. “I’m going to ruin whatever… image of noble intent you’ve ascribed to me, I’m afraid,” he exhaled at length, in a musing sort of tone. “What sort of a hypocrite would I be to hold someone’s less than humane impulses against them, Lily? I’m still a werewolf. You forget, you and James and Pete. You forget what that entails.”
When Remus’s brown eyes slid toward her again, Lily couldn’t deny the shudder it sent along her spine, much as she wanted to.
“Just because I suffer for it doesn’t make me any less of a potential killer,” he murmured, holding her gaze. “Sirius, you see, Sirius doesn’t forget. He wanted Snape… dealt with… and he knew exactly what would do the job.”
Lily felt rather cold. For some absurd reason, the memory of the night they’d snuck out, to the Shrieking Shack, resurfaced in her mind – how she’d said she felt like Alice in Wonderland, going down that tunnel; underneath a tree and everything.
Beware the Jabberwock, a chorus taunted inside her.
“Remus…” she managed, somehow, hoarsely; “Surely… surely you realise that’s terrible? How could it be… out of love?”
Remus only smiled. It made her heart pound in her chest with a distant fear she’d never known around her friend before – not even when she’d learnt the truth. He was right. She really hadn’t considered what it meant to be half a dark creature in any actual depth before. The jaws that bite, the claws that catch…
“It was,” he said evenly. “I doubted it, too, you know, at first.” Something troubled settled in his features as he turned again. “God. I thought… in all my arrogance… that, Sirius not bothering to consider what hurting Snape might’ve done to me meant that… well, that I… cared about… loved… him more than he did me.”
He shook his head, as if chiding himself. “And I… resented him for it. Admittedly. I gave him the cold shoulder. That is until I saw exactly how much it wrecked him. How wrong my assumptions had been.” And he smiled again, a thin and bittersweet thing. “I’m sorry, Lily. It was always more about that than it ever was Snape’s safety. If anyone’s in the wrong, there, it’s not Sirius. It’s me.”
Lily stared at him, her breath caught between her throat and her lungs. Her mind scrambled for a response, any at all, but no words came. The weight of Remus’s, the calm way he’d delivered them, hung in the air, turning the atmosphere loaded. She felt untethered, like she was standing on one of the moving staircases, and the ground beneath her had shifted without warning.
Her lips parted, but all that escaped her was a soundless exhale. Her heart thundered in her chest. She searched Remus’s face, finding nothing but resolve and an unsettling clarity there. It only deepened the shell-shock she felt. She’d thought she’d gotten to know him fairly well, but, now she felt as though she’d been peering at him through frosted glass all along, never truly seeing.
“That’s…” she began, but her voice wavered, and the rest of her sentence fell away.
Remus filled the silence for her. “If you can’t forgive either of us for it, that’d be fair enough, honestly.” Practically whispered. “As for me, I’ve made my decision. I just wish I’d done it sooner – quite frankly, I was punishing him, even though I knew he’d been punished enough for being himself all his life. I regret adding to that, I really do.” He shook his head. “Sirius… tends to lose his head when the people he loves are being threatened. I chose, I am choosing, to give him the same grace for that, that I can only hope people would give me, if I ever…” A sigh. “Yeah.”
Lily gave him a look that she knew was halfway to distraught. “And you’re sure that’s the right choice? The moral choice?”
Remus chuckled under his breath. “Merlin, no. But… I’m making it.” He met her eyes again, a steely resolve in his own, his smile vague. “Lily… Sirius understands what it is to be wrong, not just do wrong. Look— it’s one thing to be liked. A brilliant thing. To be loved, even better. But to be understood? People like us… me and Sirius… haven’t got the luxury of taking that for granted.”
They’d reached the foot of the stairs that would take them up to their Lady’s portrait, and Remus paused there, turning his whole body around so he could face Lily properly.
There was nothing but firm resolve on his face. “So, yes, I forgive him. If you’re looking to blame someone for that incident, then please make it me. For having been the reason Sirius did it to begin with. I can shoulder that for him. I will.” Without a hint of hesitation, “And I really am going to make sure it doesn’t happen again, just… please take that responsibility off of him.”
Lily’s heart felt heavy with an emotion she couldn’t place. She still couldn’t think what to say, and Remus gave a rueful exhale, as if in response.
“Have I managed to frighten you at last?” he asked, something genuine under the half-joking tone.
Lily eyed her shoes, frowning deeply. There was a weight on her chest that hadn’t been there before all this. “Yes,” she murmured, “But not for the reasons you’re thinking. Remus, that’s quite the resolution, d’you realise that? It’s— frankly, it’s not very rational.”
Remus only shrugged. Smiling softly, “Then call me mad. Sirius loves me for all that I am. All that I am. I want to give him that, too.”
She pinned him with a long look. There was an intensity, to his eyes, that gave his words the weight of a spell – as if he were making some magically-binding vow. It made her heart clench, an inexplicable lump lodging in her throat. He was right – she was frightened, except that it only had a little to do with the realisation of what, exactly, his illness implied. No… the looming sensation clouding her thoughts was more about…
She swallowed. “You’ve been using the word ‘love’ quite glibly.”
He didn’t turn away. “Have I?” Less an actual question, more a challenge.
Oh. Lily had to blink quite a bit to fend off the burning feeling in her eyes. The epiphany made a lot of sense, but where the news should have been something to congratulate Remus and Sirius for, maybe even to get giddily excited about, for the surprise of it, at the minute it only seemed rather… heavy.
Tragic, even.
The silence had evidently lingered for a bit too long, because Remus cleared his throat, then ventured, “Are we still friends?”
Lily sighed, closing her eyes for a brief moment. “Remus, of course we are.”
“Good. I’m glad. Thank you.” Remus gave her a smile even though his eyes managed to retain that sternness from earlier. “Don’t speak to Sirius like that again, or we won’t be.”
Lily could only nod. Remus nodded back, with an air of finality. “Sorry if I said anything out of bounds. Are you alright to go on, on your own, from here?”
“Yeah,” she managed.
Just like that, Remus turned away, heading off in the direction of the library.
Lily found herself staring at the corridor he disappeared along for a while longer than she was quite conscious of. Catching herself, she eyed the staircase again, but that heavy feeling weighing on her chest hadn’t gone, and the idea of not being able to talk about this with someone seemed unbearable, all of a sudden. Mary and Marlene wouldn’t understand a word without the context, context Lily couldn’t provide, because by Merlin did these boys harbour an ocean’s worth of secrets…
But no, it wasn’t only that, was it? Not even Sirius or Peter would understand what she wanted to say. Only… only one other person really could.
There was nothing for it. Lily half-consciously wrapped her hands around her elbows. The feeling inside of her was a massive balloon threatening to pop, and, deciding that doing so was far, far more urgent than sparing her pride, Lily pivoted back around and started for the Entrance Hall.
She had to get to the Quidditch pitch. She quickened her steps.
It really was raining outside, though lightly. By the time Lily emerged atop one of the stands an Impervius Charm was enough to keep dry. Her eyes found James: alone, just as Sirius had said. A Quaffle was tucked under one arm as he flew lazily back and forth, near the goalposts. The rain-dampened pitch seemed to glow under the low, grey sky, and James himself was a streak of motion against the stillness. The colours of his robes were vivid even from that distance. He tossed the Quaffle into the air… caught it with one hand… then hurled it, hard, at the centre hoop. It sailed cleanly through, and Lily watched as he looped back to retrieve it.
Her fingers tightened on the wooden railing of the stand as she considered him. There was something oddly calming about his movements. Fluid. Practiced. Yet, as she stood there, a quiet pang tugged at her chest, something bittersweet, inexplicably close to sympathy. Her heart gave an uneven stutter when he laughed to himself after nearly missing a catch, shaking his wet hair out of his face like a dog shaking off water. She could have laughed, too, if only to release the tangle of emotions swirling inside her.
For a long moment, Lily didn’t do anything. Just stood there, gripping the railing and staring down at him with the sense that he was a puzzle she could never quite solve.
When she finally opened her mouth, her voice felt caught – stuck somewhere in her throat. She swallowed, then tried again.
“Potter!” It rang clearly across the pitch.
James startled mid-toss, nearly fumbling the Quaffle. He turned sharply in the air, scanning the stands, until his eyes found her. Even from that distance, she could see the surprise on his face, his brows lifting slightly as he hovered for a moment. Then, without further hesitation, he tucked the Quaffle under his arm and started flying toward her. His broom cut cleanly through the air.
Lily’s grip on the railing tightened as he approached. Her heart thudded an unsteady rhythm against its cage.
“Evans?” he ventured, once he got close enough; his broom hovered just beneath her perch, so that they were more or less at eye-level. Those kaleidoscope eyes scrutinised her almost warily, despite his perpetual half-a-smile. “Er, hiya? I’m not meant to be somewhere else, am I?”
“No. Er, no.” Lily gave him a quivering smile back, unsure how to phrase anything she was bursting to say. “I-I hope I’m not… distracting from, erm…” She nodded at the Quaffle he held.
“Oh. Nah, I’m— no. You, erm, you alright?” He squinted.
That was the question, wasn’t it. Lily couldn’t hold her smile despite her best efforts. She tucked a strand of her hair behind one ear. “…Why, don’t I look it?” she mumbled.
“Frankly? You look a bit like you’ve just been given a talking-to from Professor McGonagall,” James joked half-heartedly, though when Lily looked there was something like concern on his face.
Lily chuckled, rueful. “Mm, you’re not far off. It was Remus, not her.”
Brief surprise flickered in James’s expression, there and gone again. Then he nodded, slow and confused, then simply waited for her to elaborate.
When she didn’t – couldn’t – he tousled the hair at the back of his head. Jokingly again, he said, “Ah. Don’t envy that. He’s oddly effective with his dressing-downs, in’t he? I reckon it’s because he only had his parents for company before Hogwarts. Learnt exactly how to speak like a crotchety mum, you see.”
The lightness of his tone was belied by the questioning look in his eyes, however. Forcing a laugh, Lily obliged, “How would you know that? I’ve met your mum, she’s almost criminally pleasant.”
James’s lips eased into a more genuine grin, as if her quipping had reassured him. “Governess, then,” he said, with a dismissive wave of his free hand. “Though you’re not too bad at it yourself – telling people off, that is. Should’ve sold tickets for us to come watch you and Moony go toe-to-toe. Better than a fistfight.”
“Not a compliment,” Lily huffed, although she couldn’t help a small smile back.
James chuckled. “Talking of my mum, she’s been wondering why you haven’t written her yet, y’know. Something about the garden?”
That made Lily’s smile falter. The old, familiar sensation of nebulous discomfort shadowed everything else, that frustrating feeling that came with getting quite so intimate with James whilst she still couldn’t shake the memory of last year. Evidently even James could see it on her face, because behind his glasses, his eyes widened ever so slightly – apprehensive, perhaps even fretful.
He swivelled his head to the side, gazing at nothing. His own smile had turned rueful; if Lily didn’t know better, she’d have even called it pained. “…What are you doing here, Lily?” he asked. The playfulness had vanished from his tone all of a sudden.
Lily gripped the railing tighter. What, indeed, she thought. “Remus and Sirius… they’re dating, aren’t they?” she managed, after a brief moment’s hesitation.
James turned back around. There was some sort of surprise in his expression, if a guarded kind.
But he smiled, eventually. “Caught on at last, have you? Wormy and I were beginning to wonder how you—”
“And, erm… Remus shared some other things… as well,” Lily cut him off, without really intending to – it’d just felt that urgent, and she couldn’t stand it anymore. “About… him. Them. Sirius. I… he told me quite a bit.”
James had gone wide-eyed again. She’d forgotten to take her own off his face, and so saw every subtle way his expression morphed from surprise, to comprehension, to sheepish, bittersweet commiseration.
“…Blimey, what exactly were you chatting about?” he asked, but Lily could hear that it was rhetorical. He swung his leg over his broom so that he was now sitting on it sideways, facing Lily with his entire body.
But he’d also turned his eyes away, staring at the railing. His hands held onto his broom, on either side of him. “So, you’ve met my Lost Boys, then,” he murmured. “Sorry about that. It’s a lot, innit?” Rather heavy sigh. “They forget, sometimes. That it is – a lot. Sad, really.”
“…It is,” Lily agreed, utterly relieved that somebody else had voiced this. She inched closer, wishing, all of a sudden, that she could hug James and not have it mean anything else other than the comfort she longed for. And was that wrong? To want comfort for somebody else’s problems? “Was that what you meant?” she half-whispered. “When you said… wanting to save someone?”
James met her eyes again. He didn’t even have to nod or answer, for Lily to find confirmation. She shook her head. “James, it’s— it’s just so much— it’s awful.” Something pleading leaked into her tone, entirely beyond her will. “Oh… doesn’t it ever feel like that? Like young people— and, I know, I know we’re more or less of-age, now, but aren’t we still so young—? Doesn’t it feel like people our age shouldn’t know that depth of pain— not yet? Doesn’t it just feel so deeply, utterly wrong?”
There was empathy in James’s expression, the same sort of half-wretched anxiety. “All the bloody time, Lily,” he exhaled, relief in it, as if he’d never said so before and was glad to be able to. “But they go about it like it’s business as usual, and you’re left sort of… floundering…”
“…Wondering if that’s the way the world really is. Guilty about it not being that way for you,” Lily nodded, swallowing hard. “Sev… Severus doesn’t come from a happy home either, you know.”
James’s brow creased in commiserating concern. “And you do?” he asked; she nodded, feeling miserable.
“Me too.” James sighed. “Don’t you ever feel like there’s a sort of logic to that? I mean, I dunno, I’m too much of an empiricist to believe in a higher power. Not that I don’t have any beliefs of the metaphysical sort, mind – I reckon reincarnation’s real, ’cause that’s just physics, matter can neither be created nor destroyed. And karma, that’s physics too, every action has an equal—”
“Tangent, James.” Lily chuckled softly; he offered her a rueful smile in response.
“But there’s a logic to it,” he repeated. “You meet someone who’s lacking something you’ve got— it just, it naturally follows that you ought to share, right? That it’s your responsibility… that you met for a reason?”
“Yeah.” Lily nodded fervently; had to stop herself for how overly-enthusiastic it must have seemed. “I mean, I dunno if it’s true. But, yeah, it’s what it feels like.”
James did that thing again, that exhale of relief. His chest rose and fell with it.
That inexplicable feeling, like she was sorry for James, returned. Lily sent him a tight smile: “What a massive thing to carry, though. How do you even begin to ‘save’ them?”
“How’s it any worse than yours?” James smiled back, just as grimly. He sighed, “I dunno, I only try to do what I can do. Early on… I got the sense they didn’t get to act their age very much. So I wanted Hogwarts to be a place where they could do that. Muck about. Pull pranks. …Make trouble, and not have it cost their safety.” Wry chuckle, even though Lily couldn’t see anything funny about it at all. “And I hope someday we get to live together. Our place is huge, y’know? Plenty of room for three separate flats. And the gardens, the moor… Moony would have so much space, for the full moon nights.”
Lily watched him, affection rolling in like a slow tide. She’d been so wrong to think this was arrogance. It was a painful innocence – James knew what he possessed, and wasn’t ashamed to own up to it. And Merlin, how she’d resented him for ostensibly caving to his mates’ demands, believing it showed his spinelessness. But James had only wanted to please people he cared for deeply – people who didn’t receive a lot of that to begin with.
It’d be so hypocritical of her to hold that against him, when she knew exactly what the impulse felt like.
“…D’you, erm, d’you reckon we’re being self-centred? Y’know… making their troubles about ourselves?” she wondered aloud. She’d thought it many times, but never got to voice it.
“If not us, who?” James’s tone was just as musing. “Can’t be wrong, right?” Echoing that ancient conversation of theirs; then evidently realising it, he sent her a bashful smile. “Sorry. I haven’t worked it out yet. Clearly.”
Lily obliged with an artificial laugh. Desperate for some levity, she quipped, “What would the lady of the manor say to you moving your mates in? If you ever marry?”
James exhaled amusement, something she couldn’t quite decipher in his eyes, something almost… tender. “I’ve got an inkling I wouldn’t marry that sort,” he murmured. “A lady, I mean. …I like a plucky girl, me.”
Heat blossomed in Lily’s cheeks, and she had to look away. They chuckled about nothing at all.
“Well, but I’m not really doing shite, though, with only that much,” James went on, at length, something almost mutinous – petulant – in his voice. “They don’t let me, you see. Remus and Sirius – they don’t tell me everything. Reckon ickle Prince Potter simply couldn’t understand.” He huffed. “D’you get that, too?”
“Mm-hmm.” Lily sighed as she nodded, letting herself think of Sev again. “Like what you share’s too naïve. And intrusive. Unwanted.”
“Exactly.” James fairly shouted it, pointing at Lily with a quick snap of his fingers. “I understand more than I let on! Like, I understand Sirius isn’t capable of loving himself. It’s not that he hates himself, mind, he just can’t love himself. Hasn’t got the faintest idea how – nobody taught him. I don’t really know what to do about it though. I hope Remus and I make up for it. …Stopper the hole in his heart.”
He sighed. “And Remus hates me a little bit. Not enough for it to matter, but a little bit. …Can’t do anything about that, either. It’s not about anything I’ve done or not done. It’s who I am, what I’ve got.” He turned, squinting at the empty air by his side. “I think it’s also that he worries Sirius fancies me. Which is daft, by the way, Sirius is head over heels for our Moony. But there it is.”
Lily couldn’t quite take her eyes off him. A meditative sort of air had overcome James, and he seemed quite grown-up, even though he swayed back and forth on his broom. “And Peter… Peter can’t stand Sirius’s sense of humour. Too sensitive for it. He’s dealt with too many bullies in the past to get Sirius doesn’t mean anything by it. And the thing is that if he’d just say so – say it to Sirius, I mean – Sirius would stop in a heartbeat. He doesn’t set out to hurt anybody, least of all his mates. He’s got so few for a reason, y’know. Treasures us. …But Peter won’t, because he’s scared we wouldn’t support him. Me and Remus. ’Specially Remus.”
He sucked in a deep breath, as if steadying himself. Then some of that typical playfulness returned, if far more muted, though Lily missed the gravitas now that it’d gone.
“Sorry.” James’s smile was as sheepish as it was self-aware. “Must be rich hearing that from me, eh? About bullies.”
“…No… well…” but Lily couldn’t quite lie to his face, and James only chuckled quietly.
“I’d never really thought of it in those terms, is the thing,” he said. “My dad… he had to deal with a lot of that, when he was in school. Bullying. So, he always taught me that if I ever got hit, to hit back harder. That I should never take an insult lying down – ‘make the consequences for disrespecting you higher than they’d be worth testing,’ as he would put it.”
He reached out, grabbing onto the railing as well. It brought him even closer to Lily – and she could see something genuinely apologetic, in the eyes peering up at her. “I really am sorry it took… everything that happened, for me to realise,” he murmured. “And, erm, thanks for bothering to point it out. Rather than writing me off in silence. You could’ve.”
I didn’t want to, Lily thought, and stunned herself with how much it rang true. His broom was hovering slightly lower now, enough that she longed to reach out and touch his hair. Reassure him.
She didn’t. Couldn’t. Swallowed around the tightness in her throat, and managed, hoarsely, “No worries. Good on you, James. Really.”
He smiled, not the usual crooked thing, but a small and painfully tender one that made Lily’s heart lurch in response.
She had to tear her eyes away. Wound up watching their hands, however, their hands and how close they were to each other, gripped around the railing like that.
“…Quite amenable to being reasoned with, aren’t you?” she mused, without really meaning to do so out loud.
James chuckled. All softness disappeared from his face, replaced by its usual bright grin. He leaned away from the railing, urged his broom forward without swinging his leg back over it. With a sideways glide around Lily’s head once, he hopped off next to her with all the grace of the stag he’d summoned in Defence class.
“Reason is my favourite word in the dictionary,” he declared theatrically. “I’d marry that elusive mistress, Reason, if I could.”
Lily obliged with a little laugh.
“But I can see right through you, Lily Evans,” he affected a pompous, chiding tone, peering down at her – Lily realised he’d grown a bit taller than he had been the year prior. “You’ve only been interviewing me again,” he went on, “And haven’t said a word about what’s got you so glum, yourself.”
Lily shook her head with a rueful smile. “Never mind. I feel better already.” And it wasn’t a lie.
James hummed, his expression betraying that he didn’t quite believe her. But, as usual, he didn’t press.
Silence settled between them, and it made Lily fidget. It was always difficult to be around James without something to do or say; simply sharing space together made her feel wrong-footed, an antsy sensation nagging at her, like there were a thousand Billywigs flitting about inside her stomach.
She cleared her throat. “It’s… impressive,” she murmured, as she stared out at the empty pitch, so she wouldn’t have to meet his eyes. “That you can stand to carry three broken hearts all on your own. Me, I buckled under the weight of just one.”
“What are you talking about?” And James sounded so genuinely baffled, she had to turn. She found him staring at her with furrowed brows, where he was leaning against the railing beside her.
“Lily, I’m a Marauder,” he said. “I’ve never had to do anything on my own. If it’s Moony’s problems, Padfoot and Wormy are there to help, too. If it’s Pads, I’ve got Moony. With Wormy, so on. You’re the one that’s been impressive. A right superhero, if you ask me.” He wasn’t even grinning anymore, just watching her sympathetically. “With Snape doing his damnedest to make sure everyone else despises him? You’ve been pouring your soul into trying to get him to see sense. Just you. Alone.”
Lily could only stare – stunned out of any hope of a response. For a moment, all she could do was— gawk, wide-eyed, struggling to process what she’d just heard. And the way that James had said it – so earnestly. It struck something inside of her, something fragile and entirely unprepared.
Warmth blossomed, in her chest; spread to her fingertips; crept up her cheeks. A sensation so unfamiliar, it left her almost dizzy. She couldn’t decide what startled her more – how he’d known exactly what she needed to hear, or the extent to which she’d liked hearing it. And the way he was looking at her now, with no hint of teasing or mockery. She felt exposed, as though he could see right through to her very core.
Remus’s words echoed in her mind: It’s one thing to be liked… to be loved, even better… but to be understood?
Her stomach twisted uncomfortably. That fluttery feeling from earlier had sharpened into something more urgent, something she couldn’t name, yet couldn’t ignore. Her heart was racing – just as it sometimes did when James caught her off guard with this sort of sincerity, but today she hated it. Hated it. It felt like she was teetering on the edge of something she couldn’t control.
As quickly as the warmth had come, a cold, sinking guilt crept in to chase it away.
She was about to cry, Lily realised, shocked. Her breath caught, and the sting of tears burnt in her eyes. No— not now. Not here. Panic surged in her chest. She couldn’t fall apart – not in front of him, not while he was looking at her like that, like he could actually see her.
“I—” she croaked, barely audible. “I-I’ve got to go. Sorry. I’ve just remembered something. Talk later.”
The words tumbled out in a frantic rush, one stumbling over the other. Her feet moved on instinct, already starting to step away.
James’s eyebrows knit together, confusion plain on his face. “What’s wrong? Did I—?”
But she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. Before he could say another word, she turned, and fairly fled.
“Lily— wait!” James’s voice rose with concern. “Muggle-borns aren’t supposed to—”
She didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Her legs carried her down the wooden stairs of the stands as fast as they could. She didn’t dare look back, even as she heard his footsteps halt at the benches.
She didn’t even make it to the castle doors. Her vision blurred, tears threatening to spill over. She ducked into the nearest girls’ toilet instead; her hands trembled, uncontrollably, as she shoved the door closed behind herself. The moment the latch clicked, the first sob broke free.
How could she feel like this— about James, of all people? The boy who’d hexed Severus just for the hell of it? No matter his reasons… no matter if he’d only thought he was entertaining friends that needed it, no matter if he was truly, genuinely sorry for it now— how could she feel like this?
It was one thing to accept that she might fancy him. That he was funny, personable, charming— even rather handsome.
But, but to feel like this?
Love?
Sliding down the cold, stone wall, Lily buried her face in her hands, tears spilling hot and fast. She gasped for breath. It wasn’t that she’d fallen in love with James Potter, but she’d realised that she could. Merlin— she could. The memory of his voice, that sincerity. His steady gaze— the way he’d made her feel so seen. So understood.
And it had felt good. It had felt right.
Yet, Severus’s face loomed in her thoughts, too. How could she reconcile this? How could she let herself feel anything for the boy who’d caused so much pain to somebody she’d once called her best friend?
Another sob tore out of her, and she pulled her knees to her chest, trembling. She didn’t have answers – only more questions, more doubt… and the terrifying truth of what her heart had gone and decided without her permission.
Notes:
What can I say, man, Remus is canonically the king of the guilt-trip. Just ask Harry, LMAO – telling the thirteen-year-old orphan he’d be wasting his parents’ deaths was maybe a little bit harsh, my dude…
Help why did it lowkey sound like James wanted to start a cult in this. Sharing finances? Check. Communal living? Check. Those control issues, ISTG.
Basically, to me, at least at the time of writing, I think James and Lily both developed their saving-people complexes from like. Anxiety. They each formed a false sense of responsibility for the problems their loved ones face (the Marauders for James, Mr Evans and to some extent Snape for Lily) because it’s the only way they can cope with actually being helpless in the face of such massive difficulties. Micromanaging gives them a sense of control they both crave. It manifests (relatively) benignly in this universe, though. But, again, that’s just at the time I’m writing this. TBQH, I’m getting to know these characters as I go along, LMFAO.
In summation: James “I’m not traumatised, my besties are traumatised!” Potter. James “…WDYM witnessing my besties being traumatised whilst being unable to do shit about it is traumatising” Potter. On that Twin Size Mattress by The Front Bottoms type beat.
Chapter 18
Notes:
Thank you for every moment you’ve spent here with this!
Chapter TW: Or more like a blanket warning for post-Hogwarts Wolfstar whenever we touch on them from here on; more relevant to Part IV (winter), but also worth mentioning for the flash-forward in this chapter as well. Basically, as you’ve probably gathered from the allusion to it in Part I (spring) Chapter 22, there’s some not-really-cheating on Remus’s end. The reason I wanna warn for it is because I know from experience that lots and lots and LOTS of readers are sensitive to this trope, more so even than your generic trigger warning material, I guess because it’s a far more universal experience than that stuff. To be clear, though: I’m not warning because anything actually happens. Everything stays in the grey area of “potential;” at no point does Remus act on anything, and it remains pretty fricking obvious at least to us that he loves Sirius above all, he was just (like he says here) really, really confused at the time, going through a werewolfy identity crisis. All the same, though, if that’s not a trope you vibe with, you’re probably better off dropping the series at Part III (autumn). You can also skip the flash-forward (the first section) in this chapter, that’s fine.
To the rest of y’all who, like me, don’t mind a little bit of messy drama along those lines – settle in! [Clinks glasses with you.]
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Despite what Remus was certain the current state of things made his life look like from the outside, despite whatever depths of rock bottom he’d ostensibly hit, he quite genuinely hadn’t turned into such a slob that he’d roll out of bed well past noon and start smoking first thing. No, today was simply a… unique circumstance, because today, Sirius Black was curled up amidst his sheets a room away – still fast asleep, still wearing next to nothing.
The thought made Remus blink, and he realised for the first time in God knew how long that he’d only been staring at the wood of the doorframe opposite the one he was leaning against, spliff between his lips but hardly a puff taken since the couple he’d begun with. Slowly, almost unconsciously, he raised a leaden hand and took it between two fingers, sucked in sweetened vapour. Truth told, it wasn’t doing anything. It certainly wasn’t helping him forget last night, though maybe that had been wishful thinking to begin with, but it could have at least helped him… handle said memory, which it was not. Doing.
The anxious hours that had felt like years as he waited for Sirius to turn up at his doorstep, the million stern conversations he’d had with himself before that happened: Remus, it’s been longer than a decade; you’re not to forget that just because of last summer, because of the letters; you might still care for each other but everything’s starting over again regardless; you’re not to act like some overly-emotional fool and make a mess of—
And then a dog had come scratching at his door. And then Sirius had been standing there, at his threshold, Sirius, at his threshold, and—
All things considered, Remus had shown remarkable composure, really. Had practice, he supposed. What did one do when one’s beloved came back from the dead? Not only whole, or as whole as he could ever be from now on, but innocent after all, fucking innocent, after all?
Well. What Remus had been doing in the face of crisis after crisis after crisis all this time: he’d given Sirius an impersonal smile, gestured toward a door, and said, “I’ve gone ahead and run the bath. Thought you might want one, before anything else.”
Merlin, the way Sirius had looked. Thinner, so much thinner than Remus remembered. Sharp angles, where once there’d been lean grace; a wispy frame, swallowed up by clothes that hung off him like they belonged to a giant, in comparison. Hair longer, unkempt, streaked through with early grey, though it still framed his face in a way that was almost familiar. His face— Merlin, his face; the same sharp cheekbones, the same prideful tilt of his jaw, but the hollows beneath his eyes had been deeper, shadows there that told stories Remus had not yet heard. That Remus was afraid to hear.
“…No, I’ve… washed already,” Sirius had rasped, in a voice hoarse with disuse or grief or both; he’d not met Remus’s eyes, running his hands along his sides instead. “Lake. On the way. I’d like to sleep, actually? If you don’t mind?” And he’d glanced up at last, but past Remus’s shoulder, as if he expected to see a bedroom there, though his eyes were so empty and lost that – with a painful lurch in his heart – Remus had wondered if Sirius was even actually seeing anything at all.
He’d expected to feel a lot of things, seeing Sirius again. The same, incomprehensible mess that’d been haunting him since the day he’d gotten to hold Sirius in his arms again, for the first time in thirteen torturous years, right there in the Shrieking Shack, forgetting Harry, forgetting everything— that jumbled-up mix of relief, elation, and pain.
He’d even expected resentment, somewhat. Things hadn’t always been loving, between them, had they? Especially not… during that last year, before… before. It was only that Remus had been granted far, far too much time – entirely against his will – to release whatever grudge he might have otherwise held. Only that he’d resolved, whatever his younger self – twenty-one and bitter and still believing the worst thing that could have happened to him was to lose a trust he’d come to take for granted – whatever that version of him might have done, Remus had resolved to be different, now. Kinder, more understanding. Because how, exactly, would he ever be able to punish Sirius worse than what Sirius had already been through? There was no mincing words: Sirius had been tortured. Remus had made his decision in the Shack, in the same instant that he’d referred to his beloved with the old name once more: Padfoot.
But he hadn’t felt any of those things, faced with Sirius again, with that deadened expression. It was only the distant horror of that last epiphany that’d overcome him: the realisation that Sirius had been tortured. Tortured.
And whatever calm that Remus had managed to feign had threatened to crumble.
How could he have ever thought it might be comparable? He’d written, in his letter to Sirius, that it’d felt like Remus was in Azkaban right alongside him, those years. But how could it have been that, really? No matter the grief, the loss, the holes in his life in the shapes of Si—Ja—a-and— Remus had been living. He’d had a life. Sparse though it was, lonely though it was… he’d gone on. Left the country. Worked, whenever work was to be had. Even impoverished he’d had whatever power came with a British passport and the unfair system of Muggle exchange rates; he’d seen Asia, seen Africa. He’d had people to write to, even if only Alastor ever spared him the time to write back just as frequently. And Susan, before she’d died, in the blissful belief that her son had been a hero and martyr.
Sirius, however? He’d had twelve empty years. He’d had twelve years of nothing— absolutely nothing. Not even the consolation of knowing that somewhere, somehow, there’d still be a lover, a godson, people that mourned, that missed— not even that, not after that damned rat’s ruse had paid off so bleeding well.
Something frantic had lodged in Remus’s throat. “Sure, yeah, must’ve been quite the journey, as a dog,” he’d said – much too quickly, every word chasing after the last. He’d turned and taken hasty steps toward his bedroom (the only one in the house but scrubbed and tidied for Sirius because surely he’d gone far too long without a real bed to be given the sofa—), and Remus hadn’t even been able to twist his head back slightly, to make sure Sirius was following, because a cowardly part of him hoped not. A cowardly part of him hoped it was all a strange dream.
“…Oh… is this your bedroom?” that hoarse voice had ventured, sure enough, as soon as Remus had opened the door for him. “Don’t… don’t bother, Remus, I’m more than happy to…”
Remus had anticipated protest, of course, but he’d expected to hear: More than happy to take the sofa.
Instead, Sirius had gone on, “…To sleep in my Animagus form. Anywhere. The floor or outside or…”
Remus had gone still. Struck by the words, not only for the fact of them, but because Sirius had so clearly meant them. Completely, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to surrender to squalor, curl up in some corner like a half-starved stray – as if the idea of a bed, of comfort, of anything soft and human, were so foreign to him now that he no longer remembered what it was to want them, let alone have them.
Something had clenched so tightly in Remus’s chest that for a moment, he’d thought he might be sick. His fingers had curled around the edge of the doorframe, desperate for an anchor. God— he’d thought he understood. That his own pain, his own years of loss, had been proof of… but that? That had been something else, entirely. That had betrayed over a decade of— complete and utter dehumanisation, survival so bare it no longer knew how to be anything else. Remus had felt so winded it dizzied him.
Sirius had noticed. Remus had caught the moment comprehension dawned: the way Sirius’s expression had flickered, hesitant as if he’d realised he’d spoken too freely, revealed too much. And then, a heartbeat after, something else: a sort of shame. Barely perceptible, but there. As if he’d thought he’d said something… pathetic, and shouldn’t have.
It had nearly shattered Remus. Even if he’d known the right words to say, what words could have possibly been enough? Instead, Remus had inhaled, grasping for fortification.
Then, carefully, he’d stepped aside; left space in the doorway. An invitation – not to a bed, not to a room, but to something far more vital: back to the land of the living. Back to humanity.
Sirius had hesitated, all caution, but after a moment – one breath, then another – he’d obliged, stepping inside.
Remus’s mistake had been in miscalculating, underestimating, the physical distance between them. He’d been clutching the doorknob, see, holding the door open, and when Sirius… there’d been one simple brush… arm against arm… the contact had been barely there, but— but enough. Enough to send something sparking through Remus’s veins, enough to undo him.
Because he’d known that feeling before, that helplessness, that pull. He’d known it that night, in the Shrieking Shack, when everything had been confusion and fury. When the years had melted away in a single instant. He’d felt it when he’d crossed that room, with no thought but Sirius, when he’d reached for him, without hesitation or fear. His arms had locked around him before his mind could even hope to catch up, and Sirius had clutched back just as fiercely, just as desperately.
And, in that moment— God, in that moment— it’d happened again. Remus hadn’t thought, hadn’t weighed any consequences, hadn’t even had the presence of mind to stop himself. He’d simply moved, turned into Sirius’s space, drawn by something beyond his own will. And Sirius— Sirius had done the same. It had been nothing more than a shift of weight, a brush of fabric, and then, and then. Suddenly there’d been no space between them at all.
Sirius had all but flung himself against Remus, arms vicelike around Remus’s back, fingers curling into the fabric of his cardigan, as if afraid to ever, ever let go. And Remus— he’d felt the way Sirius had exhaled against his shoulder, the way his body had shuddered with something too forceful to be relief and too raw to be anything as simple as comfort.
It’d been like a flood, years of loss and ache and disbelief surging through them both, drowning them. Remus’s hands had found their way into Sirius’s hair, grasping, grounding. He’d turned his face against the curve of Sirius’s jaw, breathing him in, and Sirius— Sirius had turned, too.
Their mouths had collided, without thought, without decision. No careful slowness, no tentative seeking – only urgency and need. Only the unbearable gravity of thirteen— shit, no, fourteen, it’d been fourteen years now— fourteen years spent orbiting absence, the sheer desperation of finally, finally being close and alone enough to touch.
Words could never have saved them. The only ones shared between barely parted lips had been Sirius’s, “Are you s—?”, and Remus’s, “Is this really—?”, and then, Sirius had hissed, “Yes,” and Remus had half-sobbed, “Yes,” and after that their tongues had been far too preoccupied to help shape anything coherent anymore.
There’d been hands, everywhere, clothes forgotten on the floor… desperate fingers mapping every too-prominent bone, every fresh scar the moon had wrought in the long in-between. Even at the time Remus had known that it would happen once and only once. It’d simply been vital, a conversation in lieu of a conversation. For that was what sex had become for them for a long time anyway, hadn’t it? In those awful months before hell had come for them all? Sex had become a desperate offering after every heated word, every loaded pause. Less about intimacy and even less about pleasure – it’d become a placeholder. It’d meant: nothing else makes sense anymore, and I don’t know which way is up and which way is down, but God help me, what I do know is that I still love you.
He’d tumbled Sirius onto the bed, even though they never usually did it that way – it was far easier on his back to be the one lying down, perhaps with a pillow to help brace their weight. Easier for Sirius to slink above him, over-warm skin against over-warm skin; to drape himself across Remus, all sharp grins and easy seduction, in the early days, then desperate grasping later on; to swallow Remus up until Remus couldn’t remember them ever having been two separate bodies.
Not last night. Last night, Remus had bowed over Sirius’s back (because God, if they’d been facing each other, if their eyes had met, they’d both have broken), and reclaimed his Mate the way his wolf’s heart had urged him to. They’d held hands the entire time, Remus’s palm to the back of Sirius’s, both their fingers clutching so hard it’d hurt.
And they’d wept. Wept for the boys they’d once been, the men they now were, for James and for Lily and for poor, poor Harry. If there’d been any pleasure at all it wasn’t at the forefront for Remus then, and certainly not at the minute.
After, they’d traded quiet kisses so soft it was like they’d both been aware they’d been reshaped in fragile glass. After, there’d no longer been any hope of approaching each other “fresh,” that is, as strangers meeting for the first time in a long time – no. Too late. They’d proven that though they might not have been those people anymore, they were still – somehow – people in love.
Was that always what survived from the wreckage, Remus had wondered?
He’d bathed Sirius himself, in the end. Ran careful hands against sorely-neglected skin, paused every so often to brush his lips against Sirius’s hair, his temples, his neck. Then they’d wandered back into the bedroom, curled up against fresh sheets. Had found sleep, eventually; with Sirius’s face buried in Remus’s chest, and Remus running his fingers through half-wet locks, untangling what he could.
And now – in the present – Remus found himself dazed against the frame of his backdoor.
Shit strain, he thought, blinking again as he gave up and plucked the spliff from his lips altogether. Damn Arabella.
His eyes wandered, instead, forced to do the distracting on their own. Marvelled at the light spilling into the house, considered the pile of envelopes on the table between the telly and the sofa – “Dear Professor Lupin,” he knew the contents of one read, “I am writing to request a reference…” It still made Remus exhale amusement, even now. A reference from the Hogwarts caretaker would have been worth infinitely more than a reference from an outed werewolf, but still they wrote him, a handful of his old students. He ought to be flattered, he supposed… although mostly he just felt sorry for them, and for the few acquaintances he had with any actual standing in society – Ministry employees, for the most part – whom he tended to pass them on to.
His eyes moved along, staring at the rune-like symbol carved into the wood across from him, now: a Pack Mark that wasn’t his – at least not in any real sense. But it was practical to have one, kept him safe. Out of all the places he’d considered somewhat “home,” Remus had chosen Yorkshire for a reason, when he’d returned to the UK. He’d never have gone back to the London flat, of course, nor Godric’s Hollow, nor the childhood cottage his father was holed up in. No – he’d followed Gwen and Breca, even if they, themselves, were long gone. Because… if there were two things he still knew beyond doubt… it was the territory here, and the fact that the North would never give up its wolves. Not ever.
So he’d carved their Pack Mark into his doorposts, front and back, on a gamble that no one would question it. And Lady Luck had been kind to him for the first time in decades – two little boys, one injured and the other dragging him along, had come stumbling onto his porch as a result, begging for help.
Perhaps it was rotten of Remus to have acted out of anything but compassion, then, but he’d secretly been grateful for the encounter, even as he helped patch the child’s wounds up as best as he could. And after that no one did challenge it, the Mark, and Remus had even been able to transform in the old woods without issue despite the fact that he heard howls out of other corners.
He’d half-expected adults to turn up, too, at some point, but none had, thus far. More little ones, on occasion, looking for food and medicine. When Remus had told them – wretchedly – that he didn’t always have much to spare, he even sometimes found offerings waiting for him. In baskets, on his doorstep, without notes.
Lone wolves have got a lower chance of surviving, ya wazzock, he remembered Gwen saying, with that smug little know-it-all smile of hers, and Remus couldn’t help exhaling silent laughter.
How about that? he challenged her, in his mind— then, slid a guilty look back indoors. Merlin, was he really so determined to relive those dreadful days that he’d even re-enact thinking of Gwen whilst Sirius was only a room away?
He lifted the spliff back up, between trembling fingers, if only for something to do. His mind had finally achieved some small amount of reprieve, some blankness (or maybe he’d only been that spaced out staring at the sky, thick clouds and the sun fighting for room against it), when he heard footfalls at last.
He turned ever so slightly, just a swivelling of his head against the wood behind it. Sirius was wearing his clothes – because of course he was. Remus’s jumpers always were too long for Sirius, long enough to touch his thighs, but now the frayed, cable-knit one he’d dug out of Merlin knew where looked too large, as well, all but slipping off his shoulders. And the trousers, he’d had to fold up, both at the waist and the legs. Remus could tell by the odd band they made against the jumper whenever Sirius moved.
“…I’ve still got your old things,” Remus blurted out, almost unconsciously. (Blame it on the spliff, he thought, turning him loose-lipped.) It made Sirius draw up short, although the surprise on his face was milder than Remus had anticipated. Then again, it was harder to tell what Sirius was thinking now that he’d developed that permanent frown. The two times he’d seen Sirius smile, last night, both in response to Remus kissing him, had been heartbreaking – the vaguest upturn of the lips, and no corresponding light in his eyes. As if Sirius had learnt how to smile from reading a manual on it.
Remus tried not to remember a younger face, brighter grins, flirtatious smirks. Tried, especially, to block out that defenceless, shy little thing that Sirius sometimes offered in private, if Remus had managed to catch him off-guard with a compliment, an endearment.
He was suddenly, absurdly grateful that whatever photographs of that Sirius he’d ever possessed that he hadn’t torn up and burnt, he’d sent along to Harry, on Hagrid’s request.
“…Have you,” Sirius was murmuring, now. He still seemed to be having trouble meeting Remus’s eyes for very long, although, Remus didn’t fault him that. He’d have felt the same way, only he was following an instinct that told him Sirius would be likelier to trust him if he didn’t act quite as cagey as he might have otherwise been on the inside. An odd situation for having been trained as a teacher to pay off, Remus thought, but there it was – he knew how to pretend to have it together for the sake of not worsening somebody else’s panic.
Sirius was walking over to him, at the moment. Rather than going anywhere near Remus, however, he took up the post opposite, leaning against the doorframe, as well. Remus had been right, then – they’d never get that physical again, at least not for a long time. Last night had been the thaw required for the wall that’d solidified between them, thanks to everything that’d happened; they could approach each other without pretence, now, but with the yawning ravine that the years had left behind intact. They’d only made their peace with its existence, that was all. Now they could be perfectly honest.
“Not right here, not at the minute,” Remus clarified, talking to Sirius’s elbows. “But I’ve got ’em, yeah. Probably at me dad’s place. After… everything, I couldn’t— well, frankly, didn’t want to— keep up the rent on o—your, flat, so. They packed up everything inside, sent it to me. As the other name on the lease, I suppose.”
“…Surprised they didn’t just burn it all. Building and everything,” Sirius rasped.
Me too, Remus thought but didn’t say; “Probably because it was a Muggle residence,” he shrugged instead.
“And you?” Sirius’s tone was soft and even, but Remus could hear the lilt of question in it nonetheless. “You didn’t, I dunno, throw it all away?”
Remus understood what he was really asking, of course, but only smiled that neutral smile again. “I wasn’t actually here much. Travelled. Didn’t get around to… sorting anything out, really.”
So much for perfectly honest, he thought wryly. But he was already using up enough of his courage just facing the fact of Sirius, as it was – he didn’t have any left over to tackle that massive tangle of guilt inside of him in the shape of James Potter on top of it.
Sirius hummed. Silence settled, between them, and Remus managed to study him at last: Sirius had his arms wrapped around himself, listless eyes on the view outside. The sun, even as it was getting more and more intermittent with the clouds now threatening a drizzle, nonetheless traced a soft halo along Sirius’s jaw. He was still so beautiful, Remus thought with a pang. How cruel of Fate to do that to Sirius – after everything he’d been through, to have it barely show, at least not on the outside.
But then, that’d always been the way, for Sirius, hadn’t it, Remus mused. He’d always seemed so unfazed, despite being possibly the most vulnerable of them all.
Remus sucked in another puff – this time because he needed it.
Sirius’s head lolled around, back toward the room. That vague ghost of a smile sat at his lips, now. “That’s not a cigarette,” he observed.
Remus obliged with a forced smile of his own. “No. Tastes a lot better.” And doesn’t smell like you. “Helps with the pain, too.” Physical and otherwise.
Exhaling a half-amused breath, Sirius held out a hand. Remus passed him the spliff, which he took.
Remus watched him, watched pale fingers lift up to soft lips, had to resist the urge to reach out and trace them with the pads of his own again. He’d been so worried that he’d find scrapes and bruises on those lovely, almost delicate hands, given how far Sirius had come… thank Merlin, Morgana, and all of the Founders that Newfoundland dogs were built to be resilient, withstand cold, swim incredible distances, but still… “Have you gotten enough rest?” Remus asked, soft. “Are you hungry?”
Sirius huffed again, that smile more genuine, now, if still a small and bittersweet thing. “It can wait,” he rasped. “You’re aware I didn’t walk the entire way here, Remus? I’ve got that hippogriff of Hagrid’s now. Incredible companion.”
“Ah.” Thank God. “Where’s it gone?”
Sirius shrugged. “Flew off. Too much of an independent creature for me to feel comfortable keeping him longer than I need. I thought, if he wants to find me again, he will… if not, let him go.”
Remus nodded, mostly to himself, idly wondering if he ought to prepare for hooves to land on his rooftop, at some point – ah, well. “We’ll get you a new wand,” he promised. “Have you able to Apparate again.”
Sirius gave him a long, indecipherable look. And then, a complicated expression took over his face; brows furrowed; unhappy frown. “Still so kind,” he half-whispered. “I’m amazed you haven’t changed.”
“Please don’t,” Remus interjected, for it felt like Sirius was going to apologise yet again, and he didn’t want that. Maybe all those years ago, but not now, not anymore.
Besides, Sirius hadn’t been the only one between them who’d caused that rift, back then. Remus suspected he hadn’t even been the one who’d started it, really.
But Sirius shook his head, stubborn as ever. “Thank you,” in a hoarse murmur. “For letting me… here, but also… I heard, I was told, that you tried, you asked questions—”
Remus shushed him, but he also had to squeeze his eyes shut against the sharp burst of pain. Fucking Dumbledore— “No, please, it was— bare minimum, what any reasonable person would’ve done— the fact that there wasn’t a trial—”
“But you’d have been risking the Registry,” Sirius argued, looking wretched. “And for— someone who treated you so poorly, before—”
Fuck. Oh James, oh James, oh James—
“I wouldn’t have been able to help myself any more than I could have consciously stopped breathing,” Remus whispered in a rush, and it was an apology— no, a flimsy excuse, to someone who wasn’t even there, but Sirius didn’t need to know that. “I love you.” The only truth left.
He watched as Sirius turned his head back toward the view outside, troubled look intact. Sirius mumbled, “In the Shack… you mentioned that you thought I was the spy as well.”
“Over and done with, my darling, let’s let it lie now,” Remus began, but Sirius shook his head fervently, closing his eyes as if to steady himself.
He visibly swallowed. “I’ve been thinking of why. Ever since you said it. I know, I know I wasn’t easy to live with, that last year, I was—”
“—Stretched thin because of the war, and Voldemort setting his sights so directly on o—your, family, and having just lost your brother,” Remus cut him off, tightness filling up his own throat. “I don’t hold it against you, Padfoot— I wasn’t exactly pleasant to be around, either—”
Sirius gave a humourless chuckle. Melancholy eyes turned back indoors. “Let someone else have a go at being quite so angelic, won’t you, Moony?” he rasped.
Remus quieted, though a frown of concern remained intact.
Sirius rubbed a thumb against his own forehead. “I thought it was you because you were sneaking around so much,” he mumbled. “On Dumbledore’s orders, I know, and you couldn’t— tell me, us, anything. But what about you? And s—and so I’ve been trying to piece it together, and I think, I think I shouldn’t have been flirting with dark magic.” All in a rush. “I’m sorry for that.”
That painful feeling threatened to make Remus’s chest burst, and he sent Sirius a wretched look. “I shouldn’t have been flirting at all,” he returned.
He’d managed to catch Sirius off-guard at last. Honest shock flickered on Sirius’s face, brief emotion he evidently couldn’t school.
When it left, Sirius turned away again, giving the now-cloudy sky a pained little smile. “…We’re talking about this, then,” he muttered.
Remus nodded fervently. “Nothing happened. Please know that nothing happened,” he hissed. “But I should never have left room for doubt, Padfoot. I’m so sorry for it, truly. It wasn’t even— I loved you. Please believe me – I did, I do. I was just so confused at the time. All my life I’d believed it was a horrible thing to be a werewolf— because that’s what I was told, and then… to find that not only were they happy, but that they were happier than me. To find that I’d had a community I was supposed to belong in all along. It shattered everything, everything I thought I knew about the world. I couldn’t understand my place in wizarding society anymore. And, Gwen…” The name quieter than the rest, “Gwen felt… somehow emblematic of that, I… I wanted to keep the two worlds separate, I’m not sure why. I suppose because I was afraid of what might happen if I had to choose between one or the other. What I might lose.”
There was hardly an emotion in Sirius’s eyes, when he swivelled his head back around. “I remember that,” he rasped, in an even tone that had Remus marvelling at how Sirius could possibly be so composed about it. He still had memories of awful, awful nights of nothing but screeching, throwing things, and worst of all – Sirius hurting himself. Demanding explanations that Remus had, at the time, no idea how to even begin to offer – how could he, when he’d hardly understood any of it himself?
God, who owed whom an apology, exactly?
“I felt so shut out,” Sirius was continuing, now. “I remember. As if you’d found another life elsewhere. I was so… angry… frightened… that I might not be part of it anymore.”
“I… in a way, that wasn’t… wrong,” Remus admitted quietly. “Things were so different with them, and then with all of you. I didn’t know how to reconcile both at the time. But I do, now, I do, I – I’ve had so much time to think it over, and… what it was, was Gwen was a fantasy of some— imaginary life I might’ve had, if things had been— if I hadn’t gone to Hogwarts, hadn’t— and I’d convinced— no, deluded myself into thinking that it would’ve been a better life. I was a right idiot, Sirius, I’ve been a right— I didn’t realise how sure I was of the choices I’d already made… the life I’d already built… until it got too late. Until I lost it all.” Swallowing hard. “I’m sorry, I’m still talking around it, aren’t I? I meant— how sure I was of you. Us.”
He met Sirius’s eyes, unashamed of the way his own rather stung. “Can you ever forgive me?”
Sirius gave him a thin smile that hurt to see; it was bittersweet and baffled at the same time, somehow. “Remus, it’s been fourteen years,” he rasped. “It… sounds as though it still haunts you, weighs on your conscience, but… darling, I’m sorry, as for me I feel as though I’m talking about somebody else’s life. I’m sure your Sirius would’ve appreciated hearing this very much. But at present, I don’t feel the sting anymore.”
Remus’s turn to look away, blinking rapidly at the rain now starting to pour outside. “So then… you’re not? Any longer?” he whispered. “Mine?”
“Are you?” Sirius returned, that impossible composure intact.
Remus closed his eyes briefly. Opened them again, meeting Sirius’s with as much conviction as he could draw: “Yes – and I’m so, so sorry I’ve given you reason to question it,” he said. Gwen’s words came to mind, and Merlin, how he still wished he’d heard them before he’d so foolishly let it get to the point that it did: “Wolves mate for life,” he murmured. “So, until the grave, Sirius, yes. Though if you’d rather break things off, after everything, I’d understand.”
The look Sirius gave him was forlorn, but not hurt, and Remus knew instantly that he was already— as usual— twisting it all around in his head to make it his own fault— sure enough there was sympathy in Sirius’s voice as he said, “If I had… said something… maybe you’d have stopped. No, I know you’d have stopped. I… half the time I thought it was all in my imagination, that’s what everyone was always telling me, even James— the other half I… Remus, surely you remember how horrid I got. And, and it was utterly cowardly of me to jump to the conclusion that you were so distant because you were spying on us— you, of all people— just because I could stomach that more than I could the idea that you might have been about to leave me. For her.”
…I see I’m not the only one who hasn’t changed, Remus thought but didn’t say, the lump in his throat growing. Merlin, how he still loved Sirius, how his heart still ached to watch him do this yet again. He had to pause and clear his throat, steady his voice, before he could trust himself to answer. “I seem to recall you weren’t the only one being ‘horrid,’” he mumbled. “I crossed some truly unacceptable lines when we rowed as well, my love.”
Sirius couldn’t even deny it. Pain flashed across his features. “The wolf was… very close to your skin, during those last few months, wasn’t it?” he murmured.
Remus gave a startled laugh, he couldn’t help it. “I haven’t thought of myself as two separate entities in years,” he said. “Sirius… I’m not sometimes a man and sometimes the wolf. I’m always a werewolf. I am one when I lose control of my anger and remain one when you feel I’ve been kind. Please, stop painting me as somehow faultless.”
“Except that your mistake would’ve only wound up breaking my heart, whatever that’s even worth, in the grand scheme of things,” Sirius whispered, blinking at nothing outside. “Whereas mine killed Lily and James, and orphaned Harry, a—”
“Oh, no, don’t, don’t do that to yourself. Please don’t do that to yourself.” Remus hurriedly crossed the space between them, took Sirius’s now-trembling frame into his arms, held him tight.
Sirius tensed for half a second, but collapsed into Remus eventually, gripping the back of his threadbare cardigan as though it was the only thing keeping Sirius tethered to the world. His breath came fast and uneven against Remus’s shoulder, like he was trying to keep something inside that wanted to tear its way out.
Remus held him tighter, and pressed his cheek against the tangles of Sirius’s hair. He could feel the fine tremors running through Sirius’s body, the way his fingers curled desperately into fabric and flesh. By Merlin, it hurt. It hurt in a way Remus could hardly bear, as if the grief pouring out of Sirius was his own. In many ways, it was.
“I leave craters behind, it’s the only thing I seem to know how to do,” Sirius all but hissed into his ear, “But yes, Moony, I’ll always be yours, if you’re daft enough to still want me.”
There was a wry note in his voice, full of self-hatred – as if he was more making an ironic joke, than anything. Remus shut his eyes tight against the answering pain. “Why is there a question?” he said, firmly. “It’s a miracle you’re even here.”
He couldn’t tell if the sound Sirius made, muffled into Remus’s shoulder, was a laugh or a sob. By the time he eased away Sirius was avoiding Remus’s gaze again, troubled eyes turned toward the floor, the back garden, anywhere but ahead. His free hand was still clutching at Remus tightly – half-consciously, Remus suspected – the other one lifted the spliff back up to trembling lips: “…Shit strain,” he remarked.
Pained amusement escaped Remus in a sharp, startled breath. “…Yeah,” he managed, helplessly averting his own eyes, too.
“Ugh.”
Remus only realised he’d accidentally voiced his displeasure out loud when it made the others’ heads lift up from their own breakfasts. “What’s ‘ugh?’” Sirius instantly demanded, scowling at the piece of parchment that Remus was holding in his hand, having just finished reading it. Sirius reached across the table, and plucked it without so much as a by-your-leave, eyes flicking across it himself as he declared, mutinously, “Nothing’s allowed to make you ‘ugh’ on your birthday.”
Remus chuckled. James – probably having taken Remus’s lack of protest as permission to – leaned sideways, toward Sirius, and read along as well.
“Oh, is your dad popping ’round?” James smiled. “Business with Dumbledore and he decided to make a birthday thing of it, eh… don’t see what’s so ‘ugh’ about that. Sticking to the old tradition, innit.”
“Well, you wouldn’t, would you?” Remus rolled his eyes. “I don’t suppose your dad would’ve spent the time relentlessly drilling you. ‘You’ve been keeping your head down, haven’t you, Remus?’ ‘No one’s been asking any odd questions, have they, Remus?’ ‘You are remembering to be careful, aren’t you, Remus?’ As if I’d just— I dunno, climb on a bench and announce it to the entire class one morning.”
“Would certainly liven up History of Magic,” said James sagely;
“Which you’re not even taking anymore,” Peter pointed out, confused;
“Yeah, exactly,” James nodded at him.
Remus huffed. “I guarantee you, the minute he sits down, it’ll be: ‘You have been eating properly, haven’t you? Getting enough sleep? No reckless behaviour? No taking unnecessary risks?’”
“Because as we all know, you spend your free time tightrope-walking the Astronomy Tower for fun,” Sirius gave a lofty nod as he folded the note back up. “Terrible habit, really; it’s no wonder poor Mr Lupin frets so much.”
“What’s ‘tradition,’ by the by? Dads visiting on birthdays?” Peter asked James, around a mouthful of toast; James blinked at him in surprise.
“Yeah, didn’t you know? Bit old-fashioned, to be fair,” he said, “But yer dad’s supposed to give you his own watch, when you turn of age, if you’re a boy. Slip it on for you and everything. Girls are supposed to get them from their mums. Don’t reckon a lot of people bother with all that, anymore, though.”
“Huh.” Pete was so lost in contemplation his forkful of scrambled egg fell back onto his plate, and he didn’t seem to notice. “Wonder why mum never men… tioned…”
And he trailed off awkwardly. Remus squirmed as well, meeting James’s equally uncomfortable eyes across from them. The topic of Peter’s absent father – or who the man even was – wasn’t exactly light-hearted breakfast conversation.
“Ah, you’re better off, Wormy,” said Sirius firmly, pointing at Peter with the note (now pinched between two of his fingers). “The sort that follow all that are usually also the domineering types, y’know, believing that ‘head of the household’ rubbish. Well, not that I’m saying Mr Lupin—”
Even Remus couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Merlin, I’d like to see anyone try that with mum. Her siblings would have the bloke tossed into the streets faster than he could say ‘help.’”
“Forget your aunts and uncles, the neighbours would get there first,” James agreed with a chuckle. “Certainly inspires a protective instinct in people, doesn’t she, your mum?”
“Yeah, that’s how they met,” Remus smirked. “Ironically.”
“So he’s Flooing over at lunch. Right,” Sirius hummed. “D’you want us to cause a scene? Get you out of it? Shouldn’t be too hard.”
“Nah, I’m alright, I’m only whinging.” Remus gave him a smile. “It is a nice gesture, I suppose. He wouldn’t be able to stay longer than that, anyway – it’s not a weekend.”
And they returned to their food. Sirius had set the note aside, in the exact spot where the owl had dropped it a while ago. Remus eyed it while he took a gulp of his pumpkin juice… then caught himself spacing out, and forced his attention back to the present.
He didn’t actually have any lessons that morning. It was Muggle Studies first, which only Sirius and James took, followed by a free period. Both hours would therefore likely be spent completing essays and revising for exams with Peter in the library; the other half of their gang would be off at Quidditch practice during the free slot, the Hufflepuff match having been postponed to that coming Saturday because of February’s relentless snowfall.
He and Peter always did get the bulk of their actual exam preps done by Remus’s birthday, when they managed to follow their routine without disruption, so, Remus wasn’t surprised when they finished earlier than expected: revisions never took half as long, especially not when done together.
“You alright to head back, Wormy?” asked Remus, once the library clock had gone about eleven or so. “We’ve still got time to go and watch that lot practice before lunch, if you want.”
“Nah, you go ahead. I’ve still got a Herbology essay left,” Pete sighed. “I miss having you around in class, I really do.”
Remus chuckled. He patted Peter’s back in the same motion as he stood off his seat; “Buck up – last one, right? And then,” Exaggerating elation, “Freedom.”
“Freedom,” Peter agreed faux-rapturously.
Shaking his head fondly, Remus made to leave the library after a quick goodbye. It wouldn’t be half as fun watching Quidditch on his own, so he decided to take the long way toward the faculty tower instead. Parents visiting the school was rare, only really permitted under special circumstances, and they always turned up in the office of the Head of House first, even if they’d continue on to Hogsmeade or elsewhere after that. Remus knew that if he eschewed the usual shortcuts he could get to Professor McGonagall’s office with about fifteen minutes or so to spare for lunch – still a bit early for his father to have arrived, but better to wait there awhile than idle about with nothing better to do.
He made the trek in a thoroughly pleasant mood; it’d been a nice, serene sort of birthday, thus far. Waking up to an armful of Sirius Black and a morning snog was responsible for about eighty percent of that; Remus hoped and prayed it’d be how all of his birthdays started off, from now on.
He was still half-daydreaming, when he reached McGonagall’s door – so much so that he almost didn’t register that the voice wafting out of the crack, left ever so slightly open, was, in fact, his father’s. When it did dawn, Remus blinked in surprise. Not only were they not the polite tones of aimless small talk, the other voices in the room all sounded equally grave – and, none belonged to Professor McGonagall. In fact, Remus thought he heard Dumbledore… and an unmistakeable accent… was that Bordastrega?
He couldn’t help pausing, not least because he got the distinct sense he wasn’t supposed to be there yet. “—To confirm if the reports about them having recruited giants were true,” Dad’s voice was saying, “But I’m afraid that’s where my skillset begins and ends, professor. What you’re asking…”
“You know that is not quite honest, Mr Lupin,” came Bordastrega’s, next. “Even though I am too young to have had the privilege of being mentored by you, my older colleagues, they still speak of you with much admiration.”
“Flattered, I’m sure.” (A darkly-sarcastic note to Dad’s words now.) “Be that as it may, I’m retired for a reason. Suffice it to say that my… politics, my principles, are not what they were then. I no longer support many of the things the Ministry chooses to do.”
“You no longer support combatting dark magic?” Bordastrega sounded perplexed.
“We are not under the purview of the Ministry as such, Lyall,” said Dumbledore’s voice, half-hoarse, like it always was. “Working in tandem with it, certainly, but officially, we don’t exist. Harold and Eugenia both concurred that we… required more freedom than a… more formally-sanctioned unit might have allowed for, let’s put it.”
“So it’s true, then?” Dad again, sombrely. “That on paper they’re covering up the extent of it?”
“Bah. Politics.” Remus had never heard Dumbledore sound so annoyed before. “For the most part it’s well-intentioned, believe it or not – they wish to avoid a panic. But yes, I must admit I find it highly suspicious that they wouldn’t, then, pad our ranks with Aurors and Hit Wizards other than our volunteers. It goes beyond waging a secret war in order to keep the public calm; rather, it feels as though the Order is being shoved toward the frontlines in order to spare our ministers the – what is it that the Muggles call it, ‘bad press?’ – the bad press of admitting to having lost so much control.”
In a far more typical, calmer tone, “Though of course, I am speculating. And that tactic hardly helped Eugenia retain her seat.”
“But these volunteers of yours are hardly ineffective,” said Dad. “Mad-Eye? He’s the best of the best. And if the old cross-continental taskforce is aiding you as well…”
“Our efforts have to be focused on containing the Death Eaters to the UK, Mr Lupin,” Bordastrega answered. “This takes up more time and resources than you would think… he is powerful, this Lord Voldemort, and I don’t only mean in terms of magical ability. I mean his influence, it is far-reaching. I shudder to think what would happen if he ever achieved Grindelwald’s reach across Europe as well. Within the UK, the Order is our best hope.”
“Always was a charismatic one, Tom,” Dumbledore hummed. “You’ll remember that from your own time at Hogwarts, I imagine.”
“…I do.” Dad sighed. “Am I to understand that you really are shorthanded, then?”
“It isn’t that, so much as that the Death Eaters are recruiting at a rate we simply must keep up with if we’re to have any hope of combatting them,” Dumbledore replied. “It feels like every day I open the newspapers and find the name of one old student or the other having joined up… and those can only be the handful foolish enough, brazen enough, to get caught. Or worse, admit to it, because they have reason to feel emboldened to.”
Then Dumbledore sighed, as well, heavier, wearier. “Make no mistake, they’ve already taken over a number of places far from the Ministry’s reach. Northumberland… the Yorkshire Dales… the Lake District… the Durham moors and Pennines.” Another sigh. “Those we know of in England alone. Beyond that? Snowdonia, the Brecon Beacons, Anglesey, the Scottish Highlands – you know that already, of course, Lyall, after the research on giants we’re truly indebted to you for conducting – and then the Outer Hebrides, Galloway Forest, Thetford Forest, the Fenlands, the Suffolk Coast, the Isle of Man. We can’t even hope to know what’s going on in Ireland, not with all the confusion among Muggles and wizards alike.”
Even though no one was addressing him, Remus couldn’t help the chill he felt along his spine. Dad sounded shocked, too, when he spoke again. “Good— good God. But you’ve just named every wizarding settlement that isn’t in the South!”
“Almost every,” Dumbledore agreed darkly. “I’m afraid the… highly centralised nature of our Ministry has been our undoing. The majority of the United Kingdom’s wizarding population resides in the South and Southwest of England, you see, Maddalena…” (This expository tangent evidently for Professor Bordastrega’s benefit,) “With a few… admittedly closed-off communities dotting the West Country, the Midlands. And London, which remains the centre of governance and trade for both the magical and Muggle worlds. It was, after all, Troia Nova.”
A pause, Dumbledore clearing his throat. “Our oldest and most privileged families lead… sheltered lives here. They— ah, no, I should say ‘we—’ have always benefited from our proximity to the Ministry, and the Ministry in turn has always prioritised its attention toward us. Aid is dispensed where magical concentration is highest, and thus a cycle is perpetuated: the wizards of the South and Southwest are catered to first, while the rest of the country is left to fend for itself.”
His voice was now laced with something that might have been regret. “It is no great wonder that resentment has flourished, elsewhere,” he went on, quieter now, though no less firm. “In those places where wizarding numbers are sparse, where the presence of our governing body is little more than a distant memory, if it was ever felt at all, there has long been the sentiment that the Ministry is not theirs. That its edicts, its protections, its very existence, are concerns for other wizards, not for them.”
Dumbledore sighed again. “I have always believed that the Ministry ought to do… better in liaising between wizarding and Muggle communities, particularly in regions where the two must coexist with little oversight. But when there is no mediation, when conflicts are left to fester unattended, what naturally follows is a deeper sense of alienation; then, inevitably, the laying of blame. Too often, I fear, that blame has fallen upon Muggles themselves… wizards already resentful of the Ministry’s neglect have found it all too easy to attribute their misfortunes to those they must live among. And when they hear those in the South— in London— in the comfortable, sheltered homes of their ancestors— speaking loftily of Muggle and Muggle-born rights— well.”
The ensuing pause was loaded. “They find it patronising. Hypocritical. How can those who have never known true ostracism tell them what is right? How can wizards whose families have always lived secure among their own dictate to those who have been left to struggle, alone, in places where magic is rare and often feared?”
An exhale, long and slow. “And so, the resentment deepens. The Ministry has abandoned them, they think. Then along comes Voldemort and the Death Eaters, offering them more: recognition. Power. Above all, the validation of their fear of Muggles, even if it is directed toward Muggle-borns, via the propaganda. They see, in Voldemort, an answer to their grievances, and by the time they realise what they’ve truly allied themselves with… if, indeed, they ever do… it may well be too late.”
Remus sucked in a sharp breath.
“I see,” said Professor Bordastrega. “Ah, and I imagine these regions – being far from the majority of wizards – must also be havens for Dark Beings seeking to escape wizarding law, eh? The Death Eaters must have their pick of vampires, werewolves, hags, and such.”
“Werewolf packs are notoriously insular,” Dad snapped. “I’d like to see any Death Eater be able to play ambassador to them, given their absolute hatred for wizards, Dark or no.”
“I concur,” remarked Dumbledore mildly. “Knowing their ways, only another werewolf would be able to recruit werewolves.”
Another loaded pause; Remus squirmed, uncomfortable beyond words now. “You— you don’t think—?” Dad hissed, eventually, “They haven’t got— him? Greyback?”
“Remains to be seen,” said Dumbledore; Bordastrega, on the other hand, asked, “Who is this Greyback?”
Remus had never heard the name, either. Then again – like Professor Dumbledore had noted – the papers couldn’t always identify Death Eaters, no matter how much they liked to pretend they were on top of things. Whenever names were attached to those ominous masks, it was either because the person in question had actually been caught committing a crime and sent to Azkaban, or because they were under investigation or otherwise being watched by the Ministry on suspicion, like the Blacks had been over the summer.
Merlin knew how many more there were that’d managed to evade either category. Besides, even the ones who went to Azkaban almost always wound up ‘acquitted’ before long. It was difficult to say which had genuinely been mistrials, and which, simply the nepotistic nature of the Ministry doing its job. People tended to assume an accused Death Eater – acquitted or not – was indeed one, out of sheer necessity, on the principle of erring on the side of caution.
“A criminal,” Dad answered, now, darkly. “And a repeat offender, at that.”
Remus frowned at his shoes. From context, he could gather that this ‘Greyback’ character was a werewolf.
Like him.
And Dad had such a steely note in his voice, something like disgust and horror mingled. Moments like these always had Remus wondering how Dad could possibly square being a loving – if less-than-perfect – father to him with the line of work he used to be in.
“You’re certain those places have fallen, professor?” Dad was asking. Dumbledore chuckled lightly, half-heartedly:
“I haven’t been your professor in years, Lyall. Please, it’s Albus. And yes, I’m afraid, there is no other explanation for why Ministry delegations keep getting shut out, and even outright ejected, when they attempt to go about their business there. The current administration might prefer to ignore the signs, but I and the Order will not. We can’t afford to.”
“Muggle-born witches and wizards have been saying this since Voldemort first surfaced,” Bordastrega pointed out as well. “Even going between countries, I still hear of this.”
“There’s no point prevaricating, then.” Dad sighed. “To be perfectly honest, the real reason I can’t… do as you ask, is that it would put my family at extreme risk. My wife is a Muggle – my son is half-blood. If I were to involve myself in some sort of… direct… counter-effort, they’d be obvious targets. They’re… uniquely… vulnerable, prof—Albus, as you’re… aware.”
Remus clenched his fists around nothing. Dumbledore seemed to follow Dad’s meaning, for he answered, “I understand. You’ll forgive me for asking – we really are in need of every competent wand we can find.”
“Of course. I’m still happy to help with this sort of consultation whenever you require it. We’re forever in your debt, sir.”
Talk then turned to giants, dry enough for Remus’s mind to wander… he mulled over what he’d heard, staring at the floor. Some sort of counter-effort, Dad had said. Against the Death Eaters? Spearheaded by Dumbledore? Working with, but not publically endorsed by, the Ministry… everything sounded far more… imminent… than Remus had felt it to be before.
He flipped his wrist over, checked his watch. Less than ten to now. Deciding that it was a more appropriate time for him to turn up, he eased off the wall he’d been leaning against, turned, and knocked on the office door.
Predictably, the voices inside quietened. It was Professor Bordastrega who answered; Remus sent her a practiced, guileless smile, even feigning surprise: “Oh.” He said. “Sorry, professor, am I too early?”
Bordastrega stepped aside, holding the door open for him. “Not at all,” she said smoothly; past her shoulder, Dumbledore inclined his head in agreement, his expression warm, if unreadable.
“Punctual as ever,” he said lightly. “A most commendable trait.”
Remus took this for the invitation that it was, and stepped inside fully, eyes flicking to his father. Dad’s posture had relaxed only marginally, but there was something in his expression: guarded relief, maybe? Though Remus couldn’t be sure.
“Well,” Dumbledore continued, adjusting his sleeves, “I believe that is our cue. Come, Maddalena, let’s leave the Lupins to their visit.”
Professor Bordastrega inclined her head in agreement, already moving toward the door. Dumbledore made to follow, but as he passed by Remus, he paused to offer, with a little smile, “A very happy birthday to you, my boy.”
Remus blinked, startled that Dumbledore had known – or remembered. He quickly composed himself, and sent a polite, if slightly sheepish, nod in return: “Thank you, sir.”
Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. Then he was gone, sweeping from the office with Bordastrega close behind. The door clicked shut behind them.
For a heartbeat, silence settled between Remus and his father. Then, with a small exhale, Dad spread his arms slightly – a beckoning.
“Seventeen already,” he murmured. “I can’t believe it. Happy birthday, son.”
Remus hesitated only a moment; then stepped forward, letting his father pull him into a loose embrace. He closed his eyes and savoured it.
“Thanks, dad,” he said quietly.
Then forced his smile back on, pulling away: “I thought Professor McGonagall…”
“Oh, you only just missed her, I believe she had a class to see to…”
“Ah.” Remus fought the urge to fidget – that looming awkwardness that always sat between him and his father, when Mum wasn’t around, making itself known. “You really didn’t have to come down, you know,” he said, just to be saying anything at all.
“Nonsense.” Dad smiled tightly, clasping him by a shoulder. “As I said in my note, I needed to meet with Professor Dumbledore anyway; but more to the point, it’s not every day that one’s son becomes a man.”
“Thought I already did that at my bar mitzvah,” Remus ventured a half-hearted joke.
Dad chuckled, giving him an appreciative pat. “That would explain why you’re twice the man the rest of us are, then. …Here, won’t you sit down?” And he gestured toward one of the two chairs waiting in front of Professor McGonagall’s desk, as if it were his own office.
Remus obliged; Dad took the other seat.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The quiet between them stretched, not exactly uncomfortable, but fragile, like a thin layer of ice over a deep lake. Dad was the one to break it, reaching into the inside pocket of his robes: “Well,” he said, and cleared his throat, “I didn’t come empty-handed.”
Remus straightened slightly as his father withdrew a small, polished wooden box. He recognised it instantly for what it was, having expected it, but still his stomach gave an odd twist, though he kept his expression schooled as Dad set the box on the desk between them.
“It’s tradition,” Dad murmured, as if to explain. His fingers hovered over the lid for a moment, then flipped it open, revealing a time-worn wristwatch nestled inside.
It was handsome: sleek silver casing, black leather strap, a faintly shimmering mother-of-pearl face with delicate hands; simple, elegant. The sort of thing that might have suited Dad, once. He lifted it carefully from the box, turning to Remus. “Here,” he said. “Give me your wrist.”
Remus hesitated only a fraction of a second, then complied, undoing his own plain-but-functional watch with the other hand, then offering his left wrist. Dad fastened the strap in a gesture that felt oddly intimate – Remus supposed that was the point; the watch marking a link between them.
For a while his father simply looked at it. His hands still rested over Remus’s. Then, with a quiet breath, he said, “I can’t tell you how happy I am to be able to see you greet your seventeenth.”
Something about the way he said it made Remus’s throat tighten. There was too much weight in it, too much behind the words.
Dad glanced up again, his expression open in a way that Remus wasn’t used to. “It’s… it’s a gift, you know, being here for this. Seeing this day.”
Remus stiffened slightly. There it was again. That implication, subtle but unmistakeable – that he was lucky to have made it this far, given his condition. That Dad was lucky he had.
He swallowed back the frustration curling in his chest, and instead forced an easy nod. Merlin, did everything have to be tinged with tragedy, to his father? Couldn’t they ever actually, genuinely celebrate something— was he always only ever going to be a sob story for this man?
It’s not even your story, anyway, it’s mine, Remus thought petulantly; then felt rather rotten for it. None of it was Dad’s fault. Just Fate’s.
“Thank you,” he smiled instead.
His father gave him two firm pats on the shoulder. “Do you know why witches and wizards gift their children watches when they turn of age?”
Remus shook his head; in fact, he had an inkling, but it felt like Dad wanted to say it himself, so Remus let him.
“It’s to remind you of the value of time,” Dad smiled tightly. “Because once you become an adult, time is something that’s going to feel more and more precious with every passing second. It’s so that you remember to cherish each one, and spend it wisely before it runs out. There is a saying in Latin,” and he leaned forward, a tender look in his eyes when they met Remus’s, “Seneca the Elder, I believe: Vivamus, moriendum est. Let us live, for we must die.”
Remus fought not to squirm under that intense gaze; Dad went on, “But you know that far more intimately than any boy your age should have had to, don’t you?” Softly. “Nevertheless, I hope you… take it to heart. Make good memories.”
Remus turned his head to the side, pursing his lips at nothing. As though his father hadn’t told him enough times already that werewolves didn’t tend to live longer than about fifty.
“Always,” he assured the man, with another obligatory smile, desperate to change the subject, now: “Were we going to do lunch somewhere?” he settled for. “Only, I don’t mind if not, you and mum really splurged for Apparition lessons as it is—”
Dad chuckled, tousling his hair. “You let us worry about money. Especially on your birthday. Yes, let’s… let’s see what Hogsmeade has got to offer, shall we?”
“Let’s.” Relieved, Remus stood, and the pair of them made toward the door.
He couldn’t wait to get this over with; return to the far lighter company of the other Marauders; for the day to actually feel like a celebratory occasion again.
Evening saw him huddled in the library with his friends – the usual post-dinner ritual these days – and Remus relayed everything he’d heard, if only because he couldn’t make complete sense of it on his own, and he rather wanted to.
“No, that adds up,” Lily nodded firmly. “Marlene said something like that too – her eldest brother, Isaac, used to work for the Ministry, see, for about a year before their parents… well, y’know, and he had to take over the shop. Anyway, Isaac’s been helping his old bosses with investigations related to that sort of thing, but lately Marlene says his orders come from Dumbledore. I got the sense it was meant to be a secret, as well.”
“D’you reckon that’s the sort of ‘order’ Dumbledore meant?” James squinted. “Like, a special command? Or ‘order’ as in a Wizengamot bill?”
“Dunno,” Remus shrugged helplessly (as far as Sirius’s head on his shoulder would allow for). “If it’s a Wizengamot order, it would’ve been announced… I haven’t been reading the newspapers, have you?”
Mumbled echoes of the same sentiment from the others. “Hardly our fault,” Peter sulked. “It’s always so depressing, innit?”
“Speak for yourself. Headlines about that lot getting tossed into Azkaban make me dance,” said Sirius drily. Remus chuckled, rubbing Sirius’s arm where he had his own hand curled around it.
“Wonder if dad knows what’s going on,” James hummed. “Dumbledore was trying to get yours to help, you said?”
“That’s what it sounded like,” Remus nodded. “Dad turned him down, though. But if he asked mine, he might’ve asked your parents, too.”
“At their age?” Lily looked concerned, then turned to James. “Is that… safe?”
“What, you think by ‘frontlines’ he meant literally?” James blinked. “Blimey. Could they really cover up actual battles going on right under our noses?”
“…Wouldn’t people have died? Wouldn’t we have heard that people had died?” Peter fretted.
“I mean, we do,” Sirius pointed out, darkly-sarcastic. “It’s not as though they’d mention the how’s and why’s if it’s all a grand secret. ‘John Doe, thirty-something, offed by a Death Eater whilst attempting to foil said cunt’s dastardly plot, because the bleeding Ministry won’t do its job for itself, apparently.’”
“Fair point.” Lily clucked her tongue. “Maybe some of the deaths attributed to Death Eater activity actually meant something more along those lines. Maybe—”
“Oh, don’t let’s talk about this,” Peter sat up straighter, blanching as pale as his hair. “I-It’s not like we can do anything. Remus said Northumberland, and Durham, a-and mum’s all on her own, you know…”
“Sorry, Pete,” Remus and Lily chorused at the same time, with matching winces.
“Your mum’s gonna be just fine,” James assured him. “She’s a tough one, but more importantly, smart. If she felt she was in danger she’d let mine or Moony’s know.”
“Anyway, she’s a pure-blood, in’t she?” Sirius concurred. “Don’t worry, mate. Not about her, in any case.”
James rolled over onto his stomach – he’d been lying down, against a makeshift cushion of books and stacked parchment – and gave Lily a concerned look of his own. “Are, erm, yours alright? Your parents, I mean? Being Muggles?”
“I’ve got a good system,” Lily nodded. “It’s no guarantee, obviously, but it’s better than nothing…”
“Because if you wanted, like, Hit Wizards assigned to them or anything like that,” James blurted, “That’s, y’know, it’s doable…”
Remus couldn’t help watching Lily closely, a bit curious to find out how a newcomer would react to the typical James-esque display of careless privilege that the rest of them were used to. Sure enough, there was an almost affronted look on Lily’s face, and James hastily backtracked: “Not— not that I’m—”
Lily deflated. “Sorry, James, sorry, I’m not cross with you. It’s just the situation, you know? Like, how unfair is that – that my parents can get the protection they need if I happen to be friends with the right people? For that matter, I only worked out how to set up my own safety system thanks to mates who’d graduated, and could tell me how to go about it whilst underage. It’s just, it’s so wrong… nepotistic…”
“Welcome to wizarding society, Lily Evans,” Sirius drawled bitterly. “And don’t you ever piss off anyone with the right connections, either, or you can kiss any hope of a decent life from here to Europe goodbye.”
“And then they wonder how the Death Eaters are recruiting so quickly,” Lily huffed, crossing her arms. “Plain as day, innit? Being ‘in’ with the right crowd is more than just schoolgirl— or, boy— pettiness here. It’s got everything to do with whether you ultimately succeed or fail.”
“Thank Merlin they’re not quite that ‘in,’ yet, then,” said James, but Lily shook her head.
“Nope. That’s where you’re wrong. You ought to read the propaganda,” she said. “Yes, they target Muggle-borns in particular, but, d’you know why? It’s because a lot of them genuinely believe we’re actually Muggles who’ve somehow stolen magic.” She nodded astutely. “It’s actually rooted in a fear, and hatred, of Muggles, which is far more socially acceptable than blood prejudice is. It goes all the way back to the Persecution.”
She shrugged, half-helpless, half-casual. “Back then, most witches and wizards weren’t even affected, were they? The ones who were arrested and killed were usually Muggles themselves just turning on each other. But, you see, sometimes it was Squibs, Muggle-borns, or even some half-bloods and, er, human-adjacent Beings, such as werewolves and vampires – if it’s alright to put it that way, Remus – the people that were too intertwined with the Muggle world to cut themselves off entirely, I mean. They were blamed – scapegoated. ‘Well, of course the Muggles hate us, when those brutish werewolves are our only representatives. Of course Muggles fear magic when Muggle-borns never learnt to use it properly.’ That sort of thing.”
She leaned forward slightly. “And, so, the propaganda spins it like this: that Muggle-borns were never actually magical, just Muggles who somehow worked out how to mimic magic, then used it to go between the societies, ruin your reputation, and stir up Muggle hatred against ‘real’ witches and wizards. So, even though those people were the ones who actually suffered and died, that lot twist it into this story where pure-bloods are innocent victims hunted by barbaric, magic-hating Muggles – betrayed from within by impostors. It’s everywhere, once you start looking.”
She narrowed her eyes. “It’s all rot, pure mythology, but when someone sees themselves as the hero in a story like that, they can justify anything. Ironic, really, when there are theories – and with far more robust evidence, I might add – that wizards stole magic from the fae in the first place, not that we’ve got time to get into that at the minute. Projection, I suppose.”
She gave a small sigh. “So, you’d be surprised how much of their rhetoric is just the same sort of ignorant talk about Muggles you’d hear from a lot of, well, less open-minded pure-bloods than you. The only difference is most of them haven’t taken that ignorance and escalated it to violence the way the Death Eaters have.”
“Yet,” Remus agreed sombrely.
“You’re saying, it’s only a matter of time.” James hummed, narrowing his eyes at nothing. “Suppose so. They can’t have taken over so much of the country if they didn’t have some amount of popular support.”
“Allegedly,” Peter squeaked. “Allegedly taken over.”
James shook his head. “Nah, sorry, mate. If Dumbledore says it’s happened, it’s happened. People doubted him about Grindelwald, too, and here we are.”
“God, can’t we do something?” Sirius made a noise that was part annoyance, all frustration. “I want to do something! They can’t just— we can’t just sit back and let ’em win.”
“But what if you’ve got to fight?” asked Peter, wide-eyed.
Sirius scowled. “I’ve already had to fight, Wormy. And if I got to do it with a wand this time ’round? Fuckin’ bring it on, man.”
That familiar feeling, pride and affection and sheer, helpless ardour, all at once, swelled in Remus’s heart.
He sat up straighter against the wall, free to now that Sirius had leaned off of him. “If you would, I would,” he said, meaning it wholly. Wherever Sirius went, he’d be two steps behind.
Lily and James were both giving them matching grins. “Well, it goes without saying for me,” she declared. “This Muggle-born isn’t about to surrender politely.”
James leaned up into a sit. A wide, crooked smile tugged up one side of his face. “Is there even a question, if you’d all be involved?” he said. “Of course I would. All for one and one for all!”
Sirius whooped, and Remus and Lily laughed, and even Peter managed a smile, in the end, if tremulously.
The mirth settled into something quieter – almost contemplative. They weren’t just schoolchildren huddled in a dormitory, whispering grand plans in the dark, anymore, Remus thought. Not only were they of-age now, there was also a very real battle happening beyond those gates, evidently, and he didn’t know whether they’d have to face it or not.
But as James slung an arm around Pete, as Sirius knocked his knee against Remus’s and grinned, as Lily gave a resolute nod and smiled her satisfaction—
Remus knew, at least, that if they did, they wouldn’t have to face it alone.
Notes:
Do you hate me now UwU etc. Listen, I just find it realistic that in any world where Remus and Sirius were actually a couple, there’d need to be more to why they suspected each other of being spies than just “he was acting weird;” also while I’m aware that Remus forgiving Sirius for suspecting him as quickly as he did is probably just cause JKR loves to write him as an eternal martyr and irritatingly self-hating, it’s also textually up to interpretation, so to me I think it’d only make sense if Remus himself had a guilty conscience about why Sirius started suspecting him to begin with. Don’t just take my word for it! Re-read the reunion scene in the Shack, and contextualise Sirius’s (relatively) glib apology + Remus’s hasty (but somehow also sincere?) forgiveness within circumstances along these lines. It totally works, no?
P.S., to refer back to the end note on Chapter 10, on the flipside of Remus’s subconsciously putting Sirius at (a tiny bit of) an arm’s length (though your interpretation may vary), we also have Sirius’s putting Remus on a pedestal, though (see note on spring Chapter 21). Or in other words, if Remus doesn’t think he can hurt Sirius that badly, and therefore gets a little careless with his choices, does Sirius on the other hand even believe that Remus is capable of hurting him? Because surely Remus can never do anything wrong, right, and if that’s true, then what does that say about Remus possibly leaving him for someone else? (Ouch, oof, ouch, ouch, oof—)
On a lighter note, we’re all agreed that Arabella Figg is probably the weed lady, right? I mean like… come on.
I figure Remus probably held on to Sirius’s old things? Because how else did Sirius find the letter that Lily wrote to him again to take it with him to Grimmauld Place? It can’t have been there (in Sirius’s bedroom, that is) all along, since the contents of it refer to a time after Sirius had run away. I doubt he’d have had it with him in Azkaban either, because surely they strip prisoners and confiscate their things, no? Seems like that kind of place. Plus he had a lot of his old stuff other than that letter, too, like the mirror and the penknife. I highly doubt he could’ve lugged so many things around with him whilst stalking Hogwarts or being on the run, LMFAO.
You ever think of how Cornelius Fudge described Sirius as only looking “bored” in Azkaban? And then again the narration calls him “bored” in Snape’s Worst Memory, which we know takes place after the Prank? I guess observers tend to get that impression when Sirius is suffering, huh. Bet you anything he’s straight up dissociating and that’s what it looks like from the outside, RIP.
I already noted this in the last instalment, but per Word of God canon there appears to be more wizarding settlements in specific regions of the UK, so. I took that and ran with it. ALSO, LYALL, DUMBLY-DUMB WASN’T TALKING ABOUT FENRIR GREYBACK, FRICKING TAKE YOUR BABY AND RUN—
Ahem. Er, I mean, plot, amirite?
Chapter 19
Notes:
Huge thanks to everyone still here after last chapter’s little narrative earthquake! Y’all are the real ones :') I was honestly bracing for mass exodus, but your continued support means the world to me. Especially the commenters!
The truth is, my sister and I are going to continue steering this story toward the stuff we want to see – messy, complicated, maybe a little different from what the fandom’s used to – and, I’m NGL, I do worry it might not be what everyone likes, which sucks to brace for. But also, like, that’s just the tension of being a creator, right? Balancing the desperate desire to please everyone, with the equally desperate need to stay true to the weird little goblin story in your heart. (Marketing 101: alienate your audience, and then dramatically apologise for it in the author’s notes!) IG sometimes you just have to accept that you’re going to disappoint people… and then do it anyway. With love. And cookies.
So, thanks for staying, and uh… see you in the chapter, I guess? :V
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Spring kicked off without any indication that anything more exciting than their Apparition tests and end-of-term exams was afoot; Gryffindor had won the match against Hufflepuff, Occlumency practice was going swimmingly, there hadn’t been any more awkward encounters with Sania, and all in all, James was in a fairly contented state of mind by the time April came around.
On top of it, Lily had actually gifted him something on his birthday – “Seeing as you bothered with a Christmas card,” she’d said – and James still kicked himself for not having known when hers was. Anyway, it was a Muggle contraption, the gift: a small square frame with numbered tiles that slid about, a “fifteen-puzzle,” Lily had called it. “Two birds with one stone, you see,” (this in a teasing lilt, and with the loveliest sparkle in her eyes,) “Occupy those fidgety hands of yours so you don’t go nicking any more Snitches, and give your brain something of a challenge, too. I can only imagine the miles per hour it goes at otherwise.”
It really had been perfect. James smiled as he fiddled with it now. He’d managed to shift all the numbers into perfect order in about two minutes the last time, and was currently trying to break his own record whilst he and Remus and Peter waited outside the Great Hall for (respectively) Sirius to be done with his Apparition test, and to be called inside to take their own. James thought, once he managed to solve the whatchamacallit in thirty seconds, he’d up the ante. Maybe he ought to buy another one, mix them both up, and try to work out two at the same time…
“You’re obsessed with that thing, aren’t you,” Pete huffed, peering over at James’s still-moving fingers. “It gets you so quiet it’s unnerving.”
“I think it’s less about the thing than who gave it him,” Remus smirked playfully (James obliged and shoved him by a shoulder).
“Ooh, there’s an idea, Wormy,” he grinned, ignoring Remus’s quip, “Try and solve it while jabbering. Or reciting a poem— or singing!”
“Please no,” Remus winced. “Mercy on our ears.”
“Well, it’s your own fault,” James feigned a petulant tone, “You’re so preoccupied with Padfoot lately you haven’t got the time to play me at chess anymore, and you’re the only one who’s ever any fun to.” Lifting the fifteen-puzzle (now solved) up grandly, “Whereas this I can do on my own. So there.”
Remus chuckled; Sirius emerged, just then, and the proctor’s head followed him from behind the door: “Next?”
Peter scurried inside, looking nervous. “Officially licensed,” Sirius announced haughtily, as he sauntered over to the bench James was sitting on and Remus hovering over. James spared his best mate the briefest glance-and-grin, and they exchanged a quick high-five.
“Brill,” said James. Now it was only Remus left, then they could all be about less mundane business.
“She does know you better than I thought she did, dun’t she?” Sirius hummed; probably noting that James’s concentration wasn’t on him. “But not as well as me, of course.” In a tone that was put-on enough that James could tell Sirius wasn’t actually miffed, so he laughed.
“Hardly a fair standard,” Remus returned; James glanced up and smiled as he watched Sirius grin at him, inching close enough that Remus was crowded against the wall.
“Are you jealous? Want a kiss?”
Remus’s lips quirked up, despite the hand he set on Sirius’s chest, easing him toward a more acceptable distance. “Now, see, that’s the second or third time you’ve suggested it out in the open, where anyone could see,” he chided. “I’m really starting to wonder about you— dubious little— lecher—”
“I can’t help it,” Sirius affected the pouting tone of some coy ingénue. “When my fella’s so sweet, and so good-looking—”
“Me, good-looking?” Remus laughed. “You’ll be wanting Prongs’s glasses, I reckon.”
James had been busy laughing at that when he heard footfalls approaching; reflexively, he turned – the four of them were the last of the sixth-years left in the queue for Apparition tests, so it was unexpected, the movement. He spotted one of their juniors, Davey Gudgeon, walking along with an uncharacteristic, pinched look to his features: either concern, or concentration, or both.
“Alright, Davey?” James called, for they were friendly.
The fourth-year had been so preoccupied James’s voice made him visibly startle. “Oh, hiya, guys,” he greeted back, “Say – you haven’t seen a first-year about, have you? Girl about this tall—” (He held a hand level with his stomach,) “—Hair a sort of brownish-red… dark eyes, too, I think? Name of Eliza.”
“Ah, I actually do know who you mean, for once. She’s a Gryffindor, right?” James blinked. “Haven’t seen anyone but sixth-years around here since lunch ended, though. Why?”
Davey clucked his tongue in frustration. “She’s Cecily’s sister, you see— Cecily, from our year— and Cess hasn’t seen her all morning. She’s been a bit worried. …Ha, well, understatement.” He scratched the back of his head. “But honestly, Eliza’s probably just off doing something daft. Maybe got herself stuck in one of the loos – some of those doors lock, you know – or she could be hiding on purpose. Moping in a broom cupboard somewhere – the young’uns do that a lot, don’t they?”
Remus, immediately playing the prefect, leaned off the wall, alert. “Have you asked the other first-years? When was she last spotted?”
“Yeah, and at breakfast,” said Davey with a nod. “I told Cess she’s probably fine, but she’s got half the year combing the castle anyway. And it’s slow going – there’s so many bloody corridors, and staircases, and don’t even get me started on the number of toilets. I mean, have you ever actually counted them? I swear new ones turn up just to be inconvenient. Anyway, Cess wasn’t having any of it, though, so a group of us are searching. She seems about ready to tell the teachers, to be honest.”
“Hmm.” Remus frowned. “We’ll keep an eye out, then. Good luck…”
“Cheers.” Davey waved, then continued on his way, brows furrowing again as if squinting would help him to see clearer.
“Yeah, a broom cupboard’s likely,” James mused, half to himself. “The firsties do seem fond of ’em – good place to have a cry if you’re feeling homesick, I suppose. …Er, not that I’d know, or anything.”
Peter returned, as he was speaking, and the proctor called, “Next.” Remus made for the door, while Pete beamed, “I didn’t expect it to go that quickly! Blimey, I was so terrified I’d Splinch.”
Sirius pretended to peer at his face, exaggerating concern. “I dunno, Wormy, I think you might’ve left a few of your eyebrow-hairs behind.”
“Shove off.” Scowling, Peter knocked him on the shoulder. “Well, you’ve gone and left some of your brains.”
“Now, now, children,” James faux-chided. Remus didn’t take very long at all; pretty soon, all four of them had got their Apparition licenses (at least in name; the papers would be along by post at a later date).
“What now?” asked Sirius, casually resting his head against crossed arms as they strolled along the corridor. “Plenty of time until dinner…”
“D’you want to revise for exams?” asked Remus. “We’ve only got about six weeks left.”
“Moony,” James and Sirius groaned at the same time.
“No, come on, let’s do something fun,” James went on. “It’s a Sunday. We can get back to all that tomorrow.”
“Fancy a round of Gobstones?” asked Peter.
“Pretty sure he said ‘fun,’” Sirius answered, sighing.
James had gone back to fiddling with his puzzle, and was only half-paying attention to the banter. Only when they emerged outside into the courtyard – where he was likelier to trip or walk into somebody else if he didn’t watch where he was going – did James put it away, back inside one of his pockets.
Good timing, too. As he lifted his head, he saw Lily approaching from the opposite direction. She was busy talking to one of the Hufflepuff prefects from their year, whatever her name was.
Their eyes met, and Lily’s went slightly rounder like something had just occurred to her. “Boys!” she called – not that she’d needed to; James had been about to stop and chat with her anyway. She jogged over to them, her companion rushing to keep up:
“You wouldn’t happen to have seen Eliza Brennon, would you? First-year, from our house—”
“—Brunette, dark-eyed, etc., etc.,” Sirius drawled, waving airily. “Davey just asked us the same thing, and no. Managed to check all the toilets, then?”
“…Well, no,” Lily admitted, sighing as she folded her arms. “I dunno, the search party hasn’t convened yet.” Her eyes kept flitting about as if she was thinking hard, and she chewed at a corner of her lip.
“Is a first-year missing?” Peter blinked. “They’re always daring each other to go into the Forbidden Forest, you know. That’d be bad.”
The Hufflepuff girl with Lily blanched, and Sirius sent her a commiserating look: “Sorry, our Peter here’s prone to reaching for the worst-case scenario first.”
“I’d better go and ask Hagrid,” the girl said regardless. She’d already tensed up, ready to run, when Lily answered.
“You go on, I’ll continue here.”
“Right. See ya, Lil.”
As soon as the Hufflepuff was out of earshot, Lily gave them a pointed look. “Could you check the map? It’d be so much faster.”
“Good point,” Sirius hummed, and James smiled, “Coming along?”
“Sure.” Lily shrugged, falling into step with them. “I reckon she’s locked herself in a broom cupboard somewhere, anyway. I used to do that, when I got homesick, in first year… private enough for when you just want to have a little cry in peace, y’know…”
Remus chuckled under his breath; James elbowed him; Lily blinked: “What?”
“Nothing,” James assured her.
“Don’t blame ya,” Peter chimed in. “First year’s awful that way.”
They were passing under the shadow of the covered walkway that lined the courtyard, now, where the afternoon light slanted long across the stones. A few juniors, ties loosened and without a care in the world, were sitting along the ledge of the arcade trading Chocolate Frog cards. James smiled as they passed by all of this. “You ever notice how Wormy’s the only one who can get away with saying things like that?” he teased.
“What’d you mean?” asked Peter, wide-eyed.
“Well, you can commiserate with someone for crying in a broom cupboard,” James said, “And somehow it comes across as sweet. If I said it, Evans would only laugh at me.”
Lily smirked. “I still might.”
“You see?” James threw his hands up. “Unfair.”
“I reckon it’s the face,” said Sirius airily, nudging Peter’s shoulder. “Something about those round little cheeks just screams ‘sympathetic.’”
“I haven’t got round cheeks,” Peter muttered, but Sirius only grinned.
Remus hummed, pretending to inspect Peter critically. “I dunno, I think Padfoot might be onto something.”
“Oh, sod off.” Peter shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’ve heard girls and teachers call Prongs ‘adorable,’ too, but, nobody babies him.”
“That’s because James is a menace,” Lily returned.
James pressed a hand to his chest in mock outrage. “I’ll have you know the word you want is, in fact, ‘charming.’”
“Mm. It’s certainly a word.”
Sirius barked out a laugh, and James elbowed him. “You’re meant to be on my side.”
“I am, I’m agreeing. You’re charming.” Sirius smirked. “Charmingly menace-like.”
James sighed theatrically, but let it drop as the great oak doors of the Entrance Hall loomed ahead. They’d been thrown open, as they usually were on the weekends, but all the same as James and the rest stepped past the noise of the courtyard dulled quite a bit.
“So how was your Apparition test, then, Lil—?” James started to ask—
His own voice was, however, cut across by a far louder, booming one that echoed off the stone.
“Happy Merlin’s Day, students of Hogwarts.”
James started. It was deep, the voice, resonant, but also distorted; it barely sounded human, let alone male or female. And it seemed to come from everywhere, as though it’d been broadcast through some sort of… invisible loudspeaker…? An audible ripple of confusion spread through the Entrance Hall. Conversations died off, people glancing about with puzzled expressions. Even the suits of armour by the doors seemed to rattle slightly from the sheer volume of the sound.
James’s gaze, like his friends’, swept the space searching for a source. There weren’t any teachers about, so it couldn’t have been a school announcement; unless someone was making it from another room? But how? And why the distortion? “Where’s that coming from?” Peter asked, giving voice to what was on all their minds.
“No idea,” James murmured, scanning the walls, the staircases, even the enchanted ceiling above. Nothing. No sign of an actual person speaking. It felt like being addressed by the castle itself.
“Reckon it’s a prank,” Sirius offered, both wary and confused simultaneously. “Delivery’s spot on— but how’re they doing it? Amplifying Charm?”
“And where from?” James frowned.
Before anyone could respond, the voice cut through the murmurs again, ringing off the castle walls. “It’s a crying shame,” it said, gravely now, “That Hogwarts no longer honours such a grand tradition. Merlin’s Day was once a time of great reverence… so much, in fact, that it’s when we, true residents of the wizarding world, inaugurated the prestigious Order of Merlin, you know.”
A pause. A few students near the staircase shuffled uneasily. Lily folded her arms, lips pressed into a thin line.
James felt a prickling sensation at the back of his neck. Something was off.
“In honour of this day,” the voice went on, “Let’s share a little story, shall we? A story of destiny… of sacrifice… of great magic. The tale of Merlin and the two dragons.”
James caught Remus’s eye. His friend looked just as thrown as he was, but neither of them spoke as the voice pressed on.
“Long ago,” it intoned, “When the very foundations of these isles were still young, a great king sought to build his fortress upon the earth. But each night, his walls crumbled. Again and again, his work was undone. The wizards and Seers told him: ‘A sacrifice must be made. The blood of a boy, gifted with magic, will lay the foundation strong.’”
James felt his stomach tighten. He knew this story. They all did.
“But the boy was no ordinary child,” said the voice. “He was Merlin, Merlin himself. And when they led him to the king to be slaughtered, he neither cowered nor begged. He laughed, because he knew the truth: the dragons sleeping beneath the land were the true cause.”
The very air in the hall seemed charged now. The clear allusion to that ruckus early on, about the newspaper article, had ruled out any chance of this being a harmless prank.
“But the lesson there,” the voice went on, every word deliberate, “Is so often lost amidst nonsensical Muggle interpretations, nowadays.”
James’s jaw clenched.
“You see, the dragons were the true danger. The real threat to the kingdom. And yet in their ignorance the people sought instead to sacrifice an innocent boy, to silence his magic. Just as the wilfully blind among us continue to do now.”
A slow, sickening chill crawled along James’s spine.
“The real danger to wizarding society has always been the outsiders. The half-breeds. The Muggle-borns. And yet— the Ministry, the school, those who claim to guide us— they choose instead to sacrifice their own. To brand our purest blood as criminals, while the real threat festers right underneath us, just like those dragons.”
The words landed like a curse, seeping into the heavy silence that followed. Sirius’s face had gone stony. Lily was rigid beside him, fists clenched.
A dreadful hush had fallen. Vaguely, James registered the familiar clicking of adults’ boots: teachers. Professor Sprout, Professor McGonagall, thundering down the stairs. The voice lingered for a moment, as if savouring the tension, and then it spoke again.
“But tell me,” it said, almost mockingly, “Do the staff of Hogwarts have their priorities in order? Can they act in time to stop the real threat?”
“Where is that coming from?” Professor McGonagall demanded stridently, but of course no one could answer her.
“In the spirit of Merlin’s sacrifice,” the voice continued instead, “I have also chosen a child from among you.”
Several students gasped. Murmurs flared up, uneasy and frantic, and beside James Lily had stiffened, wide-eyed.
The voice didn’t falter.
“Poor girl,” it announced. “A first-year. A Gryffindor. She’s hidden somewhere in this castle. If you don’t find her within thirty minutes… well, who knows what might happen to her.”
The murmurs erupted into full-blown panic.
“What!?” someone shouted.
“Who’s that?”
“Where would—?”
James felt a horrible jolt in his stomach. He and Lily turned at the same time.
“Eliza!” she gasped, and James hastily pushed Peter:
“Wormy, quick, the you-know-what! Go, get it, bring it here, hurry!”
“R-Right,” Peter managed, then turned and ran. James whirled back around, heart pounding; he could trust Peter’s speed in Animagus form, but still – that voice wasn’t finished.
“Of course,” it drawled, “Perhaps our noble professors would rather concern themselves with other matters… after all, what’s one poor, innocent, true-blooded little witch against the supposed danger they’d rather prioritise, right? The so-called press of this school?”
Dripping with disdain, “Our school newspaper has spent too long promoting a Muggle-loving agenda. Pitting students against one another. Undermining wizarding unity. It is a poison, and now, it will burn.”
A collective shudder ran through the crowd; “I have unleashed Fiendfyre in the office of Professor Vaughn’s rag.”
Lily sucked in a sharp breath. The panic in the Entrance Hall erupted tenfold. “Keep calm, everyone!” Professor Sprout called, and, “Gather in the Great Hall— pass it on—” McGonagall added.
Shouts rang through the air, cutting theirs off. Some students bolted for the staircases, others scrambled toward the doors as if they could physically escape the unseen speaker.
“That’s not possible—” someone stammered.
“Fiendfyre? Here?”
“Where’re the professors?”
“Dumbledore’s not in the school! Hasn’t been since Friday!”
“Oh my God—”
Remus’s wand was already in his grip; Sirius was swearing under his breath; Lily’s face, though tight with alarm, sought out Professor McGonagall.
“And now,” the voice finished, calm, almost smug, “Hogwarts will have a choice. A sacrifice will be made, one way or another. Will you save the child? Or will you save your precious freedom of speech?”
Loaded pause.
“Tick-tock.”
And just like that, it quieted entirely.
The only thing left was chaos.
Without even pausing to think, James turned and grabbed Lily by the shoulders. “The professors can stop Fiendfyre, we can’t!” he shouted above the noise. “Flitwick and Bordastrega for sure— we should—”
Lily nodded sharply, evidently having caught on with only that much. As soon as Professor McGonagall approached them, calling, “Lupin, Evans— I want the prefects to round up all the students, tell them to go straight to the Great Hall—,” Lily cut her off.
“Professor, the girl who’s missing is Eliza Brennon! We’ve been searching for her already! Please can you let us continue and deal with the Fiendfyre instead— at least some of you? As students we can’t stop Fiendfyre, but we can find her!”
Professor McGonagall hesitated for the briefest of moments, an instant of uncertainty flitting across her sharp features. She pursed her lips. “Miss Evans,” she said, steely, “This is not the time – I understand your investment, but a girl’s life is far more important than the newspaper, or do—”
“Yes, but it’d still be a victory for them, professor, no matter how symbolic!” Lily insisted, eyes blazing. “We can find her, please believe me, we can. If the newspaper is allowed to be attacked like this, who knows what else it’d embolden them to do!”
McGonagall’s jaw tightened. “And how do you plan on finding her, exactly?”
“Come on, professor, who knows the castle better than your best-loved pranksters?” James said quickly, stepping forward with a hasty smile though he made sure to hold the gravity under his tone. “Look, they’re forcing a choice on us, but we don’t have to play according to their terms. You stop the fire. We find Eliza. Please, couldn’t you let us try? At least ten minutes?”
McGonagall’s gaze swept across them, weighing them, assessing. James had never seen her look so torn, caught between duty and instinct.
Then their Head of House audibly exhaled, slow and exasperated, as if she knew she was breaking a rule she’d made for herself.
“Ten minutes,” she snapped at last. “If you come up empty after that, you’re to report straight to the Great Hall. Is that understood?”
“Yes, professor,” Remus said at once.
“Go,” McGonagall commanded, already striding toward the door out. “Don’t make me regret this.”
Peter, thank Merlin, had rematerialised sometime during this back-and-forth. As soon as McGonagall had gone, he fished the map out of his pocket, and James instantly grabbed it.
“Dungeons,” said Lily briskly. “The story said the dragons were ‘beneath the land.’ I’ll bet galleons she’s somewhere in the dungeons— somewhere cellar-level, anyway—”
“Nice thinking. There,” (For James’s eyes had been skimming the lower half of the map at lightning speed, as soon as Lily had suggested it.) He pointed at Eliza’s name where it hovered, “She’s alone, she’s in the girls’ loo nearest the kitchens— before you make that turning toward the Slytherin common room— Padfoot, you remember, from that time we had to hide after we chucked Dungbombs into Narcissa’s bath—”
“Crystal-clearly,” Sirius nodded, already poised to run. “Yoko, come on, let’s you and me go get her! She knows you, right? She’d trust you—”
“Right,” Lily started toward him, drawing her wand. “James, are you—?”
“No, I’m catching the culprit,” James narrowed his eyes at the map. “Moony, stay. I need a second brain. Wormy, you go with them, being able to scurry under doors might come in handy—”
“Wilco.” Peter, Lily, and Sirius all ran along the corridor.
“Go on, think out loud,” Remus prompted, inching closer to James, perusing the map over his shoulder.
“Amplifying Charm, surely?” James muttered as he proceeded to do just that— “And multiplied— where, where, where…?” His eyes darted across the map, searching for anything, anything that would make sense.
He worried at a corner of his lip. “If you wanted everyone to hear you, you’d need to be somewhere central, but also somewhere where sound could travel…”
Remus offered, “The library would be central, but Madam Pince— and anyway, higher up, less obstruction. The towers…?”
James shook his head. “Too far from the Entrance Hall. The sound carried better than that— more like, like it was coming from inside the hall, so likelier just a bit beyond it—”
He was cut off by Remus’s hand clasping his shoulder hard enough to startle. “Prongs, the stairwells!”
“Brilliant!” James grinned. “The big one that opens into the Entrance Hall. Tall, echoey, loads of archways— of course it would amplify. You wouldn’t even need to be seen; you could be just out of sight on the first or second-floor landings and still make it sound like you were right there—”
His gaze snapped back to the map. He scanned the staircases, searching for any lone figures loitering in the most ideal places… someone who oughtn’t be there…
“Got somebody!” James jabbed a finger at a dot hovering near the first-floor balcony just where the grand staircase overlooked the Entrance Hall. “Why’s this one not come down? After we’ve been told to go to the hall?”
Remus leaned closer. “Who’s Prospero Hopkins?” For that was the name pulsing on the map, unmoving, as if its owner hadn’t even realised that the jig was up yet.
“Never mind who,” James smirked as he folded the map back up, slipping it into his pocket. “Got ’em anyway, haven’t we? C’mon, Moony.”
Without further ado, he and Remus bolted.
It didn’t even take ten minutes. In half the time, James and Remus had cornered the little Slytherin hovering on the stairs, wand out and everything. Lily, Sirius, and Peter had rescued Eliza too – by the point when James and Remus forced the culprit forward at the tips of their wands, steering him toward the Great Hall (and the professors waiting), the rest of their gang were already there, helping Eliza get her wits back.
“H-He grabbed me while I was passing the Slytherin corridor,” she explained tremblingly. “Used a Stunning Spell, I think… I don’t really remember…”
“There, there,” Professor Sprout shushed her, at the same time as Professor Slughorn glowered at his charge, the short, blond fourth-year cowering under their collective gazes.
“I cannot even begin to voice my disappointment in you, Mr Hopkins,” said Slughorn, fairly reddening. The professors had used Prior Incantato on the boy’s wand, and thanks to the wards, had been able to confirm that it had indeed been used to cast a Fiendfyre curse, a Double-Locking Charm, and the Amplifying Charm that’d carried his voice across the hall.
Professor Flitwick and Professor Bordastrega, meanwhile, had been able to contain the Fiendfyre before it’d done too much damage, just as James had predicted. The newspaper office was, to their credit, mostly intact, with only stacks of the paper lost.
All the other students, aside from Hopkins and the Marauders themselves, had been dismissed from the hall. Professor McGonagall shook her head, in something equal parts fond, amused, and pleased, as she approached James’s corner now: “How on earth did you manage to deduce—?”
“James’s inhumanly quick reasoning as usual, professor,” Remus smiled. “He worked out that an Amplifying Charm cast from somewhere relatively high and central would’ve had that effect.”
“Oh, Lupin’s being modest like he always is,” James rolled his eyes, though he was grinning, too. “He’s the one gathered it would’ve been a stairwell, professor.”
McGonagall’s lips twitched as she visibly fought a smile. “Regardless of who…” (And her voice quieted enough for only them to hear,) “…You do me proud.”
She turned toward Lily, Sirius, and Peter. “And you, Miss Evans. I shan’t be doubting you again in a hurry.”
Lily beamed, going rather pinkish; McGonagall went on, “Let’s see – ten points apiece? Including Mr Black and Mr Pettigrew for displaying initiative, and…” She bent in front of where Eliza sat by the group. “…For Miss Brennon as well, who showed exemplary Gryffindor spirit in staying brave throughout that ordeal.”
Eliza smiled wide, eyes shining wetly. The rest of them were busy whooping – sixty points to Gryffindor in one afternoon!
By contrast, Slughorn was still going in on the culprit. “—Parents will be notified! Suspension, at the very least! When the headmaster returns— what on earth would possess you to— how did—” He was so incensed his voice kept wavering between loud enough for James to overhear and an angry hiss of a whisper. “—Locking Charms? Stalking Professor Vaughn, were you? And how—”
James observed that the boy wasn’t being very forthcoming. He stood in front of Slughorn with his head hung, face hidden behind his straw-coloured hair – though what was visible of it was as pale as a ghost. Horrified to be caught out, James imagined; that sort never did weigh the consequences, did they?
“You should return to whatever you were doing,” said Professor McGonagall, forcing his attention back. “We’ll handle this from here.”
“Yes, professor,” they all chorused.
They started to step out of the Great Hall, laughter still bubbling in their chests from their unexpected windfall of house points. The door had barely swung shut behind them, however, when—
“Wait— wait!”
A boy, no older than fourteen, nearly collided with them as he tried to push his way inside – he was wearing Hufflepuff colours; freckled; his dark curls dishevelled, as though he’d just sprinted halfway across the castle.
“Oi, steady on!” Sirius caught him by the shoulders and stopped him. “Where’s the fire?”
“…Too soon, Padfoot,” Peter winced.
“Paz—” The boy panted, his voice cracking, “They’ve got Paz, haven’t they? Let me in— I need to speak—” He made another desperate attempt for the door, but Lily swiftly stepped in his way.
“You can’t,” she told him, in a tone that managed to be both stern and gentle. “It’s professors only in there, now.”
The boy’s breath hitched. “But— but you don’t understand, he wouldn’t— he couldn’t—”
Sirius frowned. “Right, well, it’s a shame when mates turn out to be Death Eater sympathisers, yeah,” lightly, though not unkind, “Hurts, I know, but they’ve got proper evidence and that.”
Lily nodded sympathetically. “I’m sorry. It’s horrible when someone you trust—”
“No!” The boy shook his head furiously, eyes bright with a frantic spark. “It’s wrong. Paz isn’t a Death Eater— he’s not anything like that— he’s— he couldn’t have done this!”
James, who had been watching quietly, felt a flicker of something odd.
He’d seen people react to betrayal before – shock, anger, denial – but this wasn’t just a friend refusing to accept the truth. The boy’s panic went deeper than that. His whole body was taut, like he was holding something back, something that needed to be said, but couldn’t be.
A misgiving settled in James’s gut.
“…Hang on,” he called, stepping forward. “What’s your name?”
The boy swallowed, darting a glance at him before dropping his gaze. “Ben.”
James held the eye contact, and kept his voice even. “Ben. Alright, tell me why you’re so sure – Paz, did you call him? – tell me why you think Paz couldn’t have done this.”
Ben’s hands clenched at his sides. “Paz and I— we’ve been friends since first year,” he said, thickly. “He’s never, ever been like that. He hates the Death Eaters. We used to talk about it all the time. He always said it was disgusting, all of it— the pure-blood stuff, the violence especially. He’d never— look, I’m a half-blood, and he’s best mates with me, isn’t he?”
His voice hitched, and he scrubbed a hand over his face before pushing on.
“…Maybe we haven’t spent as much time together this year,” he mumbled. “I— I got a girlfriend, and, you know… we just… drifted a bit.” He gave a helpless shrug. “But it’s not like we stopped talking, or hanging around, and— and—” He shot a desperate glance at James, “It hasn’t been long enough for him to change like that. I’d know. And I haven’t seen him hanging around them – you know, that Slytherin lot – if he’d fallen in with them, don’t you think I’d have noticed?”
James exchanged a look with Lily. Her brows had drawn together in a thoughtful frown.
“He has been acting odd the past few months,” Ben admitted, breath still uneven, “But not like— not like he was joining them. He’s been on his own.” His lips pressed together like he was trying to piece it all together himself. “If something changed, it wasn’t because he started agreeing with Death Eaters. It wasn’t like that.”
James nodded slowly. “Alright,” he said, considering all this. “But— Ben, listen— he was caught at the scene. His wand’s been tested, and we know he used the curse—”
“What, the Fiendfyre Curse? Paz?” Ben let out something between a scoff and a breathless laugh. “Potter, he can barely pass Charms. He’s not… he’s just not that good. He’s alright, I suppose, but how in the world would he have gotten to that level in under a year?”
Then, as if just remembering something, he jerked up sharply. “And the article— Merlin, the article! You’re telling me he wrote that? That’s literally impossible!”
James blinked. “Why?”
Ben’s expression twisted with something close to indignation. “Because Paz has got word-blindness!” he burst out. “You know, the thing where letters get all jumbled up! H-He hates writing, and he’s rubbish at it! He couldn’t have done it!”
James’s breath caught.
When he turned to gauge his friends’ reactions, he found the same hesitant puzzlement that he felt on their faces. “…Listen, mate, it’s your word against the proof,” Sirius murmured, in a rare gentle tone. “He didn’t even deny it. Your Paz, I mean.”
“But— but if there’s a chance—!” Ben flared up, approaching anger now. “I-I know you’ve got no reason to believe me, but if there’s a chance, then doesn’t it want looking into? They can’t—”
“Fifty-fifty,” Remus cut him off, although he met James’s eyes rather than Ben’s, and had his arms folded. “The chance in question. It’s fifty-fifty – toss of a coin, at that point.”
James hummed, eyes narrowing. Either-or, Remus was saying. Either the plot had been uncovered as it was, or… or what? If Ben was telling the truth, then what could possibly be the alternate explanation for…?
His mind started ticking away, even as Ben raved on.
“Why shouldn’t I share what I know with the teachers?” Ben demanded. “If there’s a chance I’m right, Paz deserves a proper investigation— why not? Because he’s a pure-blood? A Slytherin?”
“Of course not,” Lily tried placating, but the words made James frown. It couldn’t be denied that those things did make Hopkins a prime suspect, though…
A thought occurred to him, making him blanch. What if it’d been Sirius or Remus in Hopkins’s position, and James in Ben’s? That his own dearest friends could just as easily be under suspicion if things had been— only because Sirius was a Black, or Remus a werewolf— it made James clench his fists around nothing.
Half-consciously, he glanced up at Lily, whose attention was still on reasoning with Ben. He could hear her voice as if from a million miles away: Unlike you, I don’t only stand up for my friends – do you have principles, or do you just have people you like and people you don’t?
His jaw tightened.
“Alright, the other fifty,” he said, abruptly enough that everyone startled. Ignoring it, James held up a finger. “If you’re right… then what’s really going on here?”
Of course, it was rhetorical. His mind had already run through the most plausible scenarios, by that point, and one loose end had indeed stood out. James turned toward Sirius:
“Pads— back when the essays got leaked. You said it couldn’t have been one person who’d done it, remember?”
Sirius frowned. “Right, well… at the time, it seemed… c’mon, how likely did it feel— that somebody would’ve been able to avoid Filch and the prefects, break into Professor Vaughn’s office, nick the essays, run back down, put them up— alone, all without getting caught?”
“Right,” James echoed, curling an idle finger against his chin. “And this time, too… for a single boy to have worked out whom to kidnap and when, set the Fiendfyre loose at the exact second as his Amplifying Charm… presuming he didn’t have, er, tools to aid with surveillance, like, y’know, we do… hell, even with that we wouldn’t have managed if it was just one of us attempting…”
Still frowning, Sirius shrugged. “Yeah, doesn’t seem like one person could’ve done… but—”
“—But it was,” James agreed, humming. “So if it was, is there another way… for one less-than-competent fourth-year… to have, somehow, received the equivalent of a whole group’s worth of intel? That would help him along?”
Even as he said it, comprehension dawned, and James felt his eyes go round. “But of course there is, I suppose. If someone else had planted the ideas in his head. If someone was making him do it.”
Lily went pale. “Legilimency?”
“Not impossible, but not likely – Remus said he can’t have achieved that level of proficiency in such a short amount of time,” James assured her. “No, but what about the Imperius? We know at least one Slytherin had been practicing it. Right? If Hopkins had been put under the Imperius… it’d make sense for how he conveniently knew everything he needed to… a whole bunch of them might have pooled their brains together for it.”
He could sense the others’ shock, the wavering conviction, without even bothering to look; instead, he turned to Remus, his usual gauge for the logistical probability of half of his ideas: “What’d you reckon, Moony?”
Remus made a contemplative noise, tilting his head. “Not impossible,” he echoed. “It’s still fifty-fifty.”
“Right.” James nodded resolutely. That was all he needed – and he turned toward Ben, a sombre expression on his face as he clasped the boy on his shoulder. “Whether it’s the Imperius Curse, or – Merlin help us – a skilled Legilimens, there’s an easy way to prove it. We’ve just got to isolate Hopkins for a whole day. Put him under round-the-clock supervision, to be sure no one gets a chance to go anywhere near him and recast the charms. If it’s those, Hopkins should come to his senses straight away after they wear off.”
He swivelled his head back around, narrowing his eyes at the door with half a mind to re-enter already. “Well, I’ll need you to help me convince the teachers to give that a go, though.”
Ben said something elated that James didn’t pay attention to, but Lily had an odd note in her voice as she spoke up. “…Are you sure, James?” With that scrutinising look in her eyes again – as if James was a puzzle she was trying to decode. “If… if you’re wrong… you’ll have stood up for a pure-blood supremacist. For a Slytherin.”
“One who frightened and stole away a little Gryffindor firstie, at that,” Sirius agreed, arching an eyebrow in puzzlement; there was no judgement in his tone, however, only genuine confusion.
“The entire house is gonna go mental,” Peter concurred nervously. “I mean, you, of all people. No one’ll want to talk to you anymore, mate.”
James winced; Ben had been about to shout an angry retort at them, mouth half-open and a foot starting forward, but, James got there first. “I’m sure,” he insisted, in spite of the grimace he couldn’t quite help. “If all that happens, then, well, I suppose it happens. I don’t like the sound of an innocent person taking the fall if there’s a chance he wasn’t behind it, though.”
Lily’s expression had turned entirely indecipherable. Remus was smiling, a knowing and almost affectionate thing.
“What’d you mean ‘no one,’ anyway, Wormy?” Remus said.
“Yeah, he’s got us,” Sirius echoed, with an affronted scoff. “It’s just unexpected, that’s all. But do whatever you like, man.”
James nodded, his own smile returning. All for one and one for all, he thought, gratified.
“C’mon, then, Ben,” this to the still-waiting Hufflepuff; following which James took a deep breath.
He steered the boy toward the door, raised a fist, and proceeded to knock.
That night, curled up on the library floor with his friends and a pile of research as usual, James felt an odd sort of contentment that told him he’d made the right decision. Professor McGonagall had been as dubious as the rest of them at first, but in the end – especially once Hopkins’s word-blindness had been brought up – she and the other professors had agreed to give James’s idea a chance. “If you’d been in my house I’d have said you take a few too many liberties, Mr Potter,” Professor Sprout had clucked, although her disapproval had, at least, been undercut by some amusement, if a longsuffering sort. “One would think you fancied yourself a professor, the way you interject in matters that should be…” (James had tuned her out at that point, frankly.)
Slughorn, on the other hand, had given him a subtle wink after she’d finished with him. “If you’d been in mine, I’d congratulate you on the sheer audacity,” he’d muttered. “A healthy amount of ambition, if you ask me. Of course, I’d rather not have it be true – an Unforgiveable Curse! And we all know who’d have cast it, don’t we? But all the same… if it was true, it’d certainly be quite something to hang your hat on, wouldn’t it? Excellent for one’s reputation, or if one were, er… angling for leverage, no? And quite fitting for a Potter, of course. Play that card well, m’boy, play that card well… hmm, as a matter of fact, I wonder if I could recommend that Albus consider… because of this… hmm… but we’ll have to wait and see…”
James had ignored that, as well. Quite honestly, he’d fielded off both those, and McGonagall and Flitwick’s more foreseeable baffled questioning, as glibly, and with as much humour as he could summon. All he’d cared about was seeing the idea through. And once Hopkins had been quarantined under Madam Pomfrey’s watchful eye, with a few other professors and house-elves helping her monitor him, he’d returned to the welcoming embrace of his own little group.
Typical of the Hogwarts rumour-mill, the fact that all this had happened had, indeed, gotten halfway around the school by dinner. But James didn’t even care about that. His conscience was in a quiescent, serene sort of stillness, and it was a rather nice feeling. Lily and Remus were quite pleased with him, too, which was equally gratifying on top of it.
Peter seemed a bit nervous, but then, Peter always was a bit nervous. Sirius was currently in a bit of a mood, however, though it had nothing to do with James. “They’ll have won, whoever did it, wouldn’t they?” he muttered morosely, at the minute, for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. “Professor Vaughn is going to feel absolutely terrible now. I bet she’s going to resign – knowing her, she’d think that girl was put in danger because of her essays, or the newspaper, which is also under her supervision, wouldn’t she?”
“Still a chance we might’ve been wrong, and Hopkins actually did do it,” James offered again, not even minding that he had to repeat himself, although Sirius seemed convinced (as always) that James couldn’t possibly have made a miscalculation, so really this was pointless.
Anyway, Remus was there to pull Sirius closer and shush him, hold him through what had clearly evolved into a proper fit of melancholia. (Lily had been quite uneasy about it at first, but James had leaned over and whispered his assurance that this was normal.)
“If it was the Imperius,” Peter said, now, “Wouldn’t you have sensed it, Moony?”
Remus – only briefly glancing up from the top of Sirius’s head – made a noise of disagreement. “I dunno… for one thing, I sense dark magic a lot, actually,” he answered. “People use curses in the Defence classroom, and there are cursed objects and dark creatures in the office as well, so… I don’t really think much of it unless something else is going on. For another, from what we know Snape guessed about me around the same time that Mulciber implied he knew, too, right? Based on what Sirius’s said. It probably means Snape warned him – Mulciber might not have used it anywhere near me. On purpose.”
“Git,” Peter muttered.
“And here I thought I was being perfectly cooperative,” Remus quipped; Pete reached over and shoved him by the shoulder that wasn’t couching a gloomy Sirius Black.
“Well, we won’t know for certain until tomorrow, anyway,” said Lily, in a distracted sort of tone; she was still eyeing Sirius warily. “Erm, Sirius, are you quite sure you’re alright?”
“…Yeah,” Sirius sighed heavily. He leaned off of Remus, rubbed at his face as if to scrub tiredness out of it. “Those bloody locking charms,” he said angrily – then emerged from behind the wall of his hands. “Never mind. It’s nothing. Won’t know until tomorrow, like you said.”
“Maybe sleep will help,” James suggested, picking up on this tangent. “Practiced enough for the evening, anyway, I reckon…”
Remus nodded, too, and gently coaxed Sirius upward. “Right, come on, let’s be off… get to bed…”
“Hang on, there’s one more thing we need to discuss in private,” Lily interrupted, her tone suddenly sharper, making them all pause.
James felt their collective attention snap to her. She sat with her arms crossed, her expression unreadable, but firm. There was something stubborn in the set of her jaw, but also, somehow, a touch of petulance – like she’d been stewing over something ridiculous, and simply couldn’t hold it in any longer.
James blinked at her. “Er, yeah?”
Lily inhaled, seemingly for fortification.
With all the vehemence of a girl who’d had quite enough nonsense for a single day, she demanded: “How on earth is Peter an Animagus?”
…Ah, James thought sheepishly.
Notes:
That sweet, sweet James Potter character development, huh? (Although God I hope it’s not as rushed and clumsy as it reads to me, augh… I tried…)
Don’t get too comfortable, if you know my writing at all you should know I don’t let “morally-righteous upward trajectory” development last without complications, LMFAO. Insert dastardly laugh here.
Chapter Text
There was an absolute ruckus as soon as Monday dawned, of course. The entire school was eager for a resolution to the latest misadventure, and Lily herself barely got a wink of sleep. It was, however, Mary who seemed the most electrified, the most wound-up. She fidgeted uncharacteristically in lessons – not that she was the only one to, in all fairness; none of the teachers were able to get their classes under control – all the same, it was noticeable because it was so very un-Mary-like.
“If it was the Imperius,” she kept hissing under her breath, “Mulciber probably did it, right? He’d be expelled for sure, wouldn’t he?”
Marlene concurred, more overtly gleeful than Mary was. “God, I know I should hope it hasnae come tae that, but I cannae help it – I want it tae be. Get that cunt out o’ here at last!”
Lily, on the other hand, felt rather torn. Intuition told her they were on the right track – that Slytherin boy had seemed off, when he was being interrogated, blank in an almost trancelike way – but if so, this would mean that the Ministry would definitely get involved now. Using the Unforgiveables was still a punishable offence, even if the severity of said punishment depended on how the curse had been used – no one had actually been harmed, after all, and, though Mulciber’s family didn’t hold quite as much sway as the Blacks or Malfoys or Rosiers did, it wasn’t without some standing in society, if only by association.
She didn’t know whether Aurors were about to descend upon the school and whisk Mulciber off to Azkaban or not – unlikely, yes, but not impossible – but she still felt… odd, at the thought, felt something close to dread. Whatever the extent of Mulciber’s, or whoever’s, punishment would be, it’d mean that she could no longer deny that things were escalating— in fact, that things had escalated.
In first year the threat had been well beyond the school gates. Even last year – before everything with Sev – the most she’d been concerned about was the fact that new Death Eaters seemed to be joining up as soon as they’d graduated from Hogwarts, a vague and distant fear that could easily be put off for later, for when she’d “actually need” to worry about it.
But dark wizards in school? Merlin, what would be next? A full-fledged Death Eater sitting next to her in class, having met Voldemort and everything?
She sighed. Marlene, noticing her mood but misinterpreting its cause, gave Lily’s hand a little pat and said, “Buck up. Cannae be long before they tell us if it wis the Imperius or not; they’ll have tae announce it tae the whole school sooner or later, instead o’ lettin’ us hear it from the papers. Dinner’d be the perfect time fer it, aye?”
Lily managed a conceding smile. The three of them were currently in Herbology, in one of the greenhouses, and it was indeed the last class of the day. Whether or not an official announcement would be made, as to the verdict on Prospero Hopkins’s innocence or lack thereof, Lily knew she’d find out from the Marauders once she could meet up with them afterward, anyway.
She returned her attention to the Snargaluff pods she was meant to be cracking open, squeezing the insides out into a bucket. “I’m not dwelling on it, Mar. Really.”
Marlene gave her a look that said she wasn’t entirely convinced, but didn’t press. Across from her, Mary was attacking her own pod with rather more force than seemed necessary.
“Well, I am,” she said. “If Mulciber’s guilty, I want to hear it properly, not just through some rumour passed around at dinner.” She gave a sharp tug, and her pod split open with a wet squelch. “No wriggling out of this one, not when the entire school’s watching.”
Lily glanced at her, but said nothing. Of course it was understandable that Mary would want comeuppance; look forward to it, even. And yet, a part of Lily couldn’t shake the discomfort – she’d never been friendly with Mulciber and that lot, not by a long chalk, but it was still strange to think that someone in her own year would be capable of… Merlin. It just felt like a piece of the adult world that had somehow crept inside of Hogwarts.
Marlene wiped her sticky hands on her robes. “If they’re goin’ tae make an announcement, they’d best jist get on wi’ it. Feels like the whole school’s holdin’ its breath.”
Lily was about to agree, when the greenhouse door creaked open. A hush fell over the class as Professor McGonagall entered.
She didn’t address the students. Instead she strode up to Professor Sprout and bent slightly to murmur something in her ear. Whatever it was, Sprout’s expression tightened. She straightened, brushing soil from her hands; then she turned toward the class.
“Alpheus Mulciber. Warin Avery. Severus Snape,” she called. “Follow Professor McGonagall, if you please.”
The air in the greenhouse seemed to thicken. Lily’s fingers tensed on the rim of her bucket. Across their workbench, Mary’s lips parted slightly, eyes gleaming with something barely restrained.
Severus, hovering a few benches away, had gone rigid.
Lily hastily wrenched her eyes back. Marlene, meanwhile, excitedly clapped Mary on the shoulder: “There it is!” she hissed, gleeful.
Mary giggled, too. In fact, murmurs were rippling through the entire class. Professor Sprout could barely get everyone to calm down again, not once the three boys had skulked, sullenly, out of the greenhouse, behind Professor McGonagall.
“I heard auld Sluggy’s got some Veritaserum brewed up,” declared Marlene, after the lecture had wrapped up and they all prepared to leave. “For the confessions, ye know – ye reckon they’ve got Aurors doon here now? Wouldnae mind seein’ a few, eh.”
“I suppose this means Hopkins really was innocent, then,” Lily clucked her tongue; there was an antsy feeling in her chest that made her clutch her books closer against it. “Oh, I dunno why the school’s so wired about it. Isn’t it awful? It all feels so… imminent, now.”
Mary sent her an odd look out of the corner of her eyes. “Surely there’s no harm in being happy about it,” she said, frowning a little. “They’re dangerous people. They should be kept in check.”
“No, of course not, Mare,” Lily granted, reaching out to give Mary a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Sorry… I know this must be a relief to you, it’s just… Merlin. Anyway, ought they to single out those three like that? Mulciber I understand, he’d be a repeat offender and a prime suspect, I suppose, but Sev? Avery? I mean, is guilt by association entirely ethical, here?”
“Ethical,” Mary echoed lowly.
Lily had no time to work out what the strange note in Mary’s voice was, however, because she caught sight of the group lingering just beyond the greenhouse doors.
Her boys: James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter, gathered in a loose cluster, by the entrance back into the castle, their robes slightly damp – from the springtime grass they’d probably trod through, presumably – while the cool breeze sweeping in from the courtyard beyond rustled leaves and petals strewn across the stone floor by their feet.
They looked as though they’d been waiting for something – or maybe someone – and judging by the satisfied smirks stretching across their faces, they had not been disappointed.
Lily’s fingers tightened around her books.
Beyond them, just at the edge of the courtyard, Professor McGonagall and Professor Slughorn were ushering Mulciber, Avery, and Severus indoors. The Slytherins looked sour and aloof, heads bowed, either in shame or resentment. Lily quickly deduced that they must have been held back for questioning outside. The damp hem of McGonagall’s cloak and Slughorn’s harried expression said the conversation had been neither brief nor pleasant.
Just as the Slytherins passed the loitering Marauders, Sirius opened his mouth, his grey eyes alight with mischief; but before he could say whatever taunt had been poised on his tongue, James elbowed him sharply in the ribs. Sirius gave a low grunt, and shut his mouth with a snap. All the same, however, even from that distance, Lily could see that James was still watching the three boys with unconcealed satisfaction, arms folded across his chest as though revelling in their misfortune.
Lily’s stomach twisted unpleasantly. It unsettled her, the quiet pleasure in his expression, the unmistakeable glint of vindication in those hazel eyes. Made her feel oddly queasy.
Maybe it was just that she knew, now, how else those not-unattractive features could look: how kind that gaze could turn, how warm his smile…
As she and the girls approached the castle doors themselves, the boys turned to face them, each expression bright with satisfaction.
“Ah, fab,” said Sirius, by way of greeting – well, a greeting for Lily, really; he had his eyes on her alone. “Look who it is – our fellow detective. You saw that, yeah? Looks like Prongs’s plot was bang on.” He grinned, rocking back on his heels. “Should’ve put money on it.”
Lily managed a small smile, but said nothing. Unease still sat heavy in her chest, though she wasn’t sure she could properly explain why.
Marlene, however, was far more animated. She smirked, jerking her chin toward James. “Bet yer pleased wi’ yerself now, eh, captain? No’ bad fer a gamble.”
James pressed a hand to his chest in mock solemnity. “Please, McKinnon, I don’t gamble. I make educated predictions, and they just happen to pay off spectacularly.”
That earned a laugh from everyone – except Lily. She folded her arms, shifting her weight from foot to foot, still not quite able to shake the unsettled feeling curling in her stomach.
Sirius, ever the observant one when it came to needling her, scoffed. “Merlin’s beard, Evans, what’s the matter with you? Don’t tell me you’re not enjoying this.” He gave her an impatient look. “I’ll bet I can just guess – you’re too much of a goody two-shoes to take pleasure in watching nasty gits get what’s coming to them, even when they bloody well deserve it, eh?”
Lily huffed, rolling her eyes at him. “Oh, please. If Remus said something to that effect, you’d actually stop and think about it, but because it’s me you assume I’m being a self-righteous bore.”
Sirius didn’t miss a beat. “’Cause you are a self-righteous bore, innit. Moony’s Marauderly, so if he did say anything like that, it’d be so out of character it’d warrant consideration.”
“Don’t squabble,” Peter pleaded, wide-eyed with something anxious.
“They’re not squabbling,” Remus and James chorused at the same time.
Lily and Sirius huffed.
Remus, in the meantime, offered Mary a genial smile and said, “Congratulations. Looks like Mulciber’s finally getting what’s coming to him, after last year.”
Mary’s face brightened, though she ducked her head, evidently embarrassed by the attention even though she’d long put her crush on him to rest. “O-Oh— well, it’s not like he was the only one who deserved to be expelled or anything,” she said, but her tone was warm, undeniably pleased.
“Give it time,” said James, his smirk stretching. “A few more incidents and they’ll have no choice but to throw the lot of them out.”
Lily stiffened.
It was far from the first, or only, time that James had spoken that way about Severus and the company he kept – about how they were bound to land themselves in irreversible trouble sooner or later – but the way he said it. So carelessly, so confidently. As though he wanted it to happen. As though it’d please him to watch them fall.
And that… well, that couldn’t be right, could it?
Her fingers curled tighter around her books, and she swallowed. She had grown close to – fond of – James, there was really no point in denying that anymore. Somewhere between the endless flirtation, the late-night library meetups, the way he softened around her, that day on the Quidditch pitch— she knew that what she felt for him had morphed into something of substance. And yet, moments like this – moments where she was forced to remember that he was still the boy who’d taken so much satisfaction in the suffering of others – left her utterly torn.
The others’ chattering seemed to come from a thousand miles away, at the minute.
“Are ye lot headin’ tae dinner, then? We could sit together?”
“Pete and I are, but James and Sirius have got a detention for that last prank.”
“Ah, right.”
“It sounded really funny, though! Charming anyone who tried to speak to Professor Vaughn so their words could only come out in rhyme? That’s so comical.”
“Yeah, thought she could do with the laugh, y’know? Poor thing.”
Lily squared her shoulders and said, “I ought to go. I’ll see you later.” Realising, too late, that it was rather abrupt; she’d been so lost in thought.
Nevertheless, she continued on, marching through the castle entrance without glancing back. Marlene and Mary hurried to keep up, and Lily could sense them exchanging a silent look. At length, Marlene asked, with some confusion, “Whit was that aboot? I thought ye were all thick as thieves wi’ them these days. Especially Potter.”
“…I suppose,” Lily mumbled.
She fell into silence. Her mind was too tangled up in anxieties she couldn’t really articulate, even if she’d wanted to. The castle felt warm, after the cool air of the greenhouses, and the scent of parchment and wax drifted over the three of them as they strolled along the sparsely-populated corridors. The low hum of students picked up eventually, voices overlapping in a steady current of chatter.
Marlene, either unbothered by Lily’s quiet, or deliberately choosing to change the subject, wrinkled her nose and flexed her fingers, eyeing the greenish residue on them with distaste. “Reckon I need tae go up an’ have a wash afore dinner – get this Snargaluff sap off me. Smells worse than Hagrid’s compost heap.”
“Good idea,” Mary murmured. It was the first thing she’d said since they’d entered the castle.
They turned toward the staircases rather than making straight for the Great Hall; wove past the little groups of students congregating here and there. Everywhere they went snippets of excited conversation reached Lily’s ears:
“—Potter worked it out before any of the professors did, can you believe it?”
“Cleared that boy’s name, too – imagine if he’d been expelled over it!”
“That’s twice this year he’s given one of them what for. Remember Snape? That was hilarious.”
“McGonagall must be right chuffed—”
Lily’s jaw clenched. Of course, she thought. Another grand victory for James-flippin’-Potter; another heroic act, another mess conveniently cleaned up by him and his little gang, even if that did include her, in this instance; that was the narrative racing across the school already. And, as always, Severus was the one whom people sneered at, the one whose name had become a byword for suspicion and cruelty.
She huffed, irritable. “Brilliant… so James gets to be the hero again, and everyone’s back to hating Sev. It’s Mulciber who ought to be lambasted the most—”
Marlene glanced at her, brows knit together. “Well… aye, but Snape’s no’ exactly makin’ it hard for them, is he? Ye ken what he’s like, now, Lily.”
Lily pressed her lips together. She knew Marlene had a point, but it still grated on her, the way everything fell so neatly into place for James. Certainly, it wasn’t his fault, how easily he could be slotted into the role of “golden boy,” but all the same—
Mary still hadn’t said a word.
They’d reached the landing of Gryffindor Tower, and as Marlene muttered the password, Lily chanced a look at Mary. She was staring straight ahead, her expression unreadable. Lily swallowed the urge to press her, to ask outright what she was thinking – she had enough to chew on as it was, herself. Instead, she stepped inside, letting the warmth of the common room surround her.
It was as lively as ever, the air thick with heat from the fireplace and the buzz of conversation. A group of third-years was huddled by the notice board, giggling over something, while a pair of seventh-years debated animatedly near the window.
Lily barely registered more than that. She tried to scrounge up a different topic, as she followed Marlene and Mary across the room (stepping carefully over a discarded Gobstones set), but her thoughts were still too muddled up.
Marlene stretched her arms over her head with a light groan. “Right,” she said as soon as they started up the girls’ stairs, “Now that we’re no’ surrounded by half the school, mind tellin’ us why ye’re so bothered aboot everyone praisin’ James? Ye don’t even hate him anymore, dae ye?”
Lily sucked in a breath. “I don’t…”
She trailed behind them, up the steps to their dorm, the familiar scuffing of shoes against stone grounding her, as she tried to gather her thoughts. It wasn’t easy to explain – not in a way that made sense, least of all to herself.
The moment they stepped inside, Marlene made straight for the row of washbasins and turned the tap on, cleaning her hands. “Well?” she pressed, regardless, even as Lily sat down on the bed across.
Lily rubbed at the stubborn stain of Snargaluff sap on her own wrist. “…It’s… not that I don’t think he deserves it,” she admitted, “James really is wonderful— for the most part— not in the way most people seem to think, mind, but he can be…”
Marlene made a questioning noise as she re-entered the room and rummaged through her trunk. “How d’ye mean?”
Mary, in the meantime – still strangely silent – took up Marlene’s post at the washbasin.
Lily hesitated. There were things she simply couldn’t say.
She thought about Remus, about the boys becoming Animagi to help him. The absolute danger James and the rest had put themselves in, the risk they’d taken for a beloved friend.
She thought about the fact that James had actually listened, when she’d chastised him, actually mended his ways a little bit. James was a wind-up, yes, and tactless too, but he was also sweet, and funny, and selfless in a way that few people would ever, ever know. Not even for personal gain, not to brag about it after.
He’d given Sirius a place to turn to when Sirius had left what sounded like a genuinely life-threatening situation. He supported – even adored – Remus and Sirius’s relationship, even though boys as laddish as he was didn’t tend to, in Lily’s experience.
He was against blood supremacy and wizarding supremacy – his entire family was, historically.
He understood her. Merlin, did he understand her.
There were things Lily simply couldn’t say.
“He’s not just some… heroic adventurer unafraid of breaking the rules,” she managed instead. “Or a Quidditch star, o-or a ladies’ man. He’s just good, Marlene. To his friends, at least. He’s got such a big heart, he’s— magnanimous, you’ve no idea…”
Marlene, pulling a new cloak on, gave Lily a baffled look. “Awright, so whit’s the problem, then?”
Lily sighed. The problem.
The problem was that she’d seen James at his best— she’d seen him soft and earnest— the way he cared for his loved ones with an unwavering loyalty that was both admirable and just a little bit concerning.
“It’s hard to reconcile,” she elaborated. “That side of him with what we all saw last year, I mean.”
She stared down at her hands and idly traced the lines of sap on her skin. “With what he did to Sev.”
Marlene hummed thoughtfully as she adjusted the clasp of her cloak. “Aye, I see that,” she conceded. “It was vicious, whit he an’ Sirius did. No’ excusin’ it.”
Lily swallowed hard. Her hands clasped together in her lap. “I don’t know what to think anymore,” she sighed.
The most frustrating part was that James was trying to change; she’d seen it firsthand – watched him listen, adjust. It was only that he could be so insufferable, in times like this, so much that it made her want to scream— and yet— yet also—
If last year hadn’t happened, she thought once more, turning the idea over like a stone in her mind… if James hadn’t humiliated Sev like that…
She exhaled, glancing up at Marlene with something like resignation. “If that hadn’t happened,” she confessed, “I-I think we might be dating now.”
Marlene arched both eyebrows. “That’s the only thing stoppin’ ye, then?”
Lily nodded morosely, not trusting herself to admit it aloud.
There was a sharp sound from the bathroom— water running, then the squeak of the tap turning off; then—
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Lily!”
Mary’s voice, uncharacteristically forceful. It cut through the dormitory like the crack of a whip.
Lily blinked, startled. So did Marlene.
Mary – sweet, shy, soft-spoken little Mary – had never raised her voice like that before.
When Lily looked, she caught Mary fairly trembling, fists clenched hard around the edge of the washbasin. She hadn’t turned around – Lily couldn’t even catch her expression in the mirror – but the note of pure frustration in her voice was plainly evident.
“He’s stopped!” Mary bit. “He’s stopped harassing Snape, because you asked him to! I’m not saying either of them’s in the right, but James bloody well did, and d’you really think what he did is worse than what Snape’s lot does to everyone else? What Mulciber did to me!?”
The words hit Lily like a punch to the gut. Her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she could only stare.
Marlene seemed lost for words, too, gawking as Mary finally whirled around, then stormed into the room. Her face was flushed, eyes brimming with unshed tears.
“Mulciber—” Mary’s voice wavered for a moment, but the pause barely lasted. “Mulciber hurt me. Mulciber hurt me because of what Snape went and told them! You know it! And you’re worried about what James deserves? What about what they deserve? Or is it that when Snape’s involved, suddenly we should all bother about ‘ethics!?’”
Lily’s eyes widened, guilt and pure shell-shock flooding her. “Mare, I— I-I didn’t mean…”
“If someone did that to you I’d never forgive them, Lily!” Mary cried. “I wouldn’t give a rat’s arse about how ‘pale’ and ‘sickly’ they seemed, I wouldn’t stay over in somebody else’s dorm, only leaving you a cryptic note saying you’re off monitoring them, as if they deserve— I wouldn’t stop people from celebrating them getting their just deserts! And, don’t you for one second— don’t you dare pretend this is about doing the right thing! As if you’re some sort of moral compass, as if you’ve never been petty and horrid and downright cruel yourself!”
Lily’s heart thudded painfully in her chest— she opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat, too bewildered to form anything coherent. Marlene’s head whipped between the two of them like she was watching the world’s most horrifying tennis match, hands raised in a half-aborted motion that said she wasn’t actually sure what she’d meant to do.
“It’s about Snape, it’s always about Snape!” Mary went on furiously. “You’ve been so busy judging everyone around you— so priggish about it all— but you’re no better than us! Than James! I-I mean, you can’t even make up your mind about him— but you don’t make it clear where you stand, either, knowing he fancies you! Knowing what it looks like to the rest of the school! You act like he’s yours when Sania’s around, when you’re jealous that she fancies him too— you know you can’t have it both ways, but you won’t let Sania have a chance! Sania – your own friend!”
Lily felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She opened her mouth, but Mary raised her voice over it.
“A-And then you mock Adrian! Reginald tells me that Adrian’s so proud to even get to go out with you, whenever you can be bothered, because regardless of your modest little act— your idiotic pretence that you haven’t noticed, you’re one of the most admired girls in the entire school! But you laugh at him, just because he’s a little bit… silly, and awkward, sometimes. You want to call James the bully, when you were poking fun at Adrian right alongside him!? Glass-fuckin’-houses, Lil!”
Lily sat as still as if she’d been turned to stone. She’d never, ever heard Mary swear before, let alone at someone else. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t even move.
“And that’s fine! I’m not saying you’ve got to pretend to like him back, when you don’t! But don’t act as if you’re so above it all—” Mary’s voice cracked, and she had to take a breath— “You’re not perfect— no one is! It’s not fair holding James— everyone else to your daft standards when you can’t even meet them yourself! You are self-righteous, and what’s more, judgemental, and an overall prig! You want James to make himself impossibly faultless before you give him the time of day— while you carry on right as you are, is it!?”
She stopped, choking on her words, then wiped at her eyes. Her shoulders quaked with silent sobs. “Just stop pretending you’re such a bloody saint! Oh— poor old Lily, so put upon because the richest, most popular boy in school fancies her and she’s too much of an angel to overlook something he did, that he’s actively working to better himself at, because she asked him to, because he likes her just that-sodding-much! Poor Lily, whose little Death Eater friend only joined to save her life— because he’s fallen for her too, damn every other Mudblood! To have your problems, Evans!”
And now Mary was sobbing outright, burying her face in her hands. Before either Lily or Marlene could do anything, she jerked forward— then rushed out of the dorm altogether.
The silence that followed was deafening. Lily could barely breathe, never mind speak.
“…Fuckin’ ’eck,” Marlene managed at last, as wide-eyed as Lily felt. “What in— what wis— I-I’d better go— see she’s awright—”
Then Marlene was leaving, too. Lily was left to gawk at nothing on her own, the quiet of the empty dorm the loudest sound she’d ever heard.
She had no idea at what point she’d stood up off the bed, but she had – she was standing, lost, in the middle of the room. Her thoughts raced, and she couldn’t untangle a single one. That final little bit of Mary’s outburst stood out the most: Mary knew? Mary heard what Sev had said to her last year? And Lily remembered— Mary and Marlene had been standing just out of sight at the foot of the boys’ stairs, at the time. They’d clearly been the ones to call for help, so… so of course…
Lily’s throat closed up. She felt flayed, as though Mary had taken every unacknowledged part of her and laid it bare, for the world to see. And the worst part, the very worst part, was that she hadn’t been wrong. Lily’s mind reeled, cycling through everything at once, but it was like trying to cup water in her hands— James, Sania, Adrian, Sev— Mary had heard, Mary had known— and Lily had never even thought to ask.
A sickening sort of guilt churned in her stomach – climbing up her throat, making it hard to breathe. I didn’t think, she thought wildly, I didn’t realise. But wasn’t that the point? That she should have done?
She had to move. Had to do something, anything, before she buckled under the weight of it all.
With barely another thought, she whirled toward the door and yanked it open, bolting down the dormitory stairs.
The common room was still bustling, but Mary and Marlene were nowhere in sight. Lily spun on the spot, eyes darting between every cluster of students: sprawled upon armchairs, leaning over chessboards, lounging by the fire— but no Mary. No Marlene.
Panic bubbled up in her chest. She had no plan, no real idea of what she was even going to say, but that hardly mattered. She just had to find Mary.
She shoved past a pair of third-years and scrambled out through the portrait-hole. Her legs moved before her brain could catch up; she barely registered the Lady’s indignant, “Well, really!”, as she burst into the corridor.
Where would they have gone? Any of the girls’ toilets? The Astronomy Tower? Maybe they’d just have gone for a walk, or— certainly not the Great Hall, not in that state—
Lily took a sharp turn, breath coming fast, and nearly missed it— the faint creak of a door— movement just out of her periphery.
“Evans?”
She skidded to a halt, heart still racing. She turned.
The door to one of the trophy rooms was ajar, and peering around it – brows raised, expression caught between curiosity and bafflement – was Sirius Black.
Lily barely registered the fact that she’d overshot the door completely.
Sirius tilted his head, frowning slightly as he took in her expression. “Why do you look like you’ve just seen a Boggart?”
She hesitated only a second, then – before she could talk herself out of it – pushed inside. She didn’t want to be alone. Not right now.
Evidently this was Sirius’s detention: polishing old trophies. Lily opened her mouth, the automatic impulse to insist she was fine – just a bit winded, no big deal – bubbling to the surface. But the moment she tried to shape the words, the knot in her throat tightened, her chest lurched, and all that came out was a strangled, “Oh, Sirius…”
Her face crumpled.
Sirius was at her side in an instant. “Oi— whoa—” His hand hovered for a second, like he wasn’t sure whether to touch her shoulder, or her arm, or do something else; then, after a heartbeat’s hesitation, he reached past her for the door, and shut it firmly closed behind them.
“Alright, talk to me, Yoko,” he said steadily, no teasing in his voice for once. “What’s happened?”
Lily tried to speak through her tears, but her words were choked. She barely managed, “I— it’s just—,” before something else caught her attention – another voice, familiar, puzzled.
James’s voice.
Lily’s stomach lurched. Her eyes darted about, searching— where was he? He wasn’t there—
Then she saw it: sitting propped up against a gleaming, golden trophy was a little rectangular mirror, the handheld sort, and in it— James’s confused expression, in miniature, clearly attempting to peer around the frame and see what was going on.
Lily froze in mortification. “Is that James?” she croaked, horror-struck.
Sirius followed her gaze – then simply rolled his eyes. He strode over and plucked the mirror up by its corner: “Sod off, Prongs,” he said breezily, then flipped it facedown onto the floor without further ceremony.
He turned back to Lily and gave her a nod. “Not anymore.” Then, without waiting, he gently nudged her toward the wall and sank down against it, stretching his legs out as he did.
“Right,” he said, looking at her properly now, “What’s all this, then?”
Lily accepted the unspoken invitation, throwing herself down beside him. It all came spilling out in an uncontrollable torrent of sobbed-out desperation: Mary, James, her fears about the Ministry and Mulciber, everything.
By the time Lily finished pouring her heart out, Sirius had polished close to seven fresh trophies, and his eyebrows had taken up permanent residence at his hairline.
“Blimey.” He whistled. “I’m sort of glad I’m not a girl, eh?”
“Oh, shove off.” Lily half-sobbed as she thumped him. The indignation could hardly last, however, and she drew her knees up to her chest, burying her face in her lap. “God… I really have been dreadful, haven’t I?” she despaired.
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far.” Sirius shrugged. “Bit of a sorry excuse for a friend, loyalty-wise, but hey. I’d be one to talk.”
Lily couldn’t help the brief, amused exhale, in spite of it all. She shook her head, pulling her knees closer. “Mary wasn’t actually wrong, was she? The way I lashed out at James, last year, when he didn’t really deserve… and I’ve been horrid to you, too,” she lamented, remembering the chewing-out that Remus had given her – Mary might’ve taken lessons. “Sirius, I should never have brought James up when we argued. That was below the belt.”
“Nah, that’s alright.” When she looked she found Sirius smiling at her, something uncharacteristically gracious in his eyes. “I did start it, in all fairness, and for another thing I get it, yeah? What it’s like to have to toughen up— sharpen your tongue, quick as anything— or else the other party might walk all over you. You ‘give as good as you get,’ in’t that right, Evans?”
His expression spelt nothing but understanding. “Your sister?” he checked, voice lowering – gentling, almost.
Lily didn’t want to lie. She nodded.
He nodded back.
“My everybody,” he snorted, commiseration there. “’Least we haven’t got ourselves to blame. For being right pricks, sometimes.”
The startled laugh escaped Lily entirely beyond her will, and Sirius grinned in return.
She couldn’t deny that she felt much lighter, having gotten it all off her chest, and she found herself smiling, faintly – if still bittersweet. “You and James really are incredibly close,” she mused. “That’s probably why I chose to hit you where I did, back when we fought. I knew it would land.”
Her lips quivered again. “I was being cruel on purpose. I was just— so annoyed with you.”
“Well, I was being annoying,” Sirius pointed out fairly. “Call it even.”
Lily gave a weak snort, but continued. “It’s an obvious target. Mad, how quickly you two hit it off – practically instant, from what I remember. Back on the train, that first time…”
At that, Sirius’s half-a-smirk faltered slightly. His expression turned thoughtful.
“…That wasn’t the first time we met, actually.”
Lily blinked. “Sorry?”
Sirius leaned back, rolling a trophy between his hands. “Not even James remembers,” he murmured. His grey eyes flicked up to meet hers, suddenly grave with something unfathomable. “You, you can keep a secret, usually, can’t you, Yoko?”
Intrigued despite the circumstances, Lily leaned closer. “You know I can.”
Sirius exhaled, long and heavy.
“So…” he began, haltingly, “The thing you’ve got to understand is— no one likes my family. Not the Blacks at large, I mean – my family. Mum, papa, Reggie, me. Us.”
He glanced at Lily as if waiting for confirmation that she was following, so Lily nodded.
Sirius nodded as well.
“Mum’s… off her rocker. Mental – like, actually,” he clarified. “And papa’s a hardliner in the wrong way: overtly. There’s things you’re not meant to say out loud, in public, not even among, you know… that sort. Well, society’s all just that, anyway, innit?” He shrugged. “All a big game of pretend.”
It took Lily a minute to realise that he’d meant ‘society’ in the old-fashioned sense – conjuring up images of top-hats and gowns, carriages and balls – not commentating on the general state of British civilisation.
She sat quietly, the rare gravitas in Sirius’s tone demanding it. Soft light flickered off the gleaming surfaces of the polished trophies, but, Sirius wasn’t paying attention to his work anymore. He rolled a small, silver cup absently between his hands, lost in thought.
“We knew,” he said at last. “Even as children, me and Reggie— we knew. You can tell, when you’re being kept at arm’s length.”
Lily didn’t say anything, only watched him, waiting.
Sirius exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “People were polite, sure. Always polite. But, you learn to see what’s behind the smiles – the way they’d glance at each other when mum made a display of herself. The way the laughter came just a bit too quick, when she’d sweep out of a room, or the way they’d lower their voices when they saw me or Reggie listening.” He gave a humourless little chuckle. “Not that it stopped them, half the time. Children pick up on things, you know?”
Lily did know. She’d seen it before, the way little’uns mirrored their parents in ways they couldn’t yet understand.
Sirius went on, quieter now. “The other children, the ones from our circles, they weren’t… nasty, per se, but, they kept their distance, y’know? Some were told to, I reckon. ‘Don’t get too close to the Black boys, their family’s…’” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely. “Or they just picked up on it, the way kids do. No one had to say it outright.”
Lily swallowed. “That must’ve been—”
Sirius cut in before she could find the right word. “It was what it was,” he shrugged. He set the cup down with a soft clink and met her eyes again, something unreadable in his expression.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Sirius let out a slow breath, drumming his fingers once against a new trophy, then pulling his hands back into his lap. His mouth twisted, as if he were debating whether to go on. But he did.
“Don’t bother fretting. I didn’t even have time to be upset about it,” he said. “I had Reggie to think about, first.”
His voice was steady, but there was something taut beneath it now, worn smooth with time, yet not quite forgotten.
“He was younger, and, I don’t think he noticed it. Or maybe he didn’t want to. But I did. And I decided—” Sirius hesitated, then huffed softly. “I decided he wasn’t going to feel it. I’d make sure of that.”
Lily’s throat felt tight. She didn’t interrupt.
“So I’d tell him,” Sirius continued, “That it didn’t matter. That we were better than everyone there anyway. That they weren’t worth our time— and if they didn’t want to talk to us, well— good. We didn’t need them.”
He allowed a sharp, mirthless smile. “And we believed it, too. Or at least— we made ourselves believe it. Because what else were we supposed to do?”
Lily didn’t have an answer for that.
“Anyway.” Sirius straightened, slightly, rolling his shoulders as if to shake off the weight of what had settled over him. He picked up another trophy and turned it absently in his hands, watching the light catch on its engraved surface.
“There was this one time,” he said, “When we got invited to some big do – the Dearborns’ – I must’ve been seven, Reggie five.”
Lily’s brow furrowed slightly. “Dearborn… I don’t think I’ve heard that name before.” Rare, for her near-encyclopaedic knowledge of wizarding history. “At least, not on this side of society— oh, but isn’t it a Muggle name?”
“No, they’re pure-bloods – or at least, part of the pure-blood world,” Sirius said. “But an American family to begin with, you see. Only, half of ’em married here. They’re not blood supremacists – one of James’s aunts married into their house; his dad’s sister.” He smirked, faintly. “Potter-adjacent. That should tell you everything you need to know about their politics.”
Lily huffed, but Sirius was already continuing.
“I don’t think we were invited on our own merit. The Dearborns… weren’t exactly the sort to go out of their way to have us Blacks around. But my Uncle Alphard – mum’s brother – he had this, er, well, let’s call it a lifelong partnership, with one of them.” At Lily’s raised eyebrows, Sirius’s smirk stretched. “Yeah – a ‘lifelong friendship,’ if you asked the family. If you ask Uncle Alfie – different story.”
Lily tucked that away for later. “So you think he’s the reason you got invited?”
“Pretty sure,” Sirius said. “Not that it mattered much. The whole party was full of people who were completely at odds with the Blacks in principle, is my point, and they weren’t exactly tripping over themselves to welcome me and Reggie.”
He set the trophy down, then met Lily’s eyes. “If you think we got the cold shoulder normally, you should’ve seen us that day.”
Sirius leaned back against the trophy case. A faraway look settled over his face. “James was there, you know.”
Lily blinked. “At the Dearborn thing?”
He nodded. “Yeah. And he was—” Sirius huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Mesmerising, honestly. Different from me and Reggie. So obviously different.”
Lily tilted her head, waiting.
“You should’ve seen him,” Sirius went on wryly. “Expensive dress robes, properly tailored. None of that slightly-too-starched stiffness, like mine always had. Hair already a bloomin’ mess, but… somehow charming, rather than unkempt. You know, yeah? You could see how pampered he was, how secure. That boy had never had to second-guess whether he belonged in a room. And he was friendly with everybody. Laughing, running about, talking to all the other children like— like he already knew they’d like him.”
Lily could picture it perfectly.
“And at some point,” Sirius continued, “He must’ve noticed me and Reggie getting left out. So he came up to us, all bright-eyed and open-faced, and went—” Sirius dropped into a pitch-perfect, slightly higher imitation of a child: “‘D’you want to play?’”
Lily chuckled softly. “Let me guess. It was love at first sight.”
Sirius gave her a flat look, then barked a short, rueful laugh. “Merlin, no. I hated him.”
Lily’s eyebrows shot up.
“With a passion.” Sirius nodded. “He was everything we weren’t— effortless— wanted. And, worse than that— he’d noticed. He’d seen that we weren’t part of it, and he’d felt sorry for us. And, I—” Sirius exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “I wasn’t about to be some pathetic charity case for James-bloody-Potter.”
His voice had turned rough with something old and bitter and sharp-edged.
He let out a slow breath, rubbing his thumb absently over the engraved name on the trophy he’d just set down. “Me and Reggie, we weren’t exactly hanging about, waiting for an invitation, you know. We’d hidden ourselves away – found this landing, private enough staircase, somewhere out of the way. Just us. We always did that, back then.”
Lily didn’t say anything, just nodded for him to go on.
“We were keeping to ourselves, making up games, whispering stories to one another. That was, erm, how we got through those kinds of things. If they didn’t want us, fine. We’d just entertain ourselves.” His lips twisted in something like amusement, something like bitterness. “Then along comes this— stupid little maharaja. Darling Potter heir.”
Sirius rolled his eyes skyward as if he could still see that moment, that boy. “He spotted us from below, climbed right up, didn’t hesitate for a second. Just plopped himself down in front of us— like we’d been waiting for him all along. ‘D’you want to play?’ Prat. I hated that he didn’t seem to know. The rules, that is, the unspoken rules. Some of us hadn’t got that luxury. To not know.”
Lily, who’d been suppressing an endeared smile, let it slip. But the look on Sirius’s face made her pause.
He wasn’t smiling.
“I pushed him,” he said, flatly.
Lily stared.
“You what?”
“Pushed him,” Sirius repeated. “Right down the stairs.”
Lily sat up straight. “Sirius!”
“I know.” He let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. “I don’t even know if I meant to, not really. I just… he was standing there, all sunshine and good fortune, and I was seething. It was like… like all the things I wouldn’t let myself think about, all the things I shoved down so Reggie wouldn’t see them, they just— exploded. I didn’t think. I just acted.”
Lily stared at him, speechless.
“…What can I say, Yoko? My mum’s insane. My parents are blood-related. God knows what else is wrong in me,” Sirius laughed humourlessly, bitter and hushed. “Something is. Wrong with me. Always has been. I mean, you know, don’t you?”
She couldn’t answer.
“He went right down,” Sirius continued, quieting again. “Landed at the bottom in a heap. If he hadn’t been a wizard, I reckon he might’ve broken his neck.”
Lily swallowed. “Did he—?”
“Get hurt? Dunno. I think his magic must’ve kicked in – early magic, I mean – the volatile sort. Maybe cushioned him, slowed the fall, whatever it was. But he still hit the ground hard enough to start wailing.”
Lily winced.
“His parents came rushing in, all panicked. And, I just— froze. Right there on the landing, staring down at him, realising what I’d done… and he could’ve—” Sirius inhaled sharply. “God. He could have pointed at me. Could have looked up at his loving, caring parents and gone… ‘Him. He pushed me.’ And they would’ve believed him, whether or not it was true. It was, but even if it hadn’t been— even then, I could tell that much.”
He fell silent for a moment, staring at the trophy in his hands as if not really seeing it.
“But he didn’t.” Sirius met Lily’s gaze, something sombre in his own. “He just looked at me. Met my eyes and everything. And then… told them he’d stumbled.”
Lily’s breath caught.
“They fussed over him,” Sirius murmured. “Coddled him. Soothed him. And he let them. But he never said a word about me.”
Sirius let out a breath, shook his head. “That’s James, through and through, innit?” he said, almost marvelling. “All honour. Never the tattletale.”
Lily was still watching him, her earlier shock melting into something softer – something frighteningly close to understanding.
“I didn’t know what to do with it,” Sirius picked up. “I just stood there, on that landing, watching him… feeling like I was choking on something. I should’ve felt triumphant – pure-blood pride and all that, y’know? I’d put that spoilt, naïve little creature in his place. But I didn’t. I just felt—” He audibly exhaled, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Guilty. And confused. And small.”
He shook his head, almost laughing. “And then, yes, I suppose. Then it was love. At second sight.”
Lily’s lips quirked, though what she felt was bittersweet.
“I never thought I’d see him again,” Sirius murmured. “Our social circles were too different. Definitely never thought I’d step onto the Hogwarts Express and find out he didn’t even remember.” He huffed, rolling his eyes. “Typical, don’t you think? He never holds onto things, our James. Not one for grudges. Not like me.”
“…Or me,” Lily pointed out softly. Her brows knit together. “And so… you never told him?”
Sirius gave her a look. “Merlin, no. What am I supposed to say? ‘Remember when we were kids and I shoved you down a staircase out of sheer spite?’ And— y’know, the funny thing is, I think he’d actually laugh? Rather than thump me for it? And I’m not sure which reaction I dread more, quite honestly.”
Odd, how much Lily understood the sentiment, when she didn’t have a similar experience as such. But she did. Sirius’s expression turned even more thoughtful, even more distant.
“I wanted to be part of his world, from then on,” he murmured. “I wanted to know what it was like to live the way he did. A life where you didn’t have to answer pain for pain.”
He met Lily’s eyes then, something a touch vulnerable in his own. “I mean, I’m still working that bit out. Clearly. Don’t really belong in it, in fairness, do I? But he’s let me in, into Neverland, me and Moony and Wormtail, and it’s sort of brilliant, and my biggest fear in the world… is the bubble bursting. Once we don’t have Hogwarts anymore.”
“Is that so.” Lily hummed. A contemplative sort of silence followed, for a while, only broken by the quiet smack of Sirius’s lips parting again.
“…I suspect we might just understand each other, you and me,” he murmured. “Not in that, I mean. The party.”
Lily half-turned. Sirius’s eyes were fixed on some vague point across from them, and his hands had stopped fiddling with the trophies altogether.
“Moony’s first in my heart now,” he went on, softly, “And if you ever decide to agree, whenever Prongs asks you out again, I know you’ll be first in his. But all the same, I do suspect we might just understand each other.”
Lily didn’t say anything at first. She only watched him, the way his fingers had stilled completely, the way his mouth had pressed into something almost hesitant. Indistinct kinship curled, warm, in her chest – strange, and yet certain.
“I suspect so, too,” she granted.
Sirius’s lips quirked – not quite a smile, not quite anything at all. His hand shifted slightly where it rested against the polished wood of the trophy case, as though resisting the urge to move.
“Suppose I could use James to hurt you, too, then,” he quipped half-heartedly, light, but not quite careless.
Lily exhaled, just short of a sigh. “Sirius,” she confessed, just as hushed, “You did. Why d’you think I got so angry?”
That startled something out of him – his throat moved as he swallowed, his fingers twitched again – but he didn’t glance at her. Didn’t say anything, either. And for a while, neither did she. The silence between them stretched, weightier than before, but not necessarily loaded. Just there.
Then, suddenly, his voice, overly-bright, cut through the hush. “Anyway. Here you are, telling me about your own woes, and now I’ve gone and made you miserable about mine, too.”
Lily gave a short laugh, more breath than sound. “You have, at that.”
Sirius grinned, and the atmosphere shifted, something lighter threading through the air at last. He stretched a hand out for the mirror that still sat wrong-way-up on the floor, passing it to Lily.
She took it reflexively, confused.
“It’s a two-way mirror,” Sirius explained. “Prongs and I use ’em when we’re in separate detentions. Among other things. Listen—” With a commiserating look as he turned his whole body round, to face her, “From your… resident expert on falling out with your mates because you’ve been a massive prat, if you need somewhere else to sleep tonight just say my name or Prongs’s into it. It’ll let you give us a shout – I share with Moony more often than not, lately, so we’ve got a spare bed, you see.”
Lily turned the thing over in her hands. A small crease formed between her brows as she looked at it, then at Sirius, feeling equal parts weary and grateful.
“Thanks,” she managed. Even with the Mary-shaped ache still settled somewhere deep in her chest, she meant it.
Sirius shrugged, a bit too casually, but his lips twitched again in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “It’s not to keep or anything.”
Lily obliged with a chuckle. She glanced down at the mirror once more, then slipped it into the pocket of her robes. A silence stretched between them again, but this time, it didn’t press quite so heavily.
After a while:
“As the expert and all,” Lily ventured, “What’d you reckon I should do about Mary?”
Sirius let out a breath, tipping his head back slightly as he considered. He didn’t answer straight away, but when he did, his tone was uncharacteristically measured. “Dunno,” he admitted. “Take it as it comes, I suppose.”
Lily sighed. Suppose so.
She swallowed around the lump in her throat; glanced away; but Sirius shifted beside her, knocking their crossed knees together lightly.
She exhaled, and Sirius – without a word – lifted an arm slightly, in something of an invitation.
Lily shuffled into the space he’d made for her, leaning her weight against him. His arm settled easily around her shoulders. His fingers pressed briefly into her sleeve.
They stayed like that for a bit, neither of them speaking.
She didn’t bother going down to the Great Hall after that – too anxious to have much of an appetite, anyway. Instead, Lily headed straight for her dorm again, reasoning that Mary or Marlene – preferably both – had to turn up eventually.
Perched on the edge of her bed, ankles crossed, she stared at the rug without really seeing it. The minutes ticked on. Below, the muffled hum of the common room faded, as Gryffindor Tower settled into its usual late-evening hush. Still no sign of them. The longer she sat there, the tighter the knot in her stomach grew.
At last, just as curfew loomed, the door creaked open.
Lily shot up as Marlene stepped inside. She was still in her uniform, though she’d undone the top button of her shirt, her tie hanging loose around her neck. Her hair was windswept – as if she’d been outside. She didn’t look surprised to see Lily; just tired.
“Where’s Mary?” Lily asked, rather taut.
Marlene exhaled slowly, audibly. Rubbed at her temple. “Hospital Wing,” she said. “Gave herself a headache cryin’. She’s prob’ly stayin’ the night. …Avoidin’ ye.”
Lily flinched. The words landed exactly the way she’d feared they would.
Marlene didn’t linger. She crossed the room in brisk strides, heading for Mary’s bedside table. The drawer scraped open. She rummaged through it – pulling out a hairbrush, a book, and a small tin of headache balm.
She’d probably only returned to take some of Mary’s things up for her, then, Lily gathered. She swallowed hard. Guilt pressed against her ribs. “Are you cross with me too?” she ventured.
Marlene stilled for a moment, then let out a heavy sigh; weariness, frustration, and something else – something softer – woven into the sound.
She lingered by Mary’s bedside table. Turned the small tin of balm over in her hands, before slipping it into her pocket. Straightening, she folded her arms, and finally looked at Lily properly for the first time since she’d walked in.
Lily fought not to squirm.
“Ye’ll have tae excuse me bein’ blunt,” Marlene said, matter-of-fact, “But it’s the only way we’re havin’ this out, I reckon.”
Lily nodded, pressing her lips together.
Marlene took a breath. “I’m no’ as hurt by all this as Mare is. It’s jist different, for me. But, I’m still goin’ down tae sit wi’ her, because I’ve known her longer. We’ve been best mates since the train, in first year, an’ I’m no’ leavin’ her on her own tonight.”
Lily’s chest ached. She wanted to argue, explain, say something— but she stayed silent, sensing Marlene wasn’t finished.
The other girl shifted her weight, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “Listen, Lily… ye’re princess o’ the school, aye? Ye’ve always had mates in every corner o’ the castle – Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, even Slytherin, doesnae matter. But ye never really got that close tae anyone in particular. No’ in the way Mary an’ I are close. Ye follow?”
Lily swallowed. A protest rose to her tongue, but she didn’t voice it.
“An’ ye ken why that is,” Marlene went on doggedly. “It’s ’cause ye always put Snape first. Always.”
Lily flinched, but Marlene didn’t let up.
“That’s no’ a criticism. It’s jist the truth. He was yer best mate, and that was that. And Mary and I—” She hesitated, her expression softening just a little. “Well, we always liked ye, ye ken? But ye never needed us the way we needed each other.”
Lily’s throat tightened.
“But when ye fell out wi’ him last year…” Marlene exhaled, almost a sigh. “I dunno. It finally felt like ye were one of us. Me an’ Mary, we thought we were becomin’ yer best mates. At last. No’ jist some o’ the many people ye were friendly wi’.”
She gave a small shake of her head. “An’ that wis really nice, Lil. It wis brilliant, actually.”
Lily barely breathed.
“So when ye go an’ do what ye did— when ye take his side over hers— it jist… it broke Mary’s heart.”
She said it plainly, but the words landed like a dagger through Lily’s chest.
“That’s not what I was trying to do…” She knew her intent didn’t matter, however. She dropped her gaze, fingers twisting together in her lap. “I’m sorry,” she amended, in a shamed murmur.
Marlene let out a quiet breath, then gave her a rueful sort of smile. “Aye, I know ye are.” She hesitated, then tilted her head slightly. “But ye’ve got tae see why it hurts. I get what ye’re sayin’ – James and Sirius were nasty, that day – but, ye’ve got tae see Mary’s side of it, too. She reckons Snape sort o’ had it comin’, and maybe it’s not all on James. If Snape didnae want tae be a target he couldae jist stopped runnin’ about wi’ the mini Death Eaters, couldnae he? I’m no’ sayin’ she’s right or wrong, jist that it’s no’ completely daft. I dunno, does bein’ a blood supremacist mean ye deserve tae be bullied? And does bein’ bullied make it awright tae turn tae them? There’s nae easy answer. I wish we lived in a world where neither had tae happen, where folk didnae have tae hurt each other at all, but we don’t, dae we…? This is as far from a fairytale as ye can get, Lil. This society o’ ours. So, I… I sortae agree. That James isnae pure evil fer it. Bit heavy-handed, aye, an’ two wrongs dinnae make a right. But he’s no’ exactly the villain here, either. Fer ye tae treat him like he is, after he’d gone an’ got someone who’d hurt one o’ yer own, first… d’ye see? It’s almost like yer sayin’ whit happened tae Mare wisnae as bad. I know ye aren’t, but…”
Lily nodded, swallowing hard.
Marlene shifted, and leaned back against the bedpost. “And it’s no’ jist that,” she went on. “It wisnae only Mary and me, ye ken? It felt like ye were finally getting close tae all o’ us. The rest o’ the girls in our year. Fer the first time since we started at Hogwarts… it felt like we were a proper wee group.” She huffed a soundless laugh. “And then… jist as we were really gettin’ on… ye went an’ befriended the lads, too.”
Lily frowned slightly, but stayed silent, waiting.
Marlene’s smile was small, perceptive. “It wis obvious, weren’t it? Ye’d found people ye belonged wi’ more than us. Jist like before. Jist like wi’ Snape.”
Lily opened her mouth, but Marlene wasn’t finished.
“An’ I don't mean that as an insult. We all see it, though. Ye’ve got close tae them in a way we never could. Yer privy tae things the rest o’ the school will always be shut off from.”
She shook her head. “It’s nae wonder Sania got jealous, aye? Even though she’s no’ normally the type.”
Lily stiffened. “But jealous of what?” she asked, almost pleading. “I’m not really dating James, am I, and— and I know I should’ve made that clearer, but—”
“No’ James, Lil.” Marlene let out a humourless laugh, fixing Lily with a look so pointed it made her stomach twist. “Don’t ye see? Ye’re one o’ them now. Yer a Marauder.”
Lily stared at her. The words took their time to settle – slowly, heavily.
Her first instinct was to deny it, but something in her heart wouldn’t let her. It rang true; it just did. She fit with them. Somehow… somewhere… while none of them had been paying attention… Lily Evans had become a Marauder. In on all the secrets, the self-referential jokes— even the camaraderie, the kinship, she thought, remembering Sirius. Remembering that day on the pitch.
She didn’t have to say anything at all. Marlene seemed to notice the change regardless, because she only gave Lily a knowing look; then picked up Mary’s things; then turned for the door.
The latch clicked shut behind her, leaving Lily alone with her own thoughts.
For a long moment, she just sat there – staring at nothing, Marlene’s words looping in her head. Then, with a sigh, she reached into her robes pocket and pulled out the small, enchanted mirror Sirius had given her.
She turned it over in her hands, traced the edges with her thumb. A breath, a pause, then she lifted it to her lips. The glass fogged slightly, then cleared.
One swift conversation later, she was standing outside the boys’ dormitory. She knocked once. The door swung open almost immediately, and there was Sirius, leaning against the frame with a shrewd smirk.
“Knew it,” he said, half-playful, half-triumphant, and he stepped aside to let her in.
The air inside was warm, thick with the familiar scents of parchment, broom polish, and whatever cologne James had over-applied that day. Her boys were scattered about, in varying states of evening laziness: Peter perched cross-legged on his bed, sketching in a notepad; Remus at the desk with an open book he didn’t seem to actually be paying much attention to; and James lying upside-down on his mattress, idly tossing a rubber ball into the air.
No one bombarded her with questions. No one made a fuss.
Pete gave her a small smile. Remus shut his book. James righted himself on the bed, watching her carefully, as if waiting to see if she’d bolt.
Remus was the one to finally break the silence: “D’you want to talk about it?”
Lily exhaled. Glanced down at her hands, then shook her head. “No.”
Remus nodded. “Fair enough.” He gestured toward the empty bed beside Peter’s. “You’re welcome to that one. Padfoot and I’ll share.”
Despite the weight still pressing on her chest, Lily couldn’t help but think – gratefully, wryly – that there were a few perks unique to befriending boys. No obligation to speak, no heart-to-hearts. Just silent understanding, and room to breathe.
One by one, all but James disappeared behind their bed-hangings, with quiet murmurs of, “Goodnight, Lily,” leaving her to the quiet and the warm glow of the candelabras. She climbed onto the bed Remus had offered, exhaling slowly as she settled in.
James appeared at the foot of said bed, kneeling with an exaggerated air of importance. His eyes were sympathetic, but he didn’t hound her, and his lips quirked up with the usual playfulness.
“So, then, Evans,” he murmured, low, but unmistakeably laced with mischief, “Being Muggle-born and all, I’ve got to ask: have you ever heard the story of the Tartan Phantom of Hogsmeade?”
Lily blinked, then let out a soft, surprised laugh. “No.”
James grinned and, keeping his voice low, launched into the tale. He spun the story in comically hushed murmurs, detailing an ancient wizard who had bewitched his own tartan dressing gown to act as a sentient ghost, in an attempt to scare off intruders – only for the charm to backfire spectacularly when the gown took its job too seriously, and began terrorising its own owner.
His hands moved expressively, though he kept his voice hushed, mindful of the others. His face shifted between exaggerated horror and grave solemnity; it was easy to spot Danny Kaye in his conception of physical comedy – Lily could tell he’d seen, and loved, The Court Jester. She bit back laughter at first, but as James whispered dramatic spells and flailed his arms about in mock desperation, she gave in, chortling helplessly. It was ridiculous, completely absurd…
And exactly what she needed.
As she settled against the soft pillows behind her, as she curled warm legs underneath the cosy blanket across her lap, the weight in Lily’s chest loosened. Knots of tension unravelled, smiles as comforted as they were exhausted replacing the laughter, on both sides. The flickering candles cast gentle shadows on the walls, and the room was warm with the sort of easy companionship that didn’t demand anything more from her, nothing but this.
Behind sleep-heavy eyes Lily resolved to apologise to Mary first thing in the morning— and Sania, and Adrian too, if he ever decided to confront her. But the notion only brought a more distant, duller, pang with it – a guilt easier to bear with the simple vow to not repeat her mistakes again – not that overwhelming tide of self-hatred that’d drowned her before.
Somewhere between one of James’s animated gestures, and the rustling hush of the dormitory settling in for the night, the details of his story began to blur at the edges, that soft voice fading into a quiet hum…
Until, eventually, Lily let herself drift.
The last thing she remembered was the warmth of laughter still lingering in her chest, carrying her into sleep.
Notes:
It’s really difficult to give Lily any flaws that are grounded in canon – one because she’s so one-dimensional and there’s very little about her in the text (the most I have to go on is that Harry is supposedly very similar to her, but that doesn’t really help because nature vs nurture comes into play – Harry had a completely different type of life, and I would argue ends up being more like Sirius than Lily in some respects – he even recognises this himself); two, because JKR is, as we know, weird about mothers and motherhood. They’re almost all saints except for maybe Petunia – and even she was implied to have “hidden depths” later. (Between her and Snape, what is with Joanne and attempting to redeem child abusers, ISTG…)
Ergo, I had to take the one singular one we know from the books and inflate it to give Lily more depth: i.e., as I pointed out in my SWM note, Lily laughed when James levitated Snape, and she also possibly laughed when (it’s implied) somebody hexed Snape’s broomstick as well (the text only says “a girl” rather than naming her, to be fair, but I’m assuming it was Lily since that was a Snape flashback and he only ever thinks about her LBR).
So. Fleshing Lily out as a (more or less) typical popular-girl who popular-girls, in this, I guess.
You’ve heard of, “Yer a wizard, Harry.” Now get ready for, “Yer a Marauder, Lily.” :V
Chapter 21
Notes:
If words could hug, this would be one big one for you. Thank you for reading and supporting this fic!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
At breakfast, the following morning, Lily seemed just as distracted as she had been all throughout Monday – if, thank Merlin, a bit less glum. Certainly, she made an effort to feign cheer, to slip into the rhythm of their chatter with some semblance of nonchalance, but James could see right through it: when she wasn’t scanning the Great Hall, clearly looking for certain faces, she was staring down at her slice of toast as if she’d forgotten what one was meant to do with it. Every so often, she’d tear off a bit of it, roll it between her fingers, and then drop it onto her plate without taking a bite. The poor thing couldn’t quite mask her anxiety.
“Oi, Prongs, are you listening?”
James blinked. Sirius, who sat next to him, was watching James expectantly, one eyebrow raised.
Right. Had he been staring? Lily was seated diagonally across from them, in fairness, and James couldn’t exactly help it.
“Yeah, ’course I am,” he said quickly, turning back to Sirius and scrambling to recall whatever it was he’d just missed. Before he could manage to, however, Lily suddenly stiffened.
Instinctively, James tensed, too; he’d been keeping a wary eye on her for a bit too long; had gotten attuned to whatever she was doing, by this point. His attention snapped back to her, and he watched as recognition appeared to strike her like a bolt of lightning: her fingers slackened, the untouched crust slipped from her grasp, and her eyes went wide and alert.
For a moment, she remained completely still.
Then, all at once, she was up. The bench scraped loudly against the floor as she shot to her feet.
Unable to help himself, James followed her gaze, curiosity getting the better of him. He spotted them at once, Mary and Marlene, approaching the Gryffindor table with slow, almost wary steps. The moment Lily moved, so did they, only to falter, stopping short as if they’d all been hit by a Stunning Spell.
An uncertain pause appeared to settle between the girls – tangibly uncomfortable, tangibly heavy.
Then, without further hesitation, Lily rushed forward with all the haste of someone set on fire. Her hair swished behind her.
James braced himself for raised voices, a row about to unfold in front of the entire hall. Instead, a heartbeat later, Lily stood in front of Mary, and the two of them crashed into a fierce, bone-crushing embrace.
From his seat, James couldn’t quite decipher every word they murmured, but he caught enough.
“I’m sorry,” Lily was saying urgently; “No— no, I’m sorry,” Mary cut in just as fervently. “I shouldn’t have been so… so vicious with my words, Lily, I—”
That threw James for a loop. Mary Macdonald, vicious? He wouldn’t have thought her capable. She was soft-spoken, polite to a fault – even worse than Peter.
Marlene, meanwhile, stood a little off to the side, arms crossed, watching them with something soft in her eyes – likely relief.
“Regardless of how… harsh,” Lily said, as she drew back slightly but kept her hands on Mary’s arms, “You weren’t entirely wrong. And I mean it – I really am sorry.”
Mary sighed. Some of the tension in her shoulders visibly dissolved. “We can put it behind us,” she said, much quieter now, “If you promise to stop stringing people along.”
Something like guilt flickered across Lily’s face.
“And I don’t mean James,” Mary added, cheeks turning rather pink. “Or Adrian, either.”
James blinked. Huh. That was an… interesting clarification.
For her part, Lily gave a tearful sort of smile, then nodded firmly. “Promise.”
That seemed to be enough for Mary, who pulled Lily back into another hug, squeezing tightly.
James quickly averted his gaze, fixing his eyes on the table so none of the girls would catch him eavesdropping when they turned back around.
“Looks like that’s that,” Remus whispered, sounding satisfied; relieved that he hadn’t been the only one playing spy, James inclined his head and wondered aloud, “What’ve I got to do with it, do you think?”
“You’re better off not knowing, mate,” Peter answered sagely, just as hushed. “Like mum always says: it’d be barmy to get in the middle of a girls’ squabble voluntarily.”
“Seconding that,” Sirius said, pointing at him.
Lily returned to their end of the table, then, and they all put on their most innocent faces. Not that it really mattered – she was too busy beaming to herself to pay them much attention.
She gathered her things – a book bag, water bottle, outer cloak… “Right, I’m off,” she announced, and there was such unguarded joy in her expression, when she glanced up, that James found himself smiling, too. Good for her…
She slung her bag over her shoulder— then paused. Her gaze flicked toward him, apropos of nothing… and for some reason, she seemed to hesitate.
James had expected the usual brisk nod, maybe a quick, parting remark, but instead, she just… looked at him. Not expectant or assessing, just looking.
There was something uncharacteristic about it, something almost soft. James – caught off guard by that rare quality, whatever it was – felt heat creep up along the back of his neck. Just as he was beginning to feel properly flustered, under the weight of it, Lily parted her lips.
“James…”
But whatever she’d meant to say, she seemed to think better of it. Her brow furrowed briefly, then smoothed, and with a small shake of her head, she seemed to have let it go.
“Never mind,” she said instead, straightening abruptly. Glancing between them all, she confirmed, “Library, same time as usual, yeah?”
“Yeah, go on then,” Sirius replied, not even looking up from where he was buttering his toast.
Lily nodded; then, with a contented little smile, turned on her heel and strode off happily toward Mary and Marlene.
James watched her go, warmth curling in his chest. He didn’t know what that look had meant – exactly – but he could tell it had meant something, and this odd, bright feeling it’d brought with it lingered long after she had gone.
She would talk to him, Lily decided at last, berating herself for not simply choosing the most sensible solution from the start. The coming weekend would be the last Hogsmeade trip of the year, and Lily would talk to him – James – have a sit-down at one of the quieter caffs and tell him exactly how she felt. Not just how she felt about him, but how she’d felt when he’d done what he did, the previous year. How betrayed.
She would talk to him and he’d apologise – she was sure of it now, for he really was just that amenable to being reasoned with – why had she ever doubted it? Oh, Mary was right… she’d been using that incident as an excuse. Because clearing the air with James meant absolving him, but not Sev. Because she hadn’t wanted to accept that she wouldn’t be able to absolve Sev.
It had always, always been about Severus, hadn’t it? Poor James. Poor Mary.
Lily took a steadying breath. Well, no more of that silliness. As soon as the weekend would come ’round…
They officially tossed Mulciber out on Wednesday, which was a bit of a shame, because James and Sirius and Pete had been in Potions when it happened, and hadn’t been able to watch him go. Remus played the scout for them, however – even taking James’s Cloak – then relayed all that he’d witnessed in the privacy of their own dorm.
“He denied it, of course,” said Remus, rolling his eyes. “Threw a tantrum in the middle of the Entrance Hall saying he wasn’t the culprit. Then Slughorn reminded him they had his confession, on Veritaserum and everything… Mulciber’s parents pretty much dragged him away at that point. Told him off for causing a scene.”
“Odd,” Sirius frowned. “Why deny it if he’d been made to confess already? Did he say anything to that? The Veritaserum remark, I mean…”
“Reflex, surely?” Remus tilted his head. “No one likes getting caught. But, yeah, he did say something – nothing that made sense, though. Just along the lines of, ‘Yeah, I did that, but…’ —so he did own up, and was probably only about to justify it somehow.”
“Hmm.” Sirius’s frown deepened, but he didn’t press further.
“Now it’s only a matter of rounding the rest of them up,” said Peter gleefully. “Can’t wait for Hogwarts to be a safe place again.”
“It still is, as long as Dumbledore’s about,” James chuckled. “But anyway, were there Aurors, Moony, did you see? Only, confessions obtained under Veritaserum aren’t actually, erm— what’s it called— admissible evidence? To the Ministry, y’know… even if it would be enough to send someone packing at Hogwarts…”
“How come?” Peter blinked.
“You can dodge the effects if yer clever enough,” James shrugged. “Or if you’re dabbling in Legilimency and Occlumency and that, which is probably how Snivellus got out of this untouched.”
“Didn’t see Aurors, but I’ll bet galleons some were waiting outside,” said Remus. “That lot will have to be taken in for questioning, at the very least.”
“…D’you reckon it’s the smart decision, though? Expelling them?” Sirius murmured abruptly.
When James looked, he found Sirius staring at the rug beneath them, lost in thought. He’d braced most of his weight on his hands, which were stretched out a little ways behind himself.
“The more I think about it, the more I…” Sirius trailed off. “I mean, at Hogwarts, there’re like… tempering influences, right? Reasonable people. Teachers, mates, siblings, and all. But once they get expelled, they’re just going to go back to their echo chambers. Families that’ll spew nothing but propaganda and… houses chock-full of dark magic…”
James blinked. He and Remus exchanged a look of surprise.
“You, feeling sorry for the Slytherins, Pads?” James marvelled. “That’s quite the change of tune.”
“It’s not that.” Sirius gave a half-scoffing breath. “Only… here, they’ve got just a chance of joining up with the Death Eaters. Send them home, and then what? You know? It might just become a guarantee.”
“Hmm, regardless, they wouldn’t have had any other choice,” said Remus fairly. “Using an Unforgiveable Curse? Something’s got to be done at that point – else most parents would start pulling their children out of the school.”
“Yeah,” Sirius hummed. “Yeah, suppose so…”
Remus leaned over and gave Sirius a peck on the cheek, making Sirius smile, and easing some of the tension on his face. James relaxed; it didn’t look as though they’d have to contend with an episode, then.
“Enough about that lot,” he declared, wanting to change the subject, “What’re we doing for Hogsmeade this weekend? It’s the last before we’ll have to knuckle down for exams – better make it count.”
Pete rubbed his hands together and leaned forward, and soon enough they were far too busy making plans to think about the Slytherins anymore.
The weather that Saturday was perfect. The sky had managed one last flurry of snowfall – just enough to dust Hogsmeade white without lingering long enough to spoil anyone’s plans. Now, the sun shone across this fresh slate, making for a truly mesmerising scene. Lily wasn’t sure whether her chipper mood was thanks to that or the simple fact that all tension had dissolved between her and her girls, making for a thoroughly pleasant trip thus far.
Mary – sweet-natured angel that she was – had been so apologetic about having lost her temper like that (no matter how much Lily insisted it’d been warranted) that the two of them had spent the entire week locked in a battle of excessive politeness, each trying to outdo the other in niceties.
Naturally, Marlene had taken the piss out of them, restoring everything to a more reasonable status quo.
Marlene herself, always the most laidback of the three, had bounced back as if nothing had ever happened. And Lily, simply relieved to have her friends back to normal, was far too grateful to be anything less than elated all day.
So the trio was, currently, wandering leisurely through the cobbled streets of the village – chatting and taking in the picturesque snow, having finished their shopping and now on the lookout for somewhere to eat. Accompanying them was Reginald Cattermole, who had been waiting rather nervously for Mary back at the Entrance Hall before managing to stammer out a request to walk with them, an offer that’d been met with an equally stammered acceptance from Mary. And Adrian, almost always at Reginald’s side anyway, who was walking a few steps ahead of the group, quietly absorbed in taking pictures with an old-looking camera.
As they wandered further along the high street, the conversation meandered through the usual subjects – the latest essays they’d suffered through; whether or not the prices at the shops had been reasonable; upcoming exams; if they ought to stop for a butterbeer now or wait until they’d found somewhere proper to eat.
Adrian – still in front of the rest of them, but walking backward so he wasn’t quite apart – kept pausing to take pictures, occasionally offering commentary about the “composition” of the village scenery. Like he always did: giving the impression he was observing the world from a lofty artistic distance rather than actually being a part of it.
“Well, I reckon a decent film director might help, too,” Marlene remarked, when he started on about light and shadow making even the most mundane street look cinematic.
Adrian lowered his camera just enough to glance back at her. “That’s exactly the problem, isn’t it? People think it’s all about directors, but real art – real cinema, is born in the frame before the film even rolls.”
Mary, hands stuffed in her pockets, gave a soft, uncertain laugh. “I suppose that’s why you’re always taking photos?”
“Exactly,” Adrian said, clearly pleased to be given an opening. “It’s about capturing something ephemeral. A moment. A feeling. The way someone exists in the world before they realise they’re being seen.”
Lily, mid-step, barely had time to register the statement before he turned the camera on her for the millionth time that afternoon. It didn’t really bother her as much as she’d thought it would – she was less self-conscious in front of the lens than she’d assumed she’d be, that is – but all the same, it made for something of a spectacle, so she opened her mouth to ask him to stop; Mar got there first, however.
Marlene narrowed her eyes: “Y’ken, mate, there’s other people here. Or is Lily the only lass worth capturin’?”
Reginald, comfortable enough to be bolder, by now, waved his hand in front of the lens, making everybody laugh. Adrian didn’t miss a beat, however. He scoffed, adjusting the camera with his typical affected nonchalance:
“It’s not about Lily, per se,” he said airily, “It’s about symmetry – what I was saying, composition. She’s got one of those faces… timeless, like the actresses from Hollywood’s golden age. Soft, yet striking. The sort of beauty that tells a story in just a look. The sort—”
He stopped abruptly – as though realising he’d gotten a bit carried away. (Merlin forbid he display authenticity.) With a sharp cough, he straightened, then added – “Just an observation. Nothing personal.”
Lily flicked a glance toward Mary, who met her gaze with a knowing look— then gave the smallest of nods. An encouragement.
Suppressing a smile, Lily nodded back.
She deliberately fell into step with Adrian, forcing him to lower the camera now that her proximity rendered its view useless. “Adrian,” she half-whispered, “Could I have a word?”
“’Course,” he said, and it was obvious in his voice that he was trying to maintain that typical dismissive, almost bored tone of his, but a sliver of surprise managed to leak through nonetheless.
Mary, for her part, had steered the rest of the group ahead, giving the pair their privacy.
Adrian slowed his pace, and as he could no longer point his camera at anything, he seemed to settle for fiddling with it instead – twisting bits and bobs that Lily couldn’t identify. She cleared her throat. The others were out of earshot by now, so she began: “You know… when you say things like that… and, I’m sure I’m only being silly… but it does rather sound a bit like flirting. A bit like you might fancy me?”
The only indication of surprise Adrian gave was fumbling fingers almost dropping his camera; he recovered quickly, however, letting out a quiet scoff, and shoving a hand into his robes pocket.
“Fancy you… hmm, well, you know I don’t subscribe to that traditionalist nonsense… monogamy… possession… the institution of marriage… but I’ll not deny, if given the—”
Lily held up a hand, amused. “I know,” she said, even though she couldn’t help the indulgence in her voice, aware this was all put on, but willing to play along. “I know you’re, er, above all that, truly. But, all the same, I’d… rather be upfront. Because we’ve been on dates before, whether or not you’d call them that, and I wouldn’t want to string y—anyone along, or anything.”
Adrian clucked his tongue, feigning exasperation, although he wouldn’t meet Lily’s eyes. “You really think I’d be so tragically attached to convention that I’d be wounded by… this… not going any further?”
Lily smiled, unruffled. “No, no, of course not,” she insisted, as sombrely as she could manage. “In fact, I hope you find the beatnik girl of your dreams, Adrian – I sincerely do. Someone with a bookshelf full of poetry, your… interesting… taste in music, and an equal disdain for, er, conformity. All of it.”
His mouth twitched like he was about to interject, but she went on before he could, in a tone that was deliberately self-effacing.
“But as for me, I’m tragically common, Adrian, I really am. We’re not compatible. If I do start seeing anyone, it’ll probably be some— boring bloke, with, er… boringly conventional looks, and…” She had to bite around a soft smile. “Y’know, the sort that gets top marks and plays a sport and then we’d be married with two children and all of it. That sort of, erm… textbook sort of thing I reckon you’d despise.” (She waved a hand vaguely to encompass the dreary predictability of it all.)
Adrian made a show of grimacing. “Lily, honestly, I think you could do better than that.”
She bit back a laugh. “But, you see— I don’t want to.”
That made him fall silent for a minute. He kicked at rocks as he kept his face (which had gone a bit flushed) downturned.
“Well,” he picked up, with great reluctance, “If you insist on choosing the pedestrian route, I suppose it’s your loss.”
“I suppose it is,” Lily agreed easily, lips twitching. “But, even if I do go and resign myself to my, er, tragically mundane fate, I’ve had loads of fun with you, and I appreciate you putting up with me despite the fact that things… haven’t been as reciprocal as they ought to have been given I hadn’t made this clearer when I should have, and— well, and I hope we can still be good mates.”
Adrian hesitated, glancing at her sidelong. The bravado melted, if slightly.
“…Yeah,” he said at last. “Yeah. Cool.”
Lily gave him a small, warm smile, then glanced ahead, where Mary and the others had carried on, giving them space. Without another word, she nudged Adrian’s arm, and they picked up their pace to catch up.
Something half-conscious nudged at James to turn, when the door to the Three Broomsticks creaked open yet again, and so he did; sure enough, Lily sauntered in, accompanied by her friends. How pretty, James thought as he watched her take her cloak off: she was wearing Muggle clothes underneath, a fluffy, fur coat and a beaded top that caught the light whenever she moved; it made her sparkle. Flared trousers and shoes with clunky-looking heels rounded out the ensemble— James realised he was looking her over head to toe at this point, and forced himself to stop, though it was a bit too late— Sirius had caught James’s attention wandering, and glanced over his own shoulder to see what James was staring at.
Turning forward again, Sirius sighed exasperatedly. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake, he’s gone Lily-silly again. Might as well pack this up, then.” (Gesturing at their scraps of paper and parchment; they’d been planning some fine-tuning for the map while they ate.)
James frowned around the mouth of his butterbeer-bottle. “Why’s that?”
“Well, you’re calling her over, aren’t you?” Remus blinked. “Is what Padfoot meant, anyway.”
“Yeah.” Sirius rolled his eyes.
James obliged with an artificial chuckle. He set his bottle down on the table, then used his now-free hand to stop Sirius putting their things away. “I’m not. Why would I? C’mon, let’s keep—”
“Beginning of the year and you’d have thrown a fit about that, Pads,” Pete agreed, audibly miffed for whatever reason. “Why’ve you changed your tune? Accommodating them all of a sudden.”
Sirius shrugged, something supercilious in his expression as he fought James’s grip – resuming packing up. “She cares about Prongs a fair bit. A… sufficient bit. I’ll grant her that. Though all the same, she doesn’t adore him, and I reserve my right to hold that against her as well. Anyway, where to, Moony? Let’s you, me, and Wormtail—”
“Okay, would you stop, she’s got her own mates to knock about with,” James sighed – a little amused, a little bittersweet. “If she wants to come and sit with us, she will… and I’d rather you be here if she does, or it’d give the wrong idea.” And set me up for disappointment again, James mentally added, too ashamed to voice it.
“‘Adore him?’” Remus was stuck on, meanwhile, squinting at his boyfriend in bemused judgement.
James barely got a chance to contribute; a shadow hovered over their table, and he turned – Lily really was approaching. Her own little group had found seats closer to the bar, but she seemed to have only taken a temporary detour – she’d left her purse and things with them.
Mildly confused, James nevertheless sent her a winsome smile. “Hiya,” he raised three fingers in salute.
“You alright?” Lily smiled back – although her eyes only lingered on James for the briefest second, before they flicked around the table, like she was intent on greeting the others first. If James didn’t know better, he’d have called the gesture self-conscious: Lily avoiding his eyes on purpose, something along those lines. Lily was rarely ever that, however, so he doubted it…
Remus had scooted his chair sideways, making space for Lily to pull one up for herself: “Are y—?”
“Oh, no, no, I’m not staying,” Lily waved two abortive hands. Her eyes braved James’s at last, baffling him with the uncharacteristic, nervous quality in them.
“Erm, James—?”
She stopped herself, however. James followed her line of sight – flicking about their corner as if assessing the level of privacy, or lack thereof, there – and he understood, all of a sudden, that she’d meant to ask him if she could have a word, but wouldn’t really be able to find somewhere to do so. Not here, anyway.
Remus and Sirius had caught on as well, it would seem, because James noticed Remus opening his mouth, half out of his seat like he’d been about to offer to leave. Sirius stopped him however – yanking him down by the jumper with a pointed, almost stubborn look.
James felt absurdly grateful for the way that Sirius tended to be able to pick up on what James wanted without words. He gave Lily a neutral smile: “Yeah?”
Evidently, she’d given up, decided the Marauders would have to play the inadvertent audience. “Listen, erm… have you lot got anything important planned after this? Because if not, I’d… I’d like to have a chat, if that’s alright, James. I thought— maybe that bench by the lake? Near the far side – the one past the boathouse?”
James’s heart gave a helpless, painful twinge, as he watched her toy with the end of her auburn hair, half glancing at James, and half at the floor. She meant alone, it was clear – him and her, by the lake, on their own…
His stomach twisted, and he had to look away, pause to clear his throat. “Just us?” he confirmed.
She nodded, colouring somewhat.
All at once, James was a storm-tossed sea on the inside. Churning so roughly he thought he might be sick. He pushed his glasses further up along his nose, his smile falling. “To have a chat, eh – what about?” he managed to ask evenly. “Because if it’s to do with some other plot you’ve uncovered… with Vaughn or Snape… it’d probably be more expedient if we all—”
“No, it’s not… it’s not that,” Lily cut him off, rather hastily; of course James had guessed it wasn’t, but he couldn’t help clinging to the hope. Now his heart swelled painfully against its cage.
“…Ah.” He tousled his hair quickly, restlessly. “What, erm, what is it, then?”
When he glanced up, Lily had gone properly scarlet – with discomfort as much as bashfulness, he could tell. Maybe it was mean of him, to leave her with no choice but to say whatever it was in front of the others, but he didn’t think he could have endured it, otherwise. In this, he was a bit of a coward.
Remus was giving him the most teacher-esque, chiding look James had ever gotten out of him; Pete seemed lost; Sirius – ever the faithful hound he was at his core, no matter how dubious his “master’s” choices – sat firm, calmly sipping his butterbeer without glancing up at either of them.
Lily exhaled slowly. “Potions,” she said at last.
“Potions,” James echoed, feeling stupid.
Lily nodded. One of her hands shoved into her coat-pocket, the other fidgeted with the little golden zipper, pulling it up and down, up and down. “Yes, Potions,” she murmured, avoiding James’s gaze yet again. “It’s… almost exams. There’ll be practicals, a-and, y’know, there’s bits you could do with a refresher on. If you’ll remember.”
James could only nod as well. Merlin, how could he have even thought that he’d be able to outsmart her? He deflated against his chair, chin on his hand as he racked his brains for where it was he’d misstepped this time. Probably Monday night, when she’d slept over in their dorm, he suspected… staying by Lily’s bedside like that…
“If you’re talking about… how we… can’t just add ingredients that individually produce the right end effect, without considering how, or if, they’d mix…” James mumbled, tapping his jaw with his fingers, “You, you don’t have to bother. Really. I’ve got that bit, and, erm… I’ll stop.” Just don’t take me aside to ask me to. Please.
But the look on Lily’s face said he’d misjudged entirely. Her bright-green eyes had gone round; she was staring.
Her cheeks were still tinged pink.
Utterly confused, now, James felt his own face warm. “No… no, that’s not the part I meant,” Lily said, and her expression had inexplicably softened quite a bit. “Actually, I— I thought we ought to— at some point—” (Both hands found her pockets now.) “We really need to touch on the, the other side, of that equation, as well. Y’know, the fact that… some things just… react. No matter what you want… o-or think you want. Some ingredients… when they come into contact… there’s no stopping the… chemistry. No use trying to fight it.”
She wet her lips, exhaling sharp, seemingly fortifying herself. “And it’s just daft to try and work around that, or slow it down, or pretend it’s not happening. The, erm, the natural process… that wins.”
“The natural process,” James repeated helplessly. He couldn’t cobble together a mask of joviality at all; he was fairly pleading when he ventured, “And you… resent that?”
“I don’t. I don’t.” Lily’s eyes seemed equally wretched. “But I’d like to talk about it. If you’ve got the time to spare.”
James sucked in a sharp breath. He opened his mouth; closed it again. Passed a hand over his face, gave a helpless little laugh under his breath. “By Merlin, you’re fond of talking about things, aren’t you…”
“Well, someone’s got to be,” Lily smiled, too, blushing deeper. “Can’t all of us tramp through life with the blind faith that it all sorts itself out in the end. That only works for lordly types, such as yerself.”
James let out a breathy chuckle. “Ouch, Evans, ouch.” He ran a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to keep himself from grinning too broadly. “…I’d say it sounds like you’re the one in dire need of that Potions lesson, though. Pretty sure I’ve already discovered that principle.”
The corners of Lily’s lips twitched upward, though there was something touched with melancholy in her eyes – something close to apologetic. “…Maybe you can help me wrap my head around it, then,” she murmured. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, then nodded back toward her own table. “I’m still with the girls at the minute, but— if you are free, later, I’d love it if you could stop by that bench. Say, at three?”
James felt something warm and restless unspool in his chest. “Three. Okay,” he answered, hardly above a whisper.
Lily nodded. Her eyes flicked down for a fraction of a second, before they met his again. “Okay,” she echoed. And then – clearly overwhelmed by her own nerves – she turned on her heel a bit too quickly, and nearly collided with a pub elf balancing a tray of butterbeer.
“Whoa!” James instinctively shot out both hands to steady her, catching her by the wrists.
Inevitably, his grip slid downward, and found her hands instead.
Lily startled. She glanced up at him with alarmed, wide eyes— then down at their hands, clasped firmly together.
James barely heard the elf huff, then bustle away. All he knew was that Lily’s fingers curled just slightly against his own, that her breath had hitched, and that the two of them – both red, both flustered – couldn’t seem to let go straight away.
It was Lily who eventually laughed first, breathless, and James found himself mirroring her without really meaning to. “Right,” she said, softly, pulling her hands away at last; though not before they gave his a light squeeze. “I’ll see you later, then? James?”
“…Yeah,” James managed, still feeling like he hadn’t quite come back down to earth yet. “Lily…”
“Have a good one, guys.” With one last glance at them, Lily turned and started toward her friends – leaving James sitting there, heart hammering frantically.
He inhaled sharply, feeling dazed, and finally turned back toward the table— only to find Sirius and Remus grinning at him, like a pair of Kneazles who’d just cornered a particularly slow mouse. Peter, meanwhile, was frowning slightly, his butterbeer halfway to his mouth like he’d forgotten it was even there – clearly trying to piece together whatever had just transpired.
James, determined not to let them see how giddy he actually felt, grabbed his own butterbeer and took a long, deliberate gulp, as if the frothy drink might drown out the buzzing underneath his skin.
Of course, Sirius was having none of it. He leaned forward, elbow on the table, as he watched James over the rim of his tankard with unrestrained amusement: “So much for ‘giving the wrong idea,’ eh?” he drawled.
James coughed pointedly into his drink, but it did absolutely nothing to hide the colour rising in his cheeks. He made a grab for Sirius’s butterbeer instead, mostly to distract everyone, but Sirius snatched it back with an exaggerated tut, shoving James’s shoulder in retaliation.
“Lay off – don’t risk sloshing butterbeer all over him when he’s got a date,” Remus chided, though he was still smirking, even as he pulled Sirius away.
“Is it a date?” asked Peter, sounding lost, and James was glad someone had. Blimey, was it? He should have dressed up… might have to stop at the castle before meeting Lily…
“You look fine,” Remus assured him, anticipating his thoughts; with a teasing, crooked smile, he reached across and ruffled James’s hair. “Very dashing—”
“Yeah, we’d snog you,” Sirius joined in, equally playful.
James floundered to push Remus’s hand away. “That’s not saying anything, you’d snog me anyway, pair of—”
“Oi—”
“I’ve changed my mind, do splash him with every drink you’ve got, actually.”
The raucous laughter and ensuing scuffle helped James release that enormous, ballooning feeling in his chest, at least.
Three o’clock, Lily thought, watching James and the other Marauders muck about and shove each other and chortle loudly. She smiled to herself: “Sorry about that,” she addressed her table, “I just had a bit of business with—”
“I never meant ye couldnae talk tae anyone else, y’know,” Marlene snorted, visibly amused. “Ye dinnae need permission. Anyway, who’s up fer a round o’ Explodin’ Snap?”
She fished out some cards; Adrian leaned forward while she shuffled; Reginald snuck a tentative arm around the back of Mary’s chair, turning impressively red when Mary leaned against it.
Three o’clock, Lily thought…
Three o’clock. James glanced at the watch his father had given him for his birthday: one of Dad’s prized Muggle-made trinkets, a “Patek Philippe.” The gold case gleamed in the pale spring light and intricate engravings curled around the bezel like delicate filigree. Beneath the sapphire crystal, the deep blue enamel dial stood out with its elegant Roman numerals. Polished hands moved forward with effortless precision, testament to the master craftsmanship of a bygone era.
Three o’clock… not quite, but soon.
The cobbled streets of Hogsmeade were half-covered in snow, slush filling the gaps between uneven stones. The crisp air carried the scents of food, and the faintest hint of woodsmoke drifting lazily from the chimneys above. All four Marauders strolled on together, their footprints trailing behind them, already fading where the snow had started to turn into ice. They’d just left the pub – having polished off the last of their snacks – and it’d been James who’d urged them outside, pretending he needed some fresh air. Really he’d been putting off the moment he might spot Lily leaving first – presumably heading toward their meeting spot. The anticipation was already coiling tight in his chest, and the sight of her – undeniable proof that the moment had arrived – would have completely ruined what little composure he’d managed to hold onto.
Ahead, Remus walked with an easy slouch, one arm draped over Sirius’s shoulders. His fingers traced absentminded patterns into the thick wool of Sirius’s cloak; thoughtless little gestures that spoke of quiet intimacy. Sirius, for his part, leaned into it in that unguarded way he did when he thought no one was watching – like a plant turning instinctively toward the sun. Their footsteps fell into perfect sync.
Beside James, Pete walked with less ease, dragging his feet as though reluctant to keep pace. His boots scuffed against the slush, kicking up stray flecks of half-melted snow. He exhaled sharp – a restless huff of impatience – and nudged James’s shoulder, the boredom in it palpable.
James barely registered it. His fingers curled around the smooth weight of his watch, feeling the cool metal bite against his palm.
Soon.
“Oi, Prongs, you’re quiet,” Pete observed, squinting up at him. “Bit weird, that.”
It took James a moment to comprehend a word, his gaze still lingering on the dial of his watch. Three o’clock…
“Oi,” Peter repeated, more insistently this time.
James startled slightly, blinking at him. “What?”
Peter narrowed his eyes. “You’re off in your own world, mate.”
“Yeah, I reckon he’s not actually here at all,” said Sirius, snickering. “Poor blighter’s practically halfway to her already.”
Remus hummed in agreement. “I think you should just go, James. It’s painful watching you try to act like you’re interested in anything we’re saying.”
Sirius grinned. “True, we’re losing him by the second – off you trot, go be revolting somewhere else.”
“Rich coming from you two,” James huffed, aiming for indignant, but the barely-contained smile that twitched at his lips betrayed him. There was no point denying it.
He chuckled, shaking his head as he lifted a hand in farewell. “Alright, alright, I’m off,” he said, peeling away from them. “Try not to get up to any fun without me.”
Sirius clutched at his chest in mock devastation. “Oh, how will we ever cope?”
“Farewell, sweet prince,” Remus added solemnly.
James shot them a two-fingered salute, then turned on his heel, and started in the direction of the castle. His boots crunched over the compacted snow, and he exhaled just to watch his breath bloom into the cold air, curling just like smoke. Tried to ignore the way his stomach kept twisting itself into knots— he wasn’t… nervous, exactly— he’d spent time alone with Lily before, hadn’t he? Only, this rendezvous felt… different. Charged with a weighty something he didn’t dare examine too closely in case acknowledging it made him fumble it.
A little ahead the street curved back toward the castle, but instead of following the main path James impulsively veered left, slipping into a quieter lane. It was a shortcut, one he’d taken plenty of times before – this way would lead him past the Shrieking Shack, an area that always saw less footfall. Fewer people, fewer distractions, quicker to his destination.
He wasn’t expecting anyone else to be there.
Which was why he nearly barrelled straight into Severus Snape.
James rocked back on his heels. His hands instinctively raised to steady himself, though he abruptly dropped them again. Recognition dawned belatedly – Snape had been emerging from one of the public toilets, sallow face even more pinched than usual. He looked terrible: worse than ever, which was saying something. His complexion was pallid, his lank hair clung to his temples, and deep shadows ringed his eyes, making his already gaunt features look positively cadaverous.
An involuntary sneer curled at the corner of James’s mouth. He supposed it couldn’t be easy, what with one of Snape’s own cronies having been expelled – had to be putting a strain on the rest of that lot, to have lost one of their own.
Snape, recovering quickly, had already reached for his wand. His grip was visibly tight – white knuckles against worn wood. James recognised that posture – the rigid, coiled tension of someone bracing for a fight. It was a reflex, that assumption, but he supposed it was warranted.
Nevertheless, James sighed, rolling his eyes. “Oh, relax, Snivellus. I’m not in the mood to play with you today.”
It wasn’t even a lie. He really wasn’t interested, not anymore. He’d resolved to be above that, after all, and Lily might be waiting already.
Snape’s eyes flickered around – sharp and wary – as if he expected the rest of the Marauders to spring out from behind a snowbank, and hex him into next week. His wand stayed raised, grip unsteady but set, his stance tight with the sort of readiness that came from experience – every bit a cornered animal.
“What are you up to, Potter?” he demanded, something like fear in the tremor of his words.
James allowed a sigh, irritable with impatience. He folded his arms across his chest. “Merlin, not everything is about you, Snape,” he drawled. “I’m late, and you’re in my way.”
Snape’s lip curled, but he didn’t lower his wand. His gaze darted past James again, sweeping the empty street with barely concealed paranoia. It would have been funny… if it weren’t so terribly pathetic. “I’m just meant to believe you’re wandering about on your own?” Snape spat.
James scoffed. “Believe what you like. I couldn’t care less.”
And, for once, it was the truth. Hexing, pranking, or even insulting Snape wasn’t on James’s mind – not even in passing. It didn’t seem worth the time or the energy. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered a flicker of wonder at that. Had Lily taken all the fun out of messing with her old friend? Or was it an actual shift within himself – James having lost his appetite for it?
Whichever, it didn’t matter. In just a few minutes, he’d be facing Lily, and James wanted to do it with his conscience clear.
So he walked away. Five years ago – hell, even one year ago – he wouldn’t have let a moment like this pass, without making a thing of it. A remark, a smirk, something. But he could be better than that now. He was better than that now.
The thought made him smile. Rolling his shoulders back, he continued down the path. Satisfaction settled warm in his chest as he thought of Lily: of seeing her and proving, to the both of them, that he could change.
And then.
A sharp hiss cutting through the cold air.
“Sectumsempra!”
White-hot pain tearing across his back.
At first, James couldn’t understand what had happened. One moment, he was just walking— triumphant in his own restraint— and the next—
Agony.
Blinding, searing pain tore through him. His knees buckled before he could stop them, and he hit the ground hard. The impact knocked the air from his lungs in a ragged gasp. The cold bit at his palms, where they slapped against the snow, but it was nothing compared to the fire ripping through his back. He barely registered the sting of ice – his mind drowning in the sharp, unbearable sensation radiating outward from his spine. Distantly, the sound of retreating footsteps reached him— Snape, running— running away—
James sucked in a breath, but it came thin – wheezing – his chest straining to pull in air. His whole body felt wrong – like something vital had been split open – because it had. He shifted barely, and fresh agony lanced through him, sharp enough to draw a strangled noise from his throat. Warmth pooled along his skin, spreading outward, sticky and thick: blood.
He forced his head up, vision swimming, and blinked down at the snow beneath him.
It wasn’t white anymore.
Red.
A stark, violent red, blooming in jagged streaks where it spilt from his wounds, cutting through the pristine frost, like ink bleeding into parchment. The sight of it burnt into his mind – more real, somehow, than even the pain itself.
He was bleeding.
A lot.
His heart slammed against his ribs – panic clawing up his throat. He tried to push himself up – but his arms trembled violently, his strength slipping away faster than he could’ve anticipated. The cold beneath his palms felt distant, secondary to the raw, searing pain tearing through him. He needed help – now.
Through the haze, a memory surfaced: the staccato of Professor Bordastrega’s distinct accent. Patronuses. Something about a fully corporeal Patronus moving independently of its caster.
James fumbled for his wand, fingers numb, sluggish, barely responding. His breath came in short, shallow gasps as he forced his wrist to lift, the motion unsteady.
“Expecto… Patronum…”
The syllables came out strangled, barely audible, but his wand sparked to life all the same. Silvery mist curled and coalesced, swirling together until—
There. The stag.
James exhaled shakily. His chest hitched as he took in the sight of it standing above him: antlers proud, body luminous against the snow, steady and unwavering where James was failing.
Find help, he pleaded silently, desperation tightening his chest. He didn’t know if it could understand. He only knew that it had to.
As his vision swam, the silvery stag turned, then bounded away into the cold.
James barely managed a breath of relief before the world tilted—
And then, nothing.
Three-thirty.
Lily stared at her watch, those numbers standing out against the dimming light. A frown tugged at her lips: James wasn’t the most punctual person in the world, she knew that well enough, but, half an hour late? That wasn’t just forgetfulness. That’d be something else. And yet, what? What reason could he possibly have? If he’d… changed his mind, about meeting her, he would have told her so, to her face. That was who he was. James Potter didn’t play games – in general, but especially not with her.
Or had she been stood up? Retaliation for having been so indecisive all year? She couldn’t square that, either. James was a lot of things, but never petty. If he resented her, he’d say so plainly.
The chill off the lake bit through her cloak, and she tucked her hands into her sleeves, exhaling slowly. The water beside her stretched – dark and restless, a silver-tinged surface shifting under the breeze. Across the far bank, the trees stood scratching at the overcast sky, still bare and skeletal despite it being well into spring. To her left, the lantern-lit path sloped toward Hogsmeade, where tiny figures moved in the distance, bundled against the descending chill; to her right, Hogwarts loomed, with its golden-lit windows, a fortress against the encroaching twilight.
But in front of her – where James should have been – there was nothing but empty space.
She felt her jaw tense. Maybe there had been a misunderstanding. Maybe he thought they were meeting somewhere else, closer to the castle or nearer the station. It wouldn’t be the first time James had gotten distracted and muddled the details of a plan. But a half-hour delay, though. Even for him, that was a stretch.
With a quiet sigh, she turned on her heel, boots crunching against the frosted ground as she retraced her steps along the path, some vague idea of finding him in mind. The further she walked, however, the more she became aware of something having shifted in the atmosphere. It was subtle, at first: a low hum of voices, the quick shuffle of feet against stone. Then, as she rounded a bend, the murmur swelled into something more.
A current of movement ran through the students ahead, a scattered but deliberate rush toward something just out of Lily’s sight. Her steps slowed, a prickle of unease creeping up her spine as her frown deepened. Whatever was going on, it was drawing— had drawn a crowd. For a moment, she forgot James entirely. She picked up her pace, weaving between the other students, her heartbeat quickening.
The rational part of her mind tried to insist that this could be anything – somebody slipping on the snow-dusted streets, a nasty broom-related injury, a spell gone wrong – but another part, the part that had learnt to brace itself over the past year, whispered something else. Something worse.
She doubled her speed. Her eyes darted across the gathering throng in search of any clue as to what had happened. Please, not them, she thought fiercely, instinctively glancing skyward, half-expecting to see the Dark Mark hovering above, just like those dreaded photographs in the Prophet. Not Death Eaters. Not here.
She was re-entering the village, by now, and the source of the commotion finally became clear. The square was thick with people, their faces turned toward something she couldn’t quite see. A flash of colour caught her eye – emerald green and stark white, the unmistakeable palette of an emergency taxi – St Mungo’s taxis.
Her breath hitched. An accident, then? It had to be an accident.
But then—
“Move! Just let me— please!” Sirius’s voice. Lily’s head snapped up. Through the shifting bodies she caught a glimpse of him: wild-eyed, struggling against the arms that held him back. His face was pale, his usual insouciance nowhere to be found.
Beyond him, standing rigid and sharp-eyed in the cold air – “Everyone, enough! Back up this instant!” – Professor McGonagall’s voice rang out, commanding and urgent all at once.
Lily’s blood ran cold. A Hogwarts student. It had to be. Something had happened to one of them.
She was running before she even realised it.
Her eyes darted frantically across the crowd, searching— until she caught familiar faces. Remus and Peter stood, slightly apart from the throng, half-hidden by the growing crowd around them. For a split second, relief surged through her – they’re there, they’re alright – but then she saw their hands.
Her breath hitched.
Dark red streaked Remus’s fingers, smeared across his palms, like he’d been trying to rub them clean. Pete’s robes were worse – splattered, stained, as if someone had grabbed onto him with bloodied hands, and left their mark.
Lily skidded to a halt. Horror coiled tight in her chest. “Wh—?” The sound barely made it past her lips; she was moving again, feet carrying her forward before she’d even made the decision to.
“What’s happened? Why’s there blood?” she demanded. Neither boy looked injured – not their own blood, then – but neither answered her, either. At the sound of her voice, they turned toward her, but Peter only shook his head. His lower lip trembled like he was on the verge of falling apart completely. The tear-tracks along his face glistened faintly in the fast-dimming light. His small, round shoulders hunched inward, like he wanted to disappear into himself.
Remus’s hands twitched at his sides, trembling like mad. His face was set in a grim mask, but his eyes – haunted, hollow, wrong – told Lily everything.
Her stomach twisted violently. Sirius’s voice still cut through the din, ragged and desperate, somewhere beyond the crowd. She swallowed hard, forcing down the panic clawing at her throat.
“What’s happened?” she echoed, even sharper now, but the words felt useless. The sheer, hollow horror on Remus’s and Peter’s faces said they’d been rendered mute— with shell-shock.
Her head snapped toward the sound of Sirius’s struggle instead. Through the crowd, she caught sight of him – frantically thrashing against the hands holding him back. He was covered in blood, as well. Streaked across his arms, his chest, soaking the front of his robes in deep crimson.
But he wasn’t trying to wipe it away. He wasn’t trying to steady himself. He was fighting, his entire body straining toward—
The stretcher.
Lily’s heart slammed against her ribs. Someone lay unmoving on a stretcher.
A deafening rush filled her ears as her gaze snapped downward: dark, untidy hair matted with blood; robes she knew too well stained a terrible red; that jovial face slack and motionless—
The ground tilted beneath her.
James. Her James.
She couldn’t breathe.
A violent, gasping breath tore from her chest as she lurched forward. She had to reach him— had to— but before she could take more than a few steps, hands clamped around her, halting her entirely.
Remus. His grip wasn’t strong – he was shaking too much for that – but there was something in the way he held her, something absent, almost lost, that stopped her regardless.
“That’s James!” she snapped, twisting to face him. Her vision swam, the edges tinged red, panic threatening to spill over into something uncontrollable. “What— what’s going on? Who did this?”
Remus swallowed hard, his throat working convulsively. For a moment, he seemed unable to speak. His pained eyes darted to Peter, as though hoping Pete might find the words instead.
“We— we don’t know,” Remus managed at last, hoarse and uncertain. “His Patronus—”
“His Patronus?” Lily echoed, momentarily thrown.
Peter nodded quickly, wringing his hands. His face was ashen, his expression teetering between terror and nausea. “It— it found us. Just— just appeared out of nowhere and started circling us, wouldn’t leave us alone until we followed it.”
Lily’s blood turned to ice.
“When we did,” Peter continued, his voice breaking, “W-We found him. In the snow. He— he was bleeding, Lily, there was so much blood—”
A choked sound escaped Sirius as he was finally shoved back toward them, the people restraining him relenting, now that the stretcher was moving away. He stumbled, then caught himself. His chest rose and feel in deep, unsteady breaths. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his whole body vibrating with barely restrained energy – like a storm trapped in too small a space.
Lily turned to him immediately. “Sirius! What’s—!?”
“We— we sounded the alarm— got the teachers—” Remus was still saying, but Sirius’s voice cut through, high, near-hysterical. He dragged a quivering hand through his already dishevelled hair, leaving a smear of blood across his forehead:
“We couldn’t— we couldn’t stop it, Lily, we just—” His voice cracked. He sucked in a sharp breath, “They’re taking him to St Mungo’s— he’s got to be alright, he— he’s got to—”
Lily barely heard him. Her mind was spinning, stuck on the image of James in the snow, on the sheer impossibility of it. “But… but what could’ve happened?” Even the question felt stupid.
“Dark magic,” Sirius spat; the grief in his tone had twisted into something sharper, furious. “Had to be— there’s no way—”
“Enough, Mr Black,” came a strident voice; Lily twisted around, finding Professor McGonagall nearby, now, her eyes severe, her lips pressed into a thin line. “What we will not do is spread panic before we have all the facts,” she said firmly, pointed gaze sweeping over them all. “Those injuries could have easily been claws.”
“Claws?” Sirius repeated, incredulous.
McGonagall nodded once, briskly. “Mr Potter was found close to the Shrieking Shack. That’s not far from the Forbidden Forest—”
“He wasn’t in the bloody forest!” Sirius snapped, evidently too harried to care that he was speaking to a professor. “You didn’t see him—”
“Still, until we have confirmation, we cannot assume the worst,” McGonagall cut across him, her tone brooking no argument.
Sirius fell silent. His jaw clenched hard enough that Lily thought his teeth might clack.
McGonagall exhaled, visibly composing herself. “…We will, however, need to do something about students wandering that area…” she muttered, more to herself than to them. Then, briskly, she added, “I will be accompanying Mr Potter to St Mungo’s. His parents have been notified, and they will meet us there.” She turned her gaze to Lily, Sirius, Remus, and Peter – each, in turn – her expression softening just slightly. “There’s nothing more you can do at this time. Try not to worry.”
Try not to worry? The words rang hollow. Lily swallowed hard. Her gaze flickered back to the stretcher as the emergency taxi’s doors were currently being wrenched open. As James was being carefully levitated inside, and she caught a clearer glimpse of his injuries— the way the fabric of his cloak had been torn clean through, his back slashed open in jagged streaks. Thick bandages had already been wrapped around him, stark white where they hadn’t yet been stained reddish. Smaller cuts peeked out from the edges of the wrappings, tiny glimpses of raw, ruined skin.
The sight made her feel faint.
It really did look like claws.
She couldn’t turn away. It felt like if she did – if she so much as blinked – he might vanish entirely.
The sharp clatter of hooves rang out against the cobblestone as the taxi’s invisible Thestrals pawed at the ground, ready to take flight. The mediwizards exchanged final words with McGonagall, then climbed into the carriage, closing the doors with a resounding snap. An instant later, the taxi lurched forward. Its wheels lifted off the ground and it sped into the cold, disappearing beyond the rooftops of Hogsmeade.
Silence descended over everyone, in its wake.
Lily felt frozen in place, her limbs stiff, her breath caught somewhere between her chest and her throat. James was gone. He was gone, and she had no idea if he would be alright, if she would ever—
Beside her, Sirius suddenly let out a sharp exhale, raking a trembling hand through his hair once more. He looked frenzied, like a caged animal – all twitching muscles and barely contained fury. Peter stood motionless, with wide, frightened eyes still fixed on the spot where that taxi had vanished. And Remus— poor Remus was staring down at his hands, at fingers still stained dark with dried blood…
No one spoke. Hogsmeade carried on around them – students whispering, lanterns flickering, the distant sounds of a world still moving – but not for them. For them, the night had stopped.
James was gone.
And none of them knew quite what to do.
Notes:
Mentioning the Dark Mark here made me remember: I made an error in the previous instalment, when Sirius implied that he’d seen Lucius’s Dark Mark. The Death Eaters having it tattooed was never public knowledge, canonically. Let’s just retroactively say that Sirius meant he’d seen Lucius cast it, I guess.
Chapter 22
Notes:
Your attention is a gift, and I appreciate it more than I can ever express. Thank you for being a part of this!
YAY WOO IT’S JILY TIME YAY WOO
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
In a touching display of solidarity – one that would have warmed Lily’s heart, if the circumstances hadn’t been so dire – the other Gryffindors gave the sixth-years exclusive use of the common room as soon as they returned to the castle. It ensured both their privacy and, more importantly, quicker access to the Floo-connected fireplace. Sirius sat glued to the andirons, staring fixedly at the flames as though he could conjure up Mr or Mrs Potter’s heads in it if he kept at it intensely enough. Not that Lily could talk; she’d sunken into the closest armchair herself, at a complete loss for what else to do. Peter was huddled up against the wall – knees drawn to his chest, looking haunted – and Remus had been pacing the length of the carpet, a moment ago, but then he’d hissed, “I’m going to be sick,” and disappeared up the stairs to their dorm.
On the sofa nearby, Mary sat with her legs pulled up, arms draped loosely around them. Every so often, her fingers twitched as if longing to grasp something with them – her wand, probably – and next to her, Marlene rubbed slow, steady circles into her back, though her own expression was pinched with worry.
The only sounds were the occasional crackle of the fire and the rustling of fabric as someone or the other shifted. The weight of it – the waiting, the helplessness – threatened to smother them all.
Then, without warning, the portrait door burst open, slamming against the stone with enough force to make Lily flinch violently. Her head knocked against the cushion behind her.
She turned— to see Maeve rushing in, curls slipping free from their high ponytail with her urgency. Behind her, Bonnie and Sania followed, their faces equally pale, wide-eyed.
“We heard what happened,” said Maeve breathlessly. Anxious dark eyes swept over them all.
Lily barely registered Peter proceeding to explain it all yet again. She didn’t need to hear it anymore – the story had already carved itself into her mind, playing on an infinite loop as if repetition might somehow undo reality. But it didn’t – James was still in the hospital. She still didn’t know how bad it was. And beneath everything else, curling through her like a sickness, was the guilt.
A shift in her peripheral vision made her glance up. Sania. Watching her. There was no… outright accusation in her eyes, per se, but something about the way her lips pressed together, and the cool, assessing gaze she fixed on Lily, made Lily’s stomach twist.
She couldn’t bear it. She pushed herself up from the chair and crossed the room in three quick strides. Sania’s stare never wavered.
“I—” Lily began, but Sania cut her off before she could form the words.
“Instead of apologising, Lily, be honest with me for once.” Sania audibly huffed, and folded her arms. “What would it mean to you? If something happened to him?”
Lily’s breath caught. The question hit her like a blow, knocking the air from her lungs. Her mind skidded away from the thought, from the possibility, but it was too late. The mere suggestion of James not pulling through – of losing him before she’d even sorted out what he really meant to her – was like a vice snapping shut around her chest.
Her face crumpled. A sharp, shuddering exhale broke free before she could swallow it down. She clapped a hand over her mouth, squeezing her eyes shut, but the stinging came anyway.
Sania’s expression faltered. Her arms dropped to her sides, fingers twitching, as though resisting the urge to reach out. She swallowed, and there was something like regret, in her face – “Why didn’t you just say so from the start?” she sighed, though much quieter now, laced with exasperation. “I asked you outright, Lily. I asked you.”
Lily sucked in a shaky breath and wiped at her eyes with her sleeve. “I was just—” She broke off with a strangled noise, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth until she could trust herself to speak again. “I was just so confused. And now I might not— even have a chance to make it right—”
Sania gave a soft, disbelieving huff. “…You daft ninny,” she muttered, but the words carried no real bite. A moment’s hesitation, then she reached for Lily and pulled her into a firm, one-armed embrace. Lily clung to her without hesitation, knuckles pressing into the thick knit of Sania’s jumper as she tried to swallow the last of her sniffles.
After a minute, Sania eased back and tucked a stray lock of Lily’s hair behind her ear, as if that might somehow make things better. “…Come on,” she said briskly, steering Lily back toward the fire. “Has anyone heard anything yet?”
Sirius, still crouched by the hearth, didn’t even glance up. “No,” he said; flat, devoid of anything but quiet exhaustion.
Marlene, who’d been silent until now, shifted on the sofa, tucking her legs beneath herself. “Listen,” she said, as calm as it was firm, “I know it’s awful, waitin’, but it’s jist how St Mungo’s does it. These things take time – no news isnae bad news, awright? If it were worse, they’d have sent word by now.”
Her gaze swept over the group, lingering on Peter – still curled against the wall – and Mary, who had gone rigid in her seat. “They’ll be doin’ everythin’ they can,” she added. “That’s how it goes – it’s a good sign they havenae rushed t’get back to us yet.”
No one answered, but something shifted in the air all the same, the slightest give to the tension that had held them all taut. Mary exhaled, if shakily, nodding once as if forcing herself to accept it. Peter, who’d been folded in on himself, slowly unclasped his arms from around his knees and stretched his legs out in front of him. His face remained pale, however.
Bonnie crouched down beside him and nudged his arm with her elbow. “Would you like a blanket, Peter?” she asked kindly.
He hesitated, then gave her a small, sheepish nod. Bonnie wordlessly Summoned one from a nearby armchair, then draped it over his lap.
Across the room, Maeve lowered herself onto the rug in front of the far wall. “Should stay together,” she murmured, half to herself.
And so they did.
The room settled into a quiet stillness. The fire crackled steadily. Sania remained close beside Lily, and their shoulders pressed together: silent reassurance. Marlene had gone back to staring at the flames, absently picking at the hem of her sleeve; and Sirius hadn’t moved from his spot, of course, his expression unreadable.
The minutes ticked on, stretching between them all. Just as Lily thought she couldn’t bear another second of it— a sudden flicker of green.
Sirius jolted upright as if someone had set fire to him, hands bracing against the floor, eyes locked on the hearth, as the flames roared higher. Emerald light swirled, and then – finally, finally – Mr Potter’s head materialised in the fire.
“Sir!”
Mr Potter’s gaze landed on Sirius, first. His aged face creased, with something both relieved and comprehending. “Ah, Sirius, my boy,” he said – smiling warmly, even with the flickering firelight distorting his features. “I suspected I’d find you waiting. You didn’t have to sit up all night worrying, but—” His expression softened— “I appreciate that you did.”
Sirius’s knuckles were white where they gripped his knees. “How is he, sir?” he pleaded, roughly.
Mr Potter’s eyes swept the room then, nodding to them all. “And to the rest of you, I extend my gratitude,” he said. “It does my heart good to know James has such steadfast friends…”
“Is he alright?” Lily cut in as well. The words tumbled out before she could stop them.
Mr Potter’s expression turned grave. “He is,” he reassured them. “The injuries were serious, make no mistake, but not fatal. He’s stable now, though he’ll need to stay the night at St Mungo’s.”
A collective breath was released, all tension in the room unspooling in one go. Sania muttered something under her breath that sounded like, “Thank Merlin.” Peter let his head drop back against the wall. Lily’s shoulders sagged, although the knot in her stomach remained – the worry hadn’t fully settled yet.
Sirius, however, was already leaning forward, grey eyes glinting with something sharp.
“Sir— did he say who did it?”
Mr Potter frowned. “Who did it?”
“Yes.” Impatient nod, as though the very question were absurd. “Who attacked him?”
Mr Potter’s brows knit together, eyes flicking away for a moment as if searching for the detail in his memory. “James didn’t mention an attacker,” he said slowly. “From what he told us he was walking near the Shrieking Shack, and the next thing he knew, he was in pain… terrible pain… and then everything… ‘went dark,’ as it were.”
Lily’s stomach twisted uneasily.
Sirius’s jaw visibly tightened. “But that doesn’t… how…”
Mr Potter sighed. Greenish fingers reached up to rub his temple. “The Healers think something might have come out of the Forbidden Forest and set upon him,” he said. “It wouldn’t be the first time a creature strayed too close.”
But Sirius wasn’t convinced. Lily saw it in the restless twitch of his fingers against the stone floor, the way his mouth pressed into a thin, unsatisfied line. Regardless – for whatever reason – he didn’t press further.
Mr Potter exhaled. His expression cleared. “James needs his rest,” he said, “And I suspect you do as well. Goodnight, and thank you all again – for caring about him so.”
With that, the flames flared green once more; then his head vanished.
The fire settled back to its usual orange glow, although the warmth in the room felt thinner now, less real. For a long moment, no one spoke. The relief of knowing James would recover should have been enough to loosen the last of the knots in Lily’s chest – but it didn’t. Something about this didn’t sit right. James, attacked by a magical creature? When the Marauders knew both the Forest and the area around the Shack better than anybody else? When James was so skilled with hexes – when he had such an impossibly quick mind? And what about his instincts, as a stag Animagus?
She lifted her eyes, and immediately found Sirius watching her. His own greys were sharp, searching, and beneath them – beneath the barely concealed frustration – was something else:
Understanding.
Lily pressed her lips together.
Sirius tilted his head slightly. Something dark and bitter curled at the corner of his mouth. “…Never the tattletale, right, Evans?”
Lily’s chin lifted. “Right,” she said grimly.
The others were still murmuring among themselves – Bonnie and Maeve fretting over what could have attacked James; Pete mumbling something to Marlene; Mary rubbing tiredly at her eyes – but their voices barely registered.
Because – for once – she and Sirius Black were of the same mind.
There was no chance in Hades that James could be telling the truth.
It was strange, going back to a normal routine over the next few days, but they had no other choice. Mrs Potter was insistent on keeping James admitted for as long as was permissible.
“She fusses,” Sirius explained, much less anxious now. “But it’s a good sign, if she’s at that stage – means he’s alright.”
He, Remus, and Pete had been allowed to Floo over on Sunday. Lily wished she could’ve tagged along as well, but the elder Potters hadn’t asked for her, and she’d have felt odd going uninvited – instead, she settled for a thorough report as soon as they got back, Monday morning.
Evidently, James was only rather fatigued, and a bit loopy from pain potions. But the fact that he’d needed pain potions at all spoke volumes.
“I hate to admit it – it doesn’t fit,” Sirius went on with a frustrated click of his tongue, “But it really does seem likely that he was set upon by some sort of dark creature. ’Least, that’s what the evidence points to.”
Lily frowned. She’d ambushed the Marauders on the way out of the Great Hall, and the four of them strolled along together, speaking in low murmurs. “You’re quite sure?” she asked, though it was obvious Sirius was very much not.
“The most damning bit was that James was attacked in the snow, and yet somehow, we never found other footprints – human or otherwise,” Remus clarified. “So the Healers reckon it must’ve been something that could fly – and they told us he’s got scars, you see.”
He paused, eyes flitting this way and that as if making sure there weren’t eavesdroppers about. Seemingly satisfied, Remus then quickly undid the button of his shirtsleeve, holding his wrist out for Lily to see.
She peered over. Remus had scars, she’d always known that – there were a few fine slashes along his cheek and jaw if you got close enough to spot them – but these ones, on his arm, made her suck in a sharp breath. They crisscrossed his forearm in an erratic pattern, raised and pale against his flesh. Some were thinner, almost delicate, like scratches that had barely broken the skin on the surface; others were jagged and angry-looking – as though they’d once been deeper wounds that refused to heal cleanly. The worst of them curled toward the inside of his wrist, then disappeared under the neatly folded edge of his sleeve, hinting at more hidden from view.
Lily instinctively reached out but stopped herself just short of touching them. “Merlin, Remus,” she breathed. It suddenly made sense why she’d never seen her friend wearing anything but long sleeves before – even in the summer, when everyone else had their cloaks shed and their sleeves pushed up to the elbows. Trousers, too, rather than shorts, and collared shirts buttoned up so high they’d be sure to keep everything out of sight.
Remus gave her a wry little smile. “Only dark magic can leave scarring behind,” he explained lowly. Nimble fingers did up his buttons again, covering it all so swiftly it was clear this had become second nature to him by now.
“Yeah, essence of dittany can magic away every other sort of wound,” Sirius concurred, just as quietly, and with a bittersweet quirk of his own lips as he gently caressed Remus’s now-covered wrist. “Else I’d be just as battered as my poor Moony.”
Remus huffed a laugh, hardly more than an exhale, and let his hand brush against Sirius’s in return.
“I’m sorry,” was all Lily could say to that; Peter, meanwhile, interjected: “Prongs is sticking to his story, too. That he doesn’t remember a thing.” In the half-embarrassed tone of someone who didn’t really think he could contribute to the conversation, but wanted to regardless.
“It seems to add up, but somehow doesn’t,” Lily huffed, frustrated. “I mean – footprints can be spelt away. And isn’t it convenient that it happened in Hogsmeade – away from the wards in the castle? Besides, with Mulciber expelled, that lot would’ve had motive. If they blamed it all on James.”
“Mm, I thought so, too,” said Remus, squinting at nothing ahead. “Except that would suggest a premeditated attack, and there I’m not quite convinced. Assuming it was a person that did it, and they covered their tracks – literally speaking – that’d be a bit of a daft choice, wouldn’t it? It’d make things seem as suspicious as they do now – too clean, right? Too deliberate. A scuffle or an accident would’ve left some sign of struggle – an attacker would’ve wanted to make it look more natural than that.”
“So they didn’t think that bit through, then,” Sirius contended. “They got him; panicked; did the covering-up too hastily.”
But he sighed, eventually, visibly deflating. “There’s too many holes to that theory, though. First off, who the hell cares that much about Mulciber? I promise you, that bunch aren’t the chummy sort. I’ve seen how this works from the inside – they’re allies at best – not mates. Not like us.” He shrugged. “Slytherins don’t tend to take revenge so… directly, either, even if that weren’t the case. And if it wasn’t planned, then what the fuck happened?”
He turned to meet Lily’s eyes straight on. “Lastly – most damningly, I’d say – what could they have hit him with? That really did look like claws, didn’t it?”
“Well… actually…” Remus frowned. “Right, erm— you know my dad’s obsessed with dark creatures, always has been. ’Course, I’d need a closer look at Prongs’s scars to be sure, but… going by the injuries we did see, that day… don’t you reckon the slashes seemed rather… thin? I’m not aware of any creature that scratches quite like that. It looked more like someone had gone at him with a blade or summat.”
“A cursed blade? If only dark magic leaves scars?” Lily frowned, too. “But, James somehow just— lying there and taking it? The way Mr Potter said James described it, it sounded like a burst of an attack, not getting slashed at several times… yet those injuries were practically ribbons, there were so many…”
“And why would Prongs not just say it, if it was one of them?” asked Peter. “Unless he really didn’t see who it was? You said you don’t buy that, though, Padfoot…”
“I can’t think what curse would’ve had that sort of result, either.” Remus clucked his tongue. “So you see, Lily, a magical creature really would be the more straightforward explanation.”
“Hmm,” Lily narrowed her eyes at the stone floor. It did add up – it did add up, but…
“Anyway, how’re you coping?” Remus’s tone gentled, and he gave her a sympathetic smile. “We’d have asked Prongs if he wanted to pass a note along for you, but—”
“—He was higher than a kite,” Sirius laughed.
Lily couldn’t help chuckling as well, in spite of everything. The bruised feeling in her chest hurt less, now, though hurt all the same.
“…I’ll feel better when I can thump him for being so careless— wandering about in dodgy corners like that—” She forced a crooked smile of her own. “With everything else that’d been going on! Honestly…”
“Hear, hear.” Sirius patted her amiably on the back, his own grin commiserating.
The remainder of the week passed in an odd sort of limbo. James’s absence wasn’t glaring, exactly – Lily had never spent all her time with him to begin with – but it was noticeable in ways she hadn’t anticipated. Small, silly things that shouldn’t have mattered, yet somehow did. The way the common room felt quieter without the bursts of attention he so often invited. Their usual spot at the Gryffindor table oddly subdued now, missing the easy, ridiculous laughter that came with his borderline-flirtatious banter. Even in class, she caught herself waiting for – expecting – some absurd interruption or another, only to remember he wasn’t there to provide it.
It was maddening. She wasn’t supposed to notice him this much.
But in spite of herself she kept drifting. Even in lessons her quill hovered idly over parchment, ink bleeding into the fibres where she pressed too hard. Words blurred on the pages of her texts, drowned beneath the thoughts looping endlessly in her mind. No matter how many times she shoved them aside, they crept back in: picking apart every detail of that incident, prodding at each inconsistency.
The pieces didn’t fit. Too many gaps. Too many things that didn’t quite add up. And James, so steadfast in his refusal to talk about it – that alone sent a prickle of unease down her spine.
She half-expected her friends to notice her absentmindedness – to tease her, nudge her in the ribs, smirk knowingly. Maybe toss out some joke about how she couldn’t even go a week without James Potter. But the ribbing never came. If anything, they were gentle with her, frustratingly so. Even when she caught Mary and Marlene exchanging glances behind her back, and braced for some playful jab… neither of them said a word.
Somehow, that was worse.
The rest of the school, however, was utterly unbearable. Everywhere she went, Lily caught students sneaking glances at her – furtive, pitying looks, their expressions tinged with something like sympathy. As if she was meant to be grieving; as if James’s absence should have – would have – affected her more than anyone else; as if she and he had already been something other than friends. Which was ridiculous, completely ridiculous, and yet… no matter how much she tried to brush it off… the attention never felt… entirely unwarranted.
Even the full moon came and went, that Tuesday, without him. At dawn, Lily made her way down to the Hospital Wing, wanting to, in his place. The rest of the Marauders were there, of course – tired, bit worse for wear, but whole enough. They had managed without James’s stag after all. Still – whenever Madam Pomfrey wasn’t hovering – Sirius and Remus curled up together in the quarantine room, holding each other close. Not just romancing, but for comfort, Lily could tell. And Peter sat alone – on the stool by the bed, rubbing at his eyes – a sight so forlorn it tugged at something in Lily’s chest. Without a word, she dragged her own seat closer to his.
And then, at long last, Friday arrived.
At first Lily didn’t notice anything different. The week had settled into its dull, monotonous rhythm of too many thoughts and too few answers. She’d gone about her day barely aware of it, lost in that strange, lingering haze. It wasn’t until she stepped into the Entrance Hall after Runes that she felt it: a shift in the air. The low hum of voices rising, heads turning, bodies gathering along the stairway rails… beside her, Marlene elbowed her with a smirk.
“There’s yer beau,” she teased, all affection.
Lily’s breath caught. Her head snapped up. Through the shifting crowd below, she caught a glimpse— Sirius, striding ahead with his usual effortless grace, Peter scurrying beside him—
And – approaching them with Remus – James.
She couldn’t quite move.
He looked better than she’d expected. Still a bit pale maybe, and there was a stiffness in his movements that might have been lingering pain— but he was upright. Awake. There. His hazel eyes were as bright as ever while he spoke to Remus. His hand raked through his perpetually untidy hair in that familiar thoughtless way; the sight of it sent an unexpected pang through Lily’s heart. Before she could think better of it, her feet were already moving.
James’s head lifted, as if he’d sensed her there.
Their eyes met.
Lily drew up short; the chatter and bustle faded into something distant, unimportant; silence stretched between them, heavy with something momentous, something that sent a prickle down the back of her neck— and then, suddenly, she was moving again, already halfway down the stairway before the decision to had even fully registered. The weight in her chest loosened, and all she could see was him. It was daft, the sheer relief that overwhelmed her. He was fine – of course he was fine, but her brain and her heart had split somewhere along the way. One burst with the need to ascertain for herself. She quickened her pace, pushing past a group of gawking second-years, intent on reaching him before anybody else could—
But then she saw him.
Severus.
It shouldn’t have been worth remarking on. Severus was just walking along the far side of the Entrance Hall, bag slung over one shoulder, dull eyes fixed straight ahead, as he made his way to wherever. Not looking at her, not looking at James, just going about his business like anybody else.
And yet… something in Lily’s mind stuttered. For a fraction of a second, it was as if she’d been yanked backward in time – to last year, a bright summer afternoon, sunlight glinting off a drawn wand. James’s laughter, smug and infuriating. Severus’s face twisting with fury, his grip tightening on his own wand before—
Lily’s breath hitched.
That day… when James and Sirius had cornered Sev… he had retaliated, hadn’t he? Not just with words, but with a spell. A spell that had landed, because for once, James had been distracted… by her. She remembered now, really remembered, because the magic had been new. Unusual. And the wound it had left behind— that small, sharp nick along the corner of James’s chin—
Hadn’t she thought, at the time, that it looked eerily like it had been made by a knife?
Her pulse quickened, hammering against her ribs as the pieces snapped together with dizzying clarity.
It looked more like someone had gone at him with a blade…
Slytherins don’t tend to take revenge so directly… and if it wasn’t planned, then what the fuck happened…?
They got him… panicked… did the covering-up too hastily…
Why would Prongs not just say it, if it was one of them?
Lily’s breath came shallow, her heart pounding in her ears. She thought of that afternoon on the Quidditch pitch… James’s offhanded admissions… the things he had implied, without ever saying outright. That he would do anything for his friends— his brothers, his family. That he could, and would use his considerable privilege to shape the world around them, bend it to fit the people he loved. Make sure they had everything they wanted, whatever it was; no limit too far, no price too high. Make sure they were happy.
And if that was true… if that was his nature, his guiding instinct… then did Lily count in that? And if she did… what had she always wanted? What had she, consciously or not, ever asked of him?
The answer came easily. Too easily. Mary’s frustrated voice echoed in her head: It’s about Snape. It’s always about Snape. Hadn’t she made it clear, more than once, that she wanted Severus safe? Not free of consequence, necessarily, but out of trouble – beyond the reach of the professors, the Marauders, anyone who meant to punish him. She’d just wanted Sev to have a chance to try and be better.
Merlin, Morgana, and all of the Founders— there was only one reason James wouldn’t have told, if it had been a student who’d attacked him. Only one.
The anger crept in slowly at first, curling around the edges of her thoughts, tightening like a vice. Then it surged, hot and unstoppable, before she could temper it, before she could even think.
She’d never been reckless. She didn’t hurl accusations into crowded halls. She didn’t draw her wand without cause. She was rational. Measured. It had earned her a prefect’s badge.
But right now— right now— none of that mattered.
The Entrance Hall seemed to fall away entirely, and Lily moved without thought.
She barely registered the stone floor beneath her feet as she surged forward. Her fingers clenched tight around her wand and there was a strange roaring in her ears. The crowd blurred at the edges of her vision – just shifting shapes, distant murmurs, background noise – meaningless. All she could see or think was— ahead of her, just ahead— walking as if nothing was amiss, as if nothing had happened— hiding behind his stupid book and his stupid black-and-green cloak and his stupid curtain of hair—
“It was you!” The words cut through the air sharper than a blade, shattering the lazy drone of conversation around her. A ripple of silence spread outward, as if a Stunning Spell had been cast. Severus stopped mid-step. His entire frame went rigid. Slowly, he turned.
His black eyes found hers. He said nothing. He didn’t have to. The way he held himself – tense, bracing, as if he already knew what was coming – made the last of Lily’s doubts vanish.
Her grip on her wand trembled. Her pulse pounded. Somewhere at the edges of her awareness, hands grabbed for her, trying to pull her back. She barely felt them.
“Miss Evans!” Professor McGonagall’s voice, half a gasp, lifting with bewilderment. The sound snapped something in Lily’s mind like a thread pulled too tight. She inhaled sharply – too fast – and only then realised she’d been lunging forward. The hands gripping her arms tightened as if to hold her in place, but she hardly cared.
She couldn’t look away from him.
McGonagall’s confused gaze locked onto hers: “What is the meaning of this?”
Lily’s jaw tightened. Anger simmered just beneath her skin, but she forced conviction into her tone: “He did it! It was him, he attacked James!”
A ripple of murmuring spread through the crowd. Severus, frozen until now, finally moved. He turned to face Professor McGonagall with an utterly blank expression. “That’s not true,” he said in a level, detached tone. “I don’t know what she’s talking about.”
Lily’s fingers curled into fists. “Liar!” She tried to lunge forward again, forgetting that she was restrained. “Coward!”
Something flickered across Severus’s features – too fast to place – but he stayed silent.
“That is enough,” McGonagall interjected. “Miss Evans, compose yourself.”
Lily sucked in a sharp breath, still taut, every muscle strung as tight as a bowstring. A hand – lighter, familiar – closed around her wrist. “…Lily?” It was Remus again, and the concern, the quiet confusion on his face cut through the rage a little. The tension in her shoulders wavered. She let herself be tugged away, had no choice but to yield—
She caught movement just beyond McGonagall.
James – still standing there, a few feet away, watching her. His hazel eyes were wide, unreadable, but something about the way he looked at her stole the air from her lungs. Something sharp, something painful twisted hard in her chest, unravelling a knot she hadn’t even realised was there, let alone wound so tightly.
She couldn’t stop them at all. Hot tears slipped down her cheeks. James had gotten hurt… for her.
It cracked something open inside of her; the tears came faster, blurring everything: Severus, McGonagall, the ring of staring students. Even Remus’s hand on her wrist felt distant, belonging to some other far-off reality. Her breath came in short, uneven gasps, and her shoulders quaked as she pressed palms to her face, desperate to keep herself together.
And then warmth. A hand on her arm. The soft rustle of robes as someone stepped closer.
She barely had time to register it, before James pulled her in. Hesitant, at first, then surer when she didn’t step away. He said nothing – just held her, as she buried her face in his chest and let herself break. His heartbeat pounded beneath her cheek, fast but strong, and God, what a beautiful sound – that it was still beating.
The world shrank. The whispering crowd, McGonagall’s baffled gaze, Severus standing rigid a few feet away – none of it mattered. Not in this moment.
Shifting. James’s hand moving, his thumb brushing against her cheek. Calloused, yet impossibly gentle, as it wiped away a stray tear. “…For me?” he murmured – warm, half-heartedly teasing. “You shouldn’t have.”
A laugh escaped her – wet, incredulous, half a sob and half a breath. She thumped his chest, just hard enough to make him sway a little. The sound of Professor McGonagall shooing the crowd off, and disappearing herself, seemed to come from a thousand miles away.
“You…” Lily sucked in air, still unsteady. “You idiot. Why didn’t you say?”
James blinked down at her.
Lily’s fingers tightened in his robes. “It was him,” she managed thickly, swallowing hard. “You knew it was him, didn’t you? You knew, I’d seen that spell before, James, you had to have known. Why—?”
Something flickered across James’s face – subtle, almost imperceptible, but she caught it. Hesitation. The fraction of a second too long before he opened his mouth to try and answer.
It was all the confirmation that she needed.
“What!?” Sirius’s voice cut through, sharp with fury. The sound jolted Lily, reminding her the world hadn’t narrowed to only her and James. She turned, just in time to watch Sirius bristle, hands clenching at his side as he stared between the pair of them. He looked ready to move— to turn, storm across the hall, do something—
James was quicker, however. His hand reached up, cupping Sirius’s face with deliberate lassitude. His fingers curled, carefully, against the sharp line of Sirius’s cheekbone; his thumb traced the hinge of Sirius’s jaw, just once.
He gave the faintest shake of his head, as if to say: No. Don’t.
Sirius went still. The fire in his eyes didn’t dim, the tension in his frame didn’t ease, but he didn’t move again.
Lily swallowed hard. There was nothing overtly strange about it, not by their standards – the Marauders had always been like that, physical in ways most boys weren’t, draped over one another with thoughtless ease… and yet, something about this moment… this touch… made her stomach twist. Not out of jealousy, not even because James hadn’t looked at Sirius – or her, or anybody else – as he did it.
But because of the expression in his eyes.
Piercing. Focused. Seeing something beyond the here and now.
It sent an odd chill along Lily’s spine. The gesture hadn’t been for comfort or reassurance. There’d been affection in it, certainly, but a strange sort, indulgent, like James was trying to say: It’s sweet of you… thank you… but no need.
Why not, Lily wondered?
And the casualness of it, almost… claiming. Not possessive – there hadn’t been enough insecurity in it for that – no, what made it unsettling was its ease. A quiet, unshakeable certainty… like an expectation so deeply ingrained it didn’t even need to be spoken: Sirius would listen. Obey. Simple as that.
Then James turned back to her – and just like that, the darkness vanished – as if it had never been there at all. He smiled a sweet smile, touched with something wry. In an instant, he was her James again.
Lily exhaled, only now realising she’d been holding her breath.
“We’re due a conversation, I believe?” James said, mildly playful, but not without weight.
Despite everything – despite the tightness in her throat and the storm still raging in her heart – a smile tugged at Lily’s lips.
She nodded.
James extended a hand in silent offering. For the briefest second, Lily hesitated. The space between them seemed to hum with everything unspoken. And then her fingers found his.
His palm was warm, calloused in places from years with the Quaffle. Its grip was steady, but not, never insistent – just there.
He led her out of the Entrance Hall altogether, and she allowed him. They ducked under the nearest alcove, outside. An arch of bright blossoms welcomed them beneath it. As soon as they took their places, room to breathe and stand still at last, Lily wound her arms around James again, and so did he, knuckles stroking her back.
Neither of them rushed to fill the silence.
Of course, they really did have to talk, eventually. Hand in hand, strolling aimless about the front gardens. James confessed it all: how he’d stumbled across Sev, how Sev had probably thought he’d been caught in some sort of trick, trap, and so attacked pre-emptively. Lily wondered at the fact that this context didn’t stoke sympathy out of her at all, even though it would have not a year ago. Now, however, all she felt was utter disgust at the cowardice, the lack of honour displayed. That Severus would hex someone who’d had his back turned…
“You ought to tell the teachers,” she insisted vehemently. “Even if they don’t take your word for it – which I doubt, given everything – I’d say I’d seen him use the spell before, too, a—”
James only chuckled. “Nah, I don’t need them to sort out my quarrels for me. And I’d really rather hear what it was you asked to see me about, lovely.”
Lily sighed, but relented, half-abashed as she let him tug her forward by her hands. Both of them were clutched in his – so they wound up walking with him backward, that grin leading the way. Moved along surrounded by the scent of wisteria, little bees darting in and out between the flowerbeds.
“…I did fancy you,” she admitted, forlornly, under her breath. “Last year… after we, you and me… but you broke my heart, James. I felt so betrayed that day. I’d thought you were one person – and then you turned out to be another.”
James nodded, ever understanding. His lips levelled into something far more serious. The spring breeze ruffled his hair, the gold of the sinking sun catching on the edges, and his gaze remained steady, intent.
“I’m sorry,” he rumbled. “I’ll not have a go at people that didn’t ask for it ever again. Swear.”
“…I know you won’t.” She gave him a soft, bittersweet smile. Reached up to cradle his face, slowing their steps, inadvertently. “I’m sorry as well. That— I keep holding things that are over and done with against you. That I forgave Sev things that shouldn’t be forgivable, but wouldn’t let you have the same grace, despite the fact that you deserved it more. That I haven’t been giving you a fair chance to do better, even though I ask for it all the time.”
“No idea what you’re talking about.” James’s mouth quirked up again, amused in a wry sort of way. “You’ve given me plenty, I reckon.”
Lily exhaled a silent, rueful laugh of her own. Let James pull her closer, waist in his hands, now, her own draped over his shoulders.
“You don’t fancy me anymore?” he asked, bordering sheepish. “You said it in past tense.”
The mirth bubbled up in her chest, and she knew her grin was mirrored in his, wide enough to make her cheeks ache. “You?” she asked instead, stalling.
James let go of her, only to take one of her hands again, easing backward. Their fingers stretched between them like a tether – almost a dance.
“Until the end.”
Lily’s breath escaped her in something half a gasp, half a startled laugh. “How grand,” she managed to quip, Merlin knew how, though her voice came softer than she intended.
James’s grin had grown wider, crooked. He tugged her once more; it was a dance. “When am I ever anything less?” With a challenging smirk.
Lily laughed; shook her head in fond amusement. She stepped close herself, looped both hands around his neck: “I’d like for us to start over,” she said.
His gaze searched hers, for a moment – something unreadable flickering in the depths of his hazel eyes. Then, with a slight tilt of his head – half a bow, half concession – he stepped back, and held out a hand. Not turned up to take hers, however – rather, extended for shaking.
“Hullo,” he said, faux-solemnly, “James Potter. Pleased to meet you.”
She smiled, the warmth of it lingering as she took the hand he offered. “…Lily Evans. Charmed, I’m sure.”
He was beaming, and though mischief crept back into the expression, before long, there was something earnest, underneath it, all the same. “If I may say so,” he quipped, “You’re very pretty, Lily Evans.”
Lily arched an eyebrow, but amusement tugged at her lips in spite of herself. “You’re not bad-looking either,” she granted.
They wove between the rosebushes for a little bit longer, and it felt less like a romantic dalliance and more like children at play. Their hands brushed in passing, and for the moment, they didn’t speak – there was only the silly, half-drunken meandering; the laughter; the warmth.
The setting sun stretched their shadows against the ground. Golden light filtered, dappled, through the treetops. Eventually, James released a slow breath, glancing her way – “So,” he said, with a lift of the shoulder to indicate the path behind, “Shall we?”
Lily didn’t ask what he meant. She only nodded, tilting her head toward the castle.
Together, they walked on.
There was one thread left to tie off. Lily took advantage of that night’s patrol to go after him, knowing he’d be lurking in the library plotting whatever villainy he and his ilk would get up to next. Remus stayed hidden behind the wall at the turn of the corridor just in case, though Lily was confident in her own wand and the anger – still simmering – that’d fuel it. As soon as Severus crept out of the library doors, Lily strode forward, startling him so badly he jumped.
She’d drawn her own wand already, but though he pointed his out, it was clearly reflexive; once he saw who it was, his hand faltered.
“Y-You’ve got no proof,” he said without preamble, face going utterly pale. “They can use Prior Incantato and won’t find anything! It’s Potter’s word against—”
“You know better than anybody what his word is worth, especially against yours,” Lily bit. “Isn’t that why you throw away all of your pride and bend over for pure-bloods to begin with, Sev?”
The viciousness seemed to catch him off-guard; Severus stared, mouth half-open, wand quivering.
Lily didn’t back down – narrowed her eyes as she took a deliberate step closer. “He could have you tossed out of here in a heartbeat,” she hissed. “Ruin your life, just like you meant to ruin his friends’. But he’s not going to do that, d’you know why?”
She didn’t wait for an answer, taking another step. Sev backed away as if he’d already seen light from her wand, but was forced to draw up short by the wall behind him.
“Because of this ‘filthy little Mudblood,’” Lily gritted out. “Because he cares for me, and I care for him, and I happened to care for you, once upon a time. Make no mistake, Severus.”
She gave him a withering look, her wand-hand impossibly steady. “You didn’t win against him in a fair duel. You had to wait for him to turn, had to hit him with a fatal hex, had to leave him for dead— if it wasn’t for me, he’d have never walked away to begin with. You’d never have had your pretend moment of triumph, you pathetic little man.”
Severus was rapidly losing all colour, his free hand splayed against the stone as if to brace himself upright. “The only reason you can walk about free of consequences right now,” Lily continued vindictively, “Is because James doesn’t bloody feel like it. So,” and she straightened abruptly, making Severus jerk.
She lowered her wand, by the slightest inch, meeting his eyes straight on. “You can play the game of power as much as you like. But you can’t change who you are. You can’t be like them, you can’t get to that level of influence any more than I can. And despite it all, I still hope that you’ll realise that before it’s too late, Sev. I still hope it lands that there’s no winning within these rules, that the real goal ought to be to tear the rulebook apart and toss it out entirely.”
She shook her head. “Because if you don’t… you’re going to wake up, one day, and find that whatever power you think you’ll have cobbled together counts for nothing, if it comes at the mercy of someone else’s. Because once all the Muggle-borns have been wiped out of existence – who do you suppose become the Mudbloods next?”
He swayed a little, as if unsteady on his feet.
Lily was so close now, she was glaring right in his face. “But d’you know what? Whether or not you do end up seeing this for what it is, I don’t care. I don’t care what you decide anymore. I am through with you. And I know… I know you, I know you’re going to convince yourself it’s because of James. Blaming me, indirectly – telling yourself you love me so in the same breath as you’ll resent me for choosing him. Clinging to the delusion that you’re some sort of— grand hero, doing ever-so-much for your ungrateful little Mudblood, as if things would have been even a little bit different had I not existed. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
She dropped her wand-arm entirely, the other one finding her hip. “But the truth, Severus? The truth is, this is because of you. Because of your own choices. Because you hurt Mary— you hurt Remus— hurt me, and yes, because you tried to fucking murder James! All choices you made, of your own accord! Tell me again what any of it could’ve possibly had to do with protecting me!?”
Her breath had come faster, and she had to pause to steady the rise and fall of her chest. Rasped out, “So I’m done. I am done. Go save your own self, or don’t, it doesn’t matter to me.”
And she turned around at last. She might have been more concerned about showing her back to him, given everything, but that haunted look in his eyes as she wrenched hers away told her he hadn’t the gall to hex her at the minute.
Remus, still waiting, had white knuckles fisted around the edge of the wall. “He really did do it,” he grit out, as soon as Lily rounded the corner and found him again.
She nodded, knowing her own eyes had that same sharp glint in them.
“…Let’s go,” Remus managed through clenched teeth. “The wolf is still too close for me to be entirely responsible for my actions if we stay.”
And Lily agreed, because if they did… she didn’t think she could trust herself to bother stopping him.
Notes:
James’s philosophy is so spoilt-brat coded but less in a “I should get what I want” way and more “I should get what I want and what I want is for the people I care about to get what they want” way. World’s first selfless spoilt brat?
Does that mean we think he’s actually about to let this one go, though? He’s not telling on Snape because Lily, yeah – but would that mean not retaliating at all? :^) (Spoiler alert: PFFT. Ain’t no way.)
Don’t ask me why it suddenly feels natural to have Remus saying “summat,” too, now, when it didn’t before :V I guess he’s finally been in the North long enough, LMFAO.
“Isn’t this supposed to be canon compliant, canonically Lily and James started dating in seventh year—” Shh, shh, Remus totally meant they started officially dating in seventh year, alright?
Seventh year, end of sixth year, to-may-to, to-mah-to.
Snape seemed pretty testy about Harry calling him “coward,” no? I took that and ran with it.
Basically Lily’s rejection of Snape in spring (and technically canon by extension) was more based on her principles versus his; her rejection of him here is on a personal level as well. There’s no more goodwill or what-ifs left now.
Chapter 23
Notes:
Chapter TW: Mentioned child abuse.
Working on this has already been a joy, but sharing it with you quadruples that. Thank you for your support.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
In Sirius’s opinion the only reason Snivellus still had the nerve to show his face at all, at the minute, was because they were now busy with exams. Sixth year meant NEWT mocks, so everyone had no choice but to calm down from all the excitement, and get back to the mundane; to set aside James’s hospital stay, Mulciber’s expulsion, and even the recent, unexpected announcement that Professor Bordastrega would be resigning before the year had even properly ended.
“On purpose,” she’d explained, when Sirius had poked his head into her office, wondering about it. “I think this position is indeed cursed, as the rumours say. If I leave now – by my own choice – it might not get me.”
And she’d offered him a rare smile – pausing in her packing-up to clasp him by a shoulder. “And I was always only here for the duration of Professor Dumbledore’s request of me. I have other job to return to… but Mr Black, please feel free to owl me, or Floo, or anything like that, if you feel maybe you need to. Sì? Don’t take your condition lightly. For you, getting help is actually a matter of life and death – of combatting dark magic – and I have enjoyed getting to know someone like me too much, to be pleased by the prospect of meeting you on the end of my wand someday.”
It was the sort of grim joke that only people who’d lived their lives could really appreciate, and Sirius had barked out a laugh. “Right, yeah, I will. …Thanks, professor.”
She’d shaken her head. “Maddalena, or Lena, please. No longer your professor.”
Just like that, they’d had to say their goodbyes; although Sirius had an inkling it wouldn’t be for good.
Of course, the other reason Snape hadn’t had his arse handed to him in front of the entire school was probably because James was so utterly preoccupied with Lily, now. The pair had kindled a newfound closeness: not exactly a relationship, not exactly not. Either way, Lily had become a permanent fixture of their little gang – a Marauder, well and truly. Sirius found he didn’t mind as much as he’d thought he would – she fit, somehow, she simply did.
The pair of them were having a bit of a bickering session, at the minute, as it happened. Professor McGonagall had not turned up for Transfiguration – a rarity, for her, though other professors sometimes did it – and the class had been told to have a self-study hour instead, minded by the prefects. Being that two of them were prefects, anyway; Sirius decided, to hell with it. Besides, if anyone did quiz him for the mocks, they’d find him more than ready, so it didn’t matter.
He sat with Peter on the bench in front of Lily and Remus’s; had twisted around, just to be able to gesture in her face with the vehemence of his conviction. (Peter, beside him, was cradling his head in crossed arms, looking a bit bored; Remus had a smile halfway to sheepish as he tried to follow the debate; James – being top of the class – was currently missing, because some idiot or the other perched on another bench wanted advice.)
“If you’ve heard one song off Electric Warrior you’ve heard them all,” Sirius insisted. “And The Slider is an exercise in proving the irrefutable thesis that the only person allowed to do Elvis that isn’t Elvis is Suzi Quatro!”
“Oh, I do not want to hear a single peep about an unvaried discography from someone who owns Sladest!” Lily shot back just as strongly. “And what about—”
“Well, I can’t help that nearly every song on Sladest has been charting for—”
“What about Tanx—”
“Please, Tanx just goes to show that white people who’ve never done jazz or blues before shouldn’t suddenly try it out of nowhere— Moony, my love, don’t you agree—”
“This from a fan of the Stones! And Zeppelin!”
“I-I quite like Bill Evans, don’t look at me,” Remus shrank.
“I said ‘who’ve never tried before.’” Sirius huffed. “Anyway, I’ll grant There Was a Time etc. had some proper craft to it, but I suppose I’ve got something for medleys from being spoilt by The Beatles’.”
“So you’ll listen to The Beatles, but think The Monkees are rubbish.” Lily folded her arms, half-glaring. “You’re just being contrarian.”
“I am not!” Sirius lurched forward again. “At least The Beatles did some experimenting and that, later on— The Monkees were turned out of some sort of factory, if you ask me—”
“Oh, am I asking you, or am I asking the latest issue of NME?”
Sirius actually gasped. “I don’t parrot other people’s opinions! And I’ll have you know NME snogs your bloke’s arse. Several of your blokes’ arses. Fuckin’ Bowie—”
Lily sighed. “Merlin, what is it with you and Bowie—”
“Poncey music, that’s what. And so was the early Beatles stuff, while we’re talking of ’em, don’t get me wrong.” Superciliously. “If you ask me Bowie relies on all that flash to make up for how fuckin’ boring his actual tunes are. You can’t just bury mediocre rubbish underneath a gimmick.”
Lily reached across and smacked him lightly on the arm, although he avoided her fast.
“I swear if you didn’t like The Velvet Underground we’d have absolutely nothing in common,” Sirius lamented.
“…Believe me, you’ve got plenty else,” Remus contended under his breath.
“I’ve only heard The Velvet Underground & Nico, actually,” Lily hummed, relaxing a little. “It’s my ‘wallowing’ album. Album to have a cry to when I need it. Have you got one of them?”
Sirius gave a wry smile. “Paranoid.”
Lily squinted. “What’s emotional about Black Sabbath?”
Opting to ignore that, Sirius said, “I like music that’s as tough as my city, me.”
“Bowie is a Londoner.” Lily rolled her eyes. “And Ozzy Osbourne’s from my neck o’ the woods, so how ’bout that?”
James returned, just then, and Remus hastily stood up, grabbing him by the arm: “Prongs, help, they’re saying words.”
“At least we can agree that prog’s all pretentious, masturbatory rubbish,” Lily was indeed continuing; and Sirius held a pedantic finger up.
“Except for early Queen.”
“Oh, God, they are.” James went wide-eyed. “Moony, old chap – a tactical retreat before they make us pick sides, I’d suggest.”
“Concur.” Remus pushed James along with him as he inched out of his spot.
“Oi, come back here!” Sirius half-laughed, and Lily started to get up as well: “James Henry Potter—”
“Quickly, man, quickly,” Remus chortled, shoving James.
They were all caught up in playful scuffling when Sirius registered that someone was calling his name. He turned – a senior prefect, judging by his badge, was peering around the door. “Black?” he repeated. “Sirius Black, you’re wanted in the headmaster’s office.”
Sirius blinked, and so did James. “What’d you do?” James wondered aloud.
“Without you? Nothing,” answered Sirius, perplexed. Nevertheless, he stood and started past the rows of benches.
He wove his way between the desks, sensing the entire class’s eyes on his back as he reached the door. The prefect – a seventh-year Ravenclaw – was still standing there, his expression oddly closed-off.
Sirius tilted his head. “D’you know what for, mate?”
Whatever-his-name-was shifted slightly, avoiding Sirius’ eyes. “No,” he said, a little too quickly. His fingers twitched at his side as if resisting the urge to tug at something – his sleeve, probably. “Was just told to fetch ya.”
Sirius narrowed his eyes. Something about the way the prefect wouldn’t quite look at him said this wouldn’t be about detention, nor some irate professor demanding an explanation for a prank. He hesitated a fraction of a second, but – with no other choice – stepped past the prefect into the corridor. The door swung shut behind them with a soft thud.
He knew where to go, and the prefect seemed to know that he knew, because he didn’t bother playing escort, heading in another direction when their paths diverged. The corridors of Hogwarts were never entirely silent, but the late afternoon lull gave them an almost hushed quality; not helped by the fact that, it being a weekend, the underclassmen were all outside. Sirius’s footsteps echoed lightly against the floor as he walked, passing by portraits that barely spared him a glance, and his own reflection flickering in the polished surfaces of the occasional suit of armour.
Finally, he reached the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore’s office. It had already stepped aside to reveal the swirling staircase beyond, so Sirius was indeed expected. He set a foot on the lowest stair, which was all it took for the thing to move – deposit him into the room above.
To Sirius’s surprise, his brother was waiting. He stared, shocked to encounter Regulus at all, let alone in the headmaster’s office; they’d been avoiding each other all year.
Regulus looked just as bewildered as Sirius felt, his eyebrows furrowed slightly, shoulders stiff. He sat upright in one of the chairs in front of Dumbledore’s desk, but his hands were curled tight around the arms of it, belying whatever mask of indifference he was trying to put on. His grey eyes – so much like Sirius’s own – flicked up to meet his brother’s for half a second, then darted away.
Sirius barely had time to take in more of the sight, because his attention was drawn to the stranger standing beside Dumbledore’s desk: a man, tall and thin, dressed in dark, formal robes of a cut that Sirius recognised from the handful of times he’d been forced to sit through legal meetings with his family.
A solicitor, then. The man’s expression was carefully schooled into professionalism, but there was something behind his eyes – sympathy, maybe, or pity.
Sirius suddenly remembered that there was usually only one reason students got called out in the middle of a class. Shock deepening, he wondered who it was – most of him hoped Mother, but he couldn’t think how. Some fresh recklessness prompted by her insanity?
The solicitor stood as soon as Sirius stepped off the staircase.
“Mr Black,” he said, in a rather stiff tone, “My name is Cassius Varley… I, er, I’m here today on behalf of your uncle – Alphard Black – in the capacity of private solicitor…”
The rest of his words seemed to trail off, as comprehension dawned. Struck speechless with the impossibility of the situation, Sirius turned startled eyes toward Professor Dumbledore – seated there behind his own desk – half searching for confirmation that this scene was actually real, that he’d heard right.
Dumbledore’s expression was sympathetic, as well. “Please, Mr Black, have a seat,” he cut across the solicitor’s speech.
Still feeling as though he’d been Confunded, Sirius managed to lower himself into the chair beside Regulus, somehow. His mind struggled to catch up to the, as yet unspoken, words that hung in the air: Alphard? Gone?
Varley cleared his throat softly. “Er, yes, now that you’re both here, shall we… begin?” Head half-turned toward Dumbledore, as if requesting permission.
Dumbledore inclined his own.
Varley cleared his throat. Pulled out a roll of parchment from his robes pocket, eyes fixed on that instead of either of the brother’s. “I… regret to inform you that your uncle has, unfortunately, passed away. Last night. And I have come to discuss the terms of his will—”
Sirius barely heard the last part. “Wait—” His voice came out sharper than he intended. “Passed away how?”
Varley blinked, looking almost as thrown by the question as Sirius felt by the entire situation. “You… weren’t aware?”
Sirius could only shake his head, utterly confused.
Varley hesitated, glancing toward Dumbledore as though seeking guidance, but, returned his gaze to Sirius. “Your uncle had been battling illness for quite some time. Quite some time. Er, I was actually under the impression that you, in particular… knew.”
Sirius opened his mouth, then shut it again. His thoughts reeled, recalling two distinct envelopes, folded and stuffed into the bottom of his drawer somewhere, or perhaps his trunk. Alphard had stopped writing after that last one went unanswered, and Sirius… quite frankly, Sirius had forgotten. Could he have mentioned it there? Could Sirius have learnt before this?
His stomach twisted uncomfortably. He forced himself to swallow it down as Varley continued.
“Er, yes… well, in his will, your uncle made his wishes very clear,” he said. “He has left you a tidy sum, Mr Black, including the funds from the recent sale of his country home.”
Sirius felt as though the floor had tilted underneath his feet. His fingers curled against his knees. Alphard had thought of him at all?
For the first time, he dared a glance at Regulus. His brother was frowning deeply, now, a tell-tale furrow at his brow that Sirius recognised as genuine upset. Disapproval at this turn of events? Or grief over their loss? Sirius didn’t know. Had no idea whether Reg had had some accord with the man, too. Sirius apparently didn’t seem to know anything, he thought – realised – distantly…
“He also wished to convey his apologies to you both, the reasons for which he stated you, Sirius, would understand,” Varley went on. “He hoped, in his words, that you would accept this money as compensation, er…” And here he had to pause and read from his scroll. “‘As belated and inadequate as it may be.’”
“Oh,” Sirius exhaled. He didn’t know how to feel. Pity was the primary emotion that lurked beneath the shock.
Varley was now talking to Regulus, detailing his share of the will – knick-knacks, mostly, especially compared against the not-insignificant chunk of his vault that Alphard had left Sirius. Probably knowing Sirius needed it more— by Merlin, Sirius thought, feeling winded.
It took him a moment to realise he was being addressed again. “Mr Black?” Varley repeated, for what appeared to be a second or third time. Sirius blinked; the solicitor’s face smoothed. “I am also required to tell you that… it was advised… your uncle, advised… that you not attend his funeral. Citing safety concerns.”
Sirius could only nod. Of course Alphard would have done – that lot would never pass up the chance to get their revenge, perhaps even to kill Sirius on the spot.
He barely processed the rest of the formalities, nor Dumbledore’s sympathetic eyes over his half-moon spectacles as he said, “There will be no need to return to your lessons, Mr Black… may I say, I’m very sorry for your loss.”
Sirius nodded again – he couldn’t think what to say. Eventually he and Regulus were being ushered out of the office.
As soon as the moving staircase deposited them onto the corridor, Sirius turned in the direction of Gryffindor Tower – needing to find those letters.
“I…” Regulus’s hoarse voice made him pause in spite of himself. Half-consciously, Sirius turned.
Regulus was fidgeting with the sleeve at his elbow, not quite meeting Sirius’s eyes. “I’m probably going… to the funeral,” he rasped. “If you wanted… well, I dunno if… but if there was anything, I suppose, you wanted to do… or say…”
A flash of anger leapt up Sirius’s chest, lodging in his throat. “Don’t you dare,” he hissed. “Don’t you dare pretend at niceties now, Regulus. After— don’t you fucking dare.”
Regulus visibly flinched. His eyes widened slightly, there and gone. For that moment, he looked very young – like Sirius had just raised his wand on him, rather than used his words. But then he swallowed, his throat bobbing hard, lips pressing into a thin, unsteady line.
Sirius turned on his heel. Fury burnt under his skin, and he was fully ready to storm off – to end this before it could twist the knife any deeper.
“It isn’t fair!”
The shout lashed out behind him, stopping Sirius in his tracks. His shoulders went rigid, fists curling at his sides. Slowly, he turned again.
Regulus was breathing hard, his expression dark with something tangled, but desperate. “It isn’t fair what you want from me,” he said – teetering on the edge of unsteady. “You’re the one who keeps breaking the rules, and you’ve every choice to just stop. But you won’t. Why… how do you always expect me to stand by that?”
Sirius barked out a sharp, humourless laugh. “The rules!?” he spat. “How badly could I have possibly broken your precious rules to deserve—” His breath hitched, but he powered through. “—To warrant being caned? Locked up? Fed nothing but bread and water for days!?” His voice climbed with every word, rage slicing through him like glass. “Even if you reckon all that’s justified, Reg, how do you square what happened over the summer? Bella using the Cruciatus on me? Mother attempting to kill me?”
Regulus’s mouth parted. Hesitation flickered across his face, but he pressed on – quieter now, though still urgent. “Mother’s not— she’s not sound—”
“Oh, there it is! The ultimate excuse!” Sirius snarled, stepping closer. “So what’s your reason, then? For what you didn’t do?”
Regulus only grimaced. His lips snapped together again as if to keep something inside.
“You just stood there!” Sirius seethed, breath ragged now. “You watched! You did nothing!”
Regulus’s hands clenched at his sides, too. “What—?” He exhaled sharply, as if forcing himself to speak. “What exactly was I supposed to do?”
His eyes burnt, now – raw and caught between defensive and desperate. “Tell me! Should I have hexed her back? Stepped between you and Bellatrix-bloody-Lestrange while she had her wand drawn— while the Dark Lord himself was watching?”
Sirius let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “If the roles had been reversed, I—”
“I know!” Regulus snapped. He looked hunted, all of a sudden – cornered. “I know you’d have stepped in if it was me, alright? I know! And she would’ve turned her wand on you anyway! Or do you actually think that would’ve stopped her? It would’ve just meant she cursed us both! And the Dark Lord would have had our house marked as traitors, and we’d be dead!”
Sirius’s heart pounded. Something clawed at him now, something restless and urgent. “Some things are worth—”
“—Dying for, oh, sure! You’re the Gryffindor, Sirius, not me!” Regulus cried. “Maybe to you it makes sense— not bowing to the Dark Lord when obeying would’ve been so much easier, taking a Cruciatus for no good reason— but it doesn’t to me, alright? It doesn’t! Why shouldn’t people just do the thing that keeps them safe? If they’ve got the option?”
Sirius’s breath caught.
Safe.
The word stuck – lodged at the forefront of his mind like a fly in treacle. Suddenly, it was like he was seeing his brother for the first time: Regulus, standing there, unable to meet Sirius’s gaze, eyes fixed somewhere past Sirius’s shoulder, fingers twitching at his sides.
The way he always kept his head down. The way he never spoke up. The way he clung so desperately to their family’s beliefs, even when Sirius had tried to show him another path.
It wasn’t just twisted loyalty. Wasn’t blind faith.
Safe.
Regulus was afraid. Afraid of being treated like Sirius.
Sirius’s mouth fell half-open with the realisation. But Regulus didn’t seem to notice his shift in demeanour. His throat worked visibly as his hands curled around his sleeves, grasping for a tether. He was still talking, but his voice was uncharacteristically frantic – verging on a rant.
“I mean, what’s the point?” he hissed. “The both of us dead— tortured— what good would that do? Whatever cause you’ve thrown yourself into, Sirius, how does any of this serve it? I like that our standing in society keeps us protected. I don’t want to challenge that! It might be bad now, but mother and father won’t live forever. One day, I’ll be head of the household, and even mum – even Bella – would have to listen to me then. And you could come home, I could fix it, I would fix it, and everything would be okay.”
His voice broke on the last word, as if willing it into truth. He took a half-step forward, something pleading in his manner.
“But what can I do right now? The balance of power isn’t in my favour yet. It isn’t fair for you to keep expecting me to act when there’s nothing I can do! Please, just stop resenting me for it!”
Sirius’s head jerked back slightly, caught off guard.
Regulus’s fingers tightened further where they clung to his sleeves, his knuckles white now. “Do you think I don’t have a heart? That I don’t feel anything watching them treat you like that?” He shook his head, jaw clenching. “Do you think I just stood there because I didn’t care? I keep begging you to stop for a reason, Sirius! I hate it, I hate it! You don’t know what it’s like having to watch them tear into you knowing there’s nothing I can do! Knowing that if you just— if you just waited, if you held on a little longer, one day we could be free of them! If you just waited— when we’re older you could do whatever you like! Right?” His breath hitched, his chest rising and falling unevenly. “I know you’ve done more for me than I’ve been able to do for you, but, wouldn’t it be fairer to give me a chance to pay that back when I can? You can’t just resent me for it without even— without so much as a chance—”
Sirius felt something twist inside of him. The anger that had burnt so hotly mere moments ago suddenly vanished, replaced by something far closer to horror.
“No, Reg, I—” He took a hasty step forward, lowering his voice, pained by the way Regulus stepped back in response, flinching as if expecting Sirius to strike him. Sirius’s heart clenched at that – all he could do was stop altogether. “I-I’m the older one,” he managed, somehow. “It’s my job to take care of you, I don’t… resent…”
But Regulus only shook his head again, as if Sirius’s words weren’t reaching him. His expression crumpled, and he let out a breath that was almost a laugh, although there was no humour in it.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I’m not like you. I’m sorry I’m not more… Gryffindor.”
Sirius’s stomach lurched.
“No—”
But Regulus had already turned his face away, blinking hard, shoulders hunched inward like he was bracing for whatever Sirius might say next.
Sirius had no idea what else to do. He stepped closer— Regulus was backed up against the wall now, and it felt horrible, like he was cornering his own brother, but there was something close to panic tightening in Sirius’s chest, and he couldn’t help himself. He reached out, gripping Regulus’s shoulders.
“No— no, listen,” he pleaded. “The houses— they’re just archetypes, just daft names we’ve given a group of traits. They’re only a part of you, not all of you! People are more complicated than that! We’ve all got a bit of each—”
Regulus shook his head frantically. “I know where I belong. I can’t change who I am any more than I’d expect you to. It doesn’t— it’ll never make sense to me, being brave just for the sake of morality. What good are your laurels for being a righteous person when you’re six feet under? ‘Coward’ may be an insult to you, Sirius, but in the end, it’s the cowards who survive. And it’s the survivors who get to shape the next part of the story – to make things different.”
Sirius felt like he might be sick. The panic clogged up his throat, now, and his grip on Regulus’s shoulders tightened.
“Of course there’s a point to doing the right thing – for its own sake! A-And you know that, Reg, I know you do, because you’ve always been such a gentle boy! So much kinder than me! Didn’t I always give you grief for being a softie? For doing daft things like… like picking snails off the road so they wouldn’t get run over? Remember that? Remember how you’d stop me from going at Kreacher, even after he’d done something to you on mother’s behalf?”
Please, he wanted to say. Please remember. But Regulus only kept shaking his head, refusing to.
Sirius swallowed down the pain. “There’s a lion in you somewhere. Do— d’you know how I know, Reg…? Because there’s a little bit of a Slytherin in me. There is.”
He had to pause, steadying himself, forcing his breath not to hitch.
“…You forgot, didn’t you? That I’ve got an eidetic memory. That Hopkins boy – he used the locking charms from Professor Vaughn’s office, the day he kidnapped Eliza. But he wasn’t anywhere near Vaughn’s when they were first activated. I’d remember his face if he was.”
Regulus’s head snapped up. He blanched.
Sirius told himself his hands weren’t trembling. “You know who I do remember seeing in that corridor? You. And Mulciber, too, in fairness. But you… you hated what he did to us last year, didn’t you? You told me so. You said you wanted revenge. You said you had a way to— to listen in on people’s conversations.” He swallowed hard. “Why would Mulciber deny using the Imperius if he’d already been made to confess with Veritaserum? ‘I did do it, but…’ —That’s an odd way to excuse yourself, isn’t it? Unless— unless Mulciber only used the curse once, maybe a couple of times. But not to make Hopkins go through with the kidnapping. Not to start the fire. It was such an obvious plot, Reg, too many holes. That Hopkins boy had word-blindness, for Merlin’s sake! Almost as if… someone wanted the teachers to work out that he wasn’t behind it at all. As if someone wanted to pin the blame on Mulciber.”
Sirius searched his brother’s face for confirmation or denial, but Regulus wouldn’t meet his eyes again. Instead, he stared at nothing to his side, with an expression as pained as Sirius felt.
Sirius sucked in a breath.
“…I think the original plan was to set the newspaper office on fire. That’s why the locking charms were activated that day. And Mulciber was supposed to take the fall… he’d been lurking around the area, after all, right? But then I got locked in too, not just Evans.” He hesitated, watching for any flicker of a response. “You didn’t plan for that. You didn’t want me caught in the flames.”
Regulus said nothing. His lips pressed into a thin, stubborn line.
It broke Sirius’s heart.
“So you waited for Merlin’s Day instead,” he murmured, realisation settling in. “Because it made sense with… I see, I see it now. You don’t have to say anything.”
He exhaled sharply. “But the right thing to do would be to come forward with this information, wouldn’t it?” Voice wavering. “Yet— yet, Reggie, maybe there’s enough of a Slytherin in me that I don’t want to turn my baby brother in. I don’t want to never see you again. I’m not going to! D’you see?”
His throat tightened. “But you’ve got to understand – no matter what Mulciber deserved, innocent people were caught in the crossfire that day! Eliza, even that Hopkins boy! I know, I know you think you know where you belong, but frankly, Regulus, I’ve known you longer than you’ve known yourself. You would never – never – belong among people who don’t care who gets hurt. And that’s exactly what those Death Eater wannabes are after! They want to take innocent lives—”
“No,” Regulus rasped, shaking Sirius off. “Merlin, we’re right back to what you don’t understand— about defence. It’s not about that— it’s about protecting the magical world from Muggles.”
Sirius felt half-desperate. “The Persecution ended centuries ago—”
“As if Muggles have changed?” Regulus returned. “As if they’ve ever stopped fearing and oppressing anything they don’t understand? They can’t even help it among themselves, so what makes you so sure they’d stop for us?”
His eyes burnt with conviction. “Once the Dark Lord wins, the Statute of Secrecy will be obsolete. We could come out of hiding. We’d be free of the prison we built for ourselves! And as Blacks, we’d still hold favour, Sirius – out in the open, we could have a better life, power to protect one another—”
“At what cost!?” Sirius fairly pleaded.
“Implying there isn’t a cost now?” Regulus shot back just as vehemently.
Sirius shook his head, had to resist the urge to clap a hand over his own mouth just to force down the ache. “You don’t even know what you’re on about, you haven’t seen enough of the world – all you know is all they wanted us to! But listen, Reg, listen— Uncle Alphard’s left me a decent amount, right? I’m going to get a flat, I’m going to get a place of my own, and— maybe, maybe you could c—”
“My place is here.” Regulus jerked away like he’d been burnt, leaning off the wall so quickly Sirius couldn’t grab him again. “My world is here. I’m not giving up what little power I do have— not, not even for you.” Eyes pained. “You’ll thank me for it when the blood traitors fall and I can still give you it all back, xiōngzhǎng. Status. Safety.”
Sirius took a half-step forward, desperate now. “Xián dì, please— there’s so much you’ve never been aware of. So much I could show you, things you wouldn’t even believe—”
But Regulus was already shaking his head, jaw clenched. Then, without another word, he turned sharply on his heel— and bolted.
“Wait!” Sirius cried, lunging after him, but Regulus could be damned quick when he wanted to be – Seeker’s instincts. His brother slipped through the corridor like smoke. Sirius pushed forward, legs burning as he tried to close the gap, but they rounded the corner—
And Sirius crashed into someone at full tilt. The impact sent him stumbling back a step, breath knocked from his lungs— hands grabbed at his elbows, to steady him, but he barely registered it, already twisting, searching, frantic.
But it was too late. The millisecond of lost momentum was all Regulus had needed. By the time Sirius wrenched free, and lurched forward again, his brother was gone: just a blur of movement in the distance… slipping through a doorway… vanishing like a ghost.
Too far now. Too far to pull back.
A hand touched his arm – gentle, hesitant. “Sirius?”
Only then did he realise whom he’d collided with: Lily. She was frowning, green eyes flickering over his face, concern deepening the longer she looked at him. “…Came looking for you when you didn’t come back to… what—?” She hesitated, lowering her voice. “What’s the matter?”
Sirius tried to answer. He tried to say something, anything, but his throat felt too tight, his chest caving in around an ache too big to contain. He squeezed his eyes shut, jaw clenched so hard, it hurt. But it didn’t stop the way his breath shuddered, nor the way his hands trembled at his sides.
“Regulus,” he finally managed to choke out, barely more than a hiss. It was all he could get past his teeth.
But Lily didn’t ask for anything more. She just stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him.
Sirius froze for half a second— then broke. Pressed his face into her shoulder, breaths hitched, fingers clutching at the fabric of her robes like a lifeline. He wasn’t crying – not really, but it was as if something inside of him had cracked apart: splintering, under the weight of it all. And Lily, quiet and steady, only held him. Understanding, understanding in the way that only someone who also ran the risk of a sibling becoming a total stranger ever could.
It was all Sirius had to lean upon, in that moment.
He found the letters crumpled and jammed at the back of his bedside drawer, so tightly wedged that they’d nearly glued it shut.
Dear Sirius, the first one read, A very happy birthday to you. Seventeen – of age at last. I hope you find satisfaction in the knowledge that, whatever else may be said, you are now your own man in the eyes of wizarding law. I suspect that will mean more to you than most.
It is tradition, as you may know, for a wizard to receive a watch upon coming of age. I don’t imagine your father would have troubled himself to uphold this custom; an unfortunate shame. It is one of the few worth keeping.
As such, I would like for you to have mine. It isn’t new, nor particularly fine, but it has served me well for many years and I hope it will serve you just as faithfully. Consider it a token of my esteem, and of my concurrence in the belief that your time – your future – is yours to do with as you see fit.
I have also wanted to write for another reason. The last time we spoke, I fear I couldn’t answer you as well as I should have. You asked much of me – much of the past, of the things no one else would speak of – and I found myself unprepared. I was careless with my words, and perhaps cowardly with my silences. If you would be willing, I would like the chance to remedy that.
You need not answer at once, or at all, if you would rather not. But, should you wish to speak again, you need only send word.
Take care of yourself, Sirius.
Alphard
The other letter was a lot longer, and the penmanship much less consistent in its quality, as if Alphard had written it out sentence by sentence over several days, not one.
Dear Sirius, it said, Your silence, I take it, means you have not forgiven me. That is fair enough. Considering everything, I can’t say I’d have forgiven myself either. Still, I wanted to write to you once more – not to press you, but to apologise again, and, if you’ll permit me, to explain as best as I can.
The truth is, Sirius, I was a coward. I can see that, now, as I could see it even then, though I lacked the honesty to name it. The world we come from doesn’t reward those who stand against it. I know this from my own ‘rebellion’ within it – paltry though it may seem, compared to yours. It rewards those who adapt, turn their heads, and keep their hands clean by pretending not to see. And if you are fortunate enough to have been born into its good graces – if you inherit its comforts, its privileges – then you have all the more reason to accept things as they are.
Fighting a system that favours you is a losing battle, practically speaking. There is more to lose than to gain, except in the quiet, invisible realm of conscience. Most people don’t, won’t, go to war with their own security. They simply try to survive in the ways they know how. I don’t say this to imply that is better or worse than your choices, only that it is the way of things.
In that, Sirius, you and Andromeda have my utmost admiration. You were given every reason to conform, every incentive to take the easy path, and yet, you chose your own way. That takes courage – the rarest and dearest kind. May you never forget that you possess such a powerful gift – most people have not been blessed with it, not even among the Gryffindors of the world.
I wonder, then, if you might reconsider meeting with me. If not, I understand. Truly, I do. But I would regret it if I didn’t tell you that I have been ill for some time now, and though I will not waste your patience with the particulars, I don’t think I will recover. If this knowledge influences your decision – if there’s anything I might do to make amends before I go – I would like that chance very much.
One last thing – if ever you wanted to speak to someone who understands about ‘certain things,’ you need not hesitate with me. I expect you know what I mean. I was surprised to learn that we aren’t so different, you and I; in more ways than one, that is. Should you wish it, you could bring your young man along. If nothing else I could offer you the company of another who has walked that road before you. It’s not an easy one, but not a lonely one either, not if you know where to look.
I will leave it at that. My door is open to you now and always. Whatever you decide, I hope you are well.
Alphard
Sirius read and re-read them until he was fairly certain he could recite them by rote. He only paused when the door opened, and the others entered the dormitory – lessons were over, then.
He could hear their footsteps shuffling closer. Sirius himself was lying on the carpet – right in the centre, surrounded by their beds and trunks and desks. He’d set the letters aside – at least for now – by his head. Remus’s face loomed over him first, then got closer, as Remus lay down next to him. Gently, he pulled Sirius into the warm circle of his arms, and kissed him softly on the forehead.
James took his other side, although he propped his own head up on an elbow: “Quite the dramatic pose, even for you,” he quipped half-heartedly.
Peter’s face appeared, upside-down, above Sirius’s forehead; he was lying on his stomach. “Lily said about your uncle,” he explained.
“I’m sorry, love,” Remus murmured against Sirius’s temple. “How’re you feeling?”
Sirius sighed. “Odd,” he answered truthfully. “We didn’t really know each other, d’you know what I mean? But at the same time… we only really knew each other, it would seem.”
He shook his head, as he made a vague gesture toward the pieces of parchment he’d discarded. “I wish I’d just read the stupid sodding letters. Poor Uncle Alfie – he died thinking I’ve got some sort of grudge.”
Remus adjusted them into a more comfortable position, arm draped loosely across Sirius’s middle, now, with Sirius staring at the ceiling again. James gave Sirius’s arm a squeeze, and Pete lay down fully himself, rolling over so that his crown bumped against Sirius’s.
“I reckon we might’ve had something,” Sirius mumbled. “Guess it’s too late now.”
“In’t that the way,” Peter sighed at the chandelier.
“Lily said you can’t even go to the funeral,” Remus added sympathetically.
Sirius nodded. “But he left me a fuck-off amount of money, Merlin knows why. I feel a bit wretched about that… though who knows if that lot will even let me have it without contesting.”
“I’d like to see them try,” James scoffed. “It’s yours fair and square. They’d have to fight me about it first, don’t you worry.”
Sirius turned to look at him. The sight of James brought something to mind, and Sirius pondered it internally.
James – evidently sensing that he was being watched – quirked up his lips and said, “Something on my face? Or are you trying to make Moony jealous?”
“Implying you’re at all a threat,” said Remus serenely.
Sirius managed a little chuckle. “No, just thinking,” he sighed. “D’you ever wonder what your family motto means, Prongs? I mean – the brave don’t die when they die. That sounds a bit weird, for a Gryffindor family, dun’t it…? Sounds more like a Slytherin thing. Eternal glory and that.”
James arched an eyebrow. “Never really thought about it, no,” he hummed. “Why? ’S’it important?”
“Just Regulus being an idiot. And something Alphard said in his letter.” Sirius shook his head absently, feeling the way it rolled against the floor. “I reckon… I reckon what it might really mean, is more…”
And he trailed off. Drummed his fingers absently against Remus’s arm where it held him. Then took a slow, steadying breath.
“Maybe it’s not about never dying in the literal sense, and not about your reputation outliving you either.” Frowning thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s about what happens when you actually do something brave – properly brave, not just reckless. ’Cause like… when you go against the grain, when you stand up and refuse to go along with the way things have always been, you shift things. Maybe only a bit, only a hairline crack in what’s always been. But once that crack’s there, you can’t undo it, can ya? You can’t just shove everything back into place like nothing happened. Even if they stamp you out, even if they do their best to pretend you never existed, the idea does. Someone else’ll see it, or hear about it, and chances are they’ll be inspired to pick up where you left off.”
He turned his head slightly, glancing at James. “Y’know that Muggle saying? ‘The king is dead, long live the king?’ Well… it’s not about the same king coming back to life, is it? It’s acknowledging, essentially, that the second a king’s gone, a new one takes over. There’s no gap… no empty throne. The fight carries on, whether or not you’re around to see it. That’s what real bravery does, I reckon. It’s never just about you. Even if you don’t get to see the end of it, you make it that much easier for the next person to stand up, and then the next, and the next after that.”
Sirius shrugged as far as he could in his position. “I’m thinking that’s what it means. That proper courage doesn’t get buried with you – it keeps going, ’cause once you’ve put it out in the world, there’s no shoving that Kneazle back in the bag.”
“Damn.” Pete, in a half-musing tone. “Have you been smoking something dubious again?”
Remus – quick to comprehend, as always – hummed, “What you said about fate.”
“Right, yeah.” Sirius sighed as he rolled over, then sat up altogether. “Bit arrogant – and idiotic – of any of us to assume the story begins or ends here… that’s what I’d say to Uncle Alf, if I still could, and would love to say to Reg, only he’s too thick to get me, if I bothered.”
He pushed himself up to his feet, stretching briefly— then strode back to his bedside drawer. His fingers brushed over its worn surface as he reached for the silver pocket watch resting on top. Picking it up carefully, he ran his thumb over the engraved lid, tracing its edges as he stared at it, sombre.
A quiet sigh escaped him. He murmured, “…Suppose it’s not that bad.” Carefully, he slipped the watch into the front pocket of his shirt, securing it neatly with its chain.
Then, squaring his shoulders, he turned back to the others. “Okay, lads: drinks,” he declared briskly. “If I can’t say goodbye to Uncle Alphard properly, I might as well do it at the pub.”
James exhaled a soft chuckle, the sympathy evident in his eyes even as he grinned. “Fair play,” he said, standing up as well, and dusted off his knees with a quick swipe of his hands.
Remus was already stepping forward, closing the space between them in a few quick strides. His fingers found Sirius’s— intertwined them— then he offered a gentle little smile. Without further hesitation, he leaned in, then pressed a tender kiss to Sirius’s lips. Murmured, “You alright?”
Sirius smiled back, bittersweet. “Will be,” he assured. He tilted his head up. Their noses brushed against each other.
Peter, meanwhile, had already grabbed the Invisibility Cloak and the map. He tucked them under his arm, darting a quick glance back at the rest.
Slinging their arms over one another’s shoulders, they made their way out of the door, and left despondency behind. The world kept turning – so would they.
Notes:
Xián dì: Literally “worthy younger brother;” an old-fashioned term more used in literary and dramatic contexts than anything. Carries a sense of respect, closeness, and emotional duty.
I really think, per their canon characterisations, there was a big missed opportunity for Sirius and Regulus to turn the “heroes have empathy, villains lack empathy” trope on its head – challenge it a little. (Regulus does seem to have been kinder than Sirius, but Sirius didn’t go on to become the wizard Nazi between them, so.) Then again, most of HP is wasted potential anyway.
Sirius sure is speeching here, huh. But IMO that’s pretty canon, I mean book-Sirius is one of the most quotable characters in the series. Easy to forget he has a more philosophical bent I know, especially because fanon tends to ascribe that more to Remus, preferring Sirius in the bimbo role, but. Fanon’s fanon. Insert “You really think people would do that, just go on the internet and tell lies?” image here.
I’m belatedly realising that Sirius having an eidetic memory
even though that doesn’t exist IRLwould actually explain how he remembered exactly what Peter looked like as Scabbers :V I swear I didn’t plan that to slot into canon so neatly, it’s genuinely just a cool wink from the Universe, LMAO.
Chapter 24
Notes:
Scalding take: classic fanon Wolfstar (of the flavour that involves hyperactive sunshine fanon Sirius) is literally just what canon Remadora would have been if Joanne hadn’t completely changed poor Tonks’s personality to
spite Wolfstarforce things. Most people rejected his message… they hated Jesus because he told them the truth…Chapter TW: Implied AIDS-related deaths.
To every reader, every lurker, every commenter, and every kudo-giver – this story belongs to you as much as it does to me and my sister. Thank you so, so much.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The South London house was quiet in the pale morning light, and Remus felt this silence like a reprimand, like judgement. It wasn’t his house – never had been. He’d only ever been a guest in it – an outsider to the warmth that filled the love-lit spaces where Ted and Andromeda had raised their child. But now, he didn’t even feel like that much. Now, he felt like an intruder.
He had gone home first. The little house he shared with Nymphadora had been still, colder than he had ever known it. No soft glow spilling from the sitting room, no lingering scent of tea in the air – only emptiness. He’d known, even before he searched the rooms, that she was gone. Their bed lay untouched. She’d woken to find him missing, then, and had left before he could come crawling back. Of course she had. It made sense. And there’d only been one place she could have gone.
So he had come here, forcing himself onto the doorstep of the Tonks’s family home, braced for either a welcome he didn’t deserve or the cold shoulder that he did.
Andromeda had answered the door, with a look that cut deeper than words ever could. She hadn’t yelled – she never had been the yelling sort – but her silence had been sharper than any put-down would have been. Intense eyes, so much like Sirius’s it physically stung, swept over him, taking in the dampness clinging to his cloak, the exhaustion that must have been lining his face.
Then, without a word, she’d stepped aside and let him in, with only the barest, reluctant flicker of hospitality.
He had asked where Dora was, though he’d already known the answer. And Andromeda had granted three clipped words to confirm it: “Upstairs. Her room.”
After which she’d turned and walked away, leaving him standing there at the threshold with the weight of his own shame pressing down on him.
Now, he stood outside Dora’s old bedroom. The one she’d lived in before she’d moved out – before their life together had ever begun. Its door felt like a barrier, and he could picture the inside already: soft lavender walls, Quidditch posters that curled at the edges, little remnants of a life that had once been untouched by him. He’d never spent much time in there before, and he felt like when he did it would be trespassing – into her childhood, into a version of her life that didn’t include him.
After everything, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d just given her reason to return to it.
His fingers curled around the doorknob, but he hesitated. He was afraid – not just of what he might find on the other side, the anger he deserved, the hurt he had caused. But also of what she might see, now, when she looked at him. Afraid that she would finally see what everyone else did: a man who had never been worth it.
Remus swallowed hard— forced himself to breathe— then pushed the door open.
Whatever he’d expected to find – and, distantly, absurdly, Remus found the room to marvel that he’d expected anything to begin with, knowing what Dora was like, knowing she never failed to surprise him – whatever he’d expected to find, it wasn’t… his spouse standing in front of the wardrobe mirror, turning her head this way and that as if to inspect it.
Her shaved head.
Remus gasped without really meaning to. The noise made Dora turn, wide-eyed, and Remus could only exhale, “Your hair…”
It was fascinating to watch the entire spectrum of emotions flicker across her face. Honest shock, at first; and then something more complicated; and now just a sort of sheepish discomfort.
She’d always been an open book. It was part of her charm.
“Oh,” she said, softly. “Yeah – it’s not even a Metamorphmagus trick. Actual clippers. Did it myself.” And she turned to her reflection again. “…It looks more me, don’t you think?”
Remus wasn’t sure what to say to that. He’d pictured every scenario but this one, and she had, quite honestly, successfully wrong-footed him.
“I… think,” he managed, somehow.
In the mirror, she smiled, a barely-there, bittersweet thing that Remus wasn’t sure was meant for him or herself. “’Cause I haven’t felt like me in a while,” she murmured.
Then she turned back around, and Remus had to resist the bizarre urge to flinch. “You’re here,” she said; a statement.
He nodded, slowly, averting his eyes: “…I’m here.”
“So what does that mean?” Still in that impossibly even, quiet tone.
Remus clenched and unclenched his fists, feeling nervous. He told the carpet, “It means… I’m here.”
“…Alright.” When Remus dared to look up again, he found her scrutinising him with the most thoughtful expression he’d ever seen from her before. She took a step closer… then another… then another. Slow, deliberate, until she’d bridged the distance.
Her hands – and he could only fix his eyes on them, too overwhelmed to meet hers – reached out and coaxed his into their warm grip. “Then let’s go home,” she said.
Before Remus could even respond, she was Apparating them both. He blinked, and another blink later, he was standing in the middle of their sitting room.
Dora’s hands let go of his. “Sit,” she said without preamble, with only the vaguest gesture at the sofa by the fireplace. For her own part, she paced restlessly, toying with her jacket as if trying to decide whether to take it off or leave it on – although her expression was too faraway for thoughts as conscious as that, exactly.
Not knowing what else to do, Remus did sit down. All the same, he couldn’t quite relax, perched instead at the very edge of the cushion beneath him, and leaning forward as he took a breath.
“Listen… Dora…”
“No.” But the word didn’t have the bite Remus had braced for, instead, she sounded almost… wretched. He looked at her; she’d stopped her pacing, was now staring at the floor with eyes that, for some reason, seemed miserable.
Guilty.
“I don’t think I’d like to be called Dora, anymore,” she mumbled. “I thought I could do it, you know… be a Dora. Wife. Mother. Girl. I wanted to be… whatever you wanted me to be, whatever it took to keep you by my side.”
Remus tried to protest – had he at some point unintentionally given her the impression that he’d prefer her to be anyone but herself? – but Dor—she wouldn’t let him get a word in, even raising her voice slightly so that she could talk over.
“I’ve been making a lot of daft decisions like that,” she said, as she toyed with her nails. “Putting on a pretence… trying to be someone I’m not. The sort of person that could have a husband, a family. Ever since… ever since Sirius died. Just so that it’d stop feeling like you were slipping away.”
The name was like a dagger to Remus’s heart. He sucked in a sharp breath – he couldn’t help it – but the pain was undeniably trumped by something more half baffled and half concerned… for her.
“What d’you mean?” he managed.
Nymphadora shook her head. “I think I owe you an apology,” she said— and Remus almost lurched upward with the shock, the horror.
“It’s not you who should be apologising between us,” he cut in. Every word chased each other in its haste to get this across. But she barely acknowledged his guilt, only smiled, bittersweet.
“Because you left?” she sighed. “Quite honestly, Remus? The only thing that surprised me when I found you gone was that you hadn’t done it sooner.”
Remus stared, lost for words.
For her part, she hesitated, but only a moment. Then she let out a breath, and lifted her gaze to his, steady despite the slight tremor in her voice.
“You know, you running off when the baby came up…” She visibly swallowed. “That wasn’t really what broke you, was it? It was just the final straw.”
His brow furrowed, not understanding. There was something in the way she said it – like she’d intuited something he hadn’t.
She gave him a small, sad smile. “I think I’ve known for a long time that you didn’t really want this. That you weren’t… sure. But I didn’t want to see it, so I kept pretending it wasn’t there.”
Her hands twisted together restlessly. “And now… I can’t not see it. I can’t not feel it. I think—” She let out a shaky breath. “I think I’ve trapped you, Remus.”
His mouth fell open, denial rushing in, but she shook her head before he could speak.
“I just— I remember how we were, before Sirius died,” she went on. “We did have something real. At least, I think we did. I loved you so much, I still do. But then he was gone, and you…” Her voice cracked a little bit. “It was like you were suddenly unreachable. And I was so afraid of losing you entirely that I— I forced this. I pushed for it even when you kept saying no.”
“That’s not—”
But she cut him off, sharp. “Merlin, I even roped in anyone who felt sorry for me to plead my case. Like some, like one of them creeps can’t take no for an answer. …Christ on a bike, Remus, if I met myself at a pub, I’d have punched me.”
Bitter laugh, only half-amused. Then for a long, painful moment, she said nothing.
“When I found out you’d left,” she finally continued, quieter now, “It was a slap across the face… and I mean a much-needed one. I’d spent so long trying to hold onto you, trying to be this odd caricature of who I thought might have a better chance of keeping you around… that I never stopped to ask if that was really who I was. Or if it was even what you wanted.”
Remus tried to speak again, but she shook her head – so vehemently it bordered on desperate. And he understood, then, that she needed to get this all out before she lost her nerve.
“I see it now,” she confessed. “We were never going to build something lasting on top of all these lies I’d told myself. Pretending I could fit into some perfect picture of a conventional marriage, when none of that means anything if I can’t even be authentic first.”
She finally met his eyes again, and for the first time since they’d started talking, there was no hesitation in them – only resolve.
“No matter how much I want you… and I do, Remus, I want you more than I can ever say… if you don’t want me back, as me, then… I’ve got to let you go.” Her voice didn’t waver, though her fingers dug into the hem of her sleeve. “I don’t want to just play house with you. I’d rather we be friends than that. And I won’t pretend to be someone I’m not just to have it my way.”
The courage she had mustered to say all of this seemed to abandon her all at once. She hunched in on herself, fists – still clenched around her sleeves – trembling at her sides, head bowed, so that he couldn’t quite tell if she was crying or not. The sight made Remus’s heart ache. With a heavy sigh, he leaned forward and reached for her hands, coaxing them into his own.
“If you think I didn’t – don’t – feel the same way for you… no, Do—darling, that hasn’t been what any of this was about,” he rasped. “And— if you’re talking about Sirius— the problem was the exact opposite, as it happens.”
He closed his eyes against the sudden flare of pain. Merlin, it was a day for exorcisms, evidently.
“…What do you mean?” He could hear the frown in Nymphadora’s voice without needing to look at her. Footsteps followed— then the rustling of fabric— then the redistribution of weight, as the cushion beside him dipped.
She had sat down. He felt her touch on his cheek and, at last, turned to look at her.
Nymphadora’s eyes searched his. After a moment, she spoke softly: “I’m not the only one who hasn’t been entirely honest, am I?”
Remus swallowed hard. “…The last time Sirius and I spoke,” he mumbled, hoarsely, “We had a… God, it wasn’t just a fight. It was bad.” He exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. “He knew. About you. About how I felt. And I— I let that set me off.”
Nymphadora didn’t move, but he could feel her listening, the fact of her attention settling over him like something tangible. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, then pressed on.
“I think he’d known for a while, honestly. Probably before I’d even admitted it to myself. But that night, he said it, outright, and I— I snapped. Got defensive. Took every bit of bait he threw at me, even though I knew that’s exactly what he was doing – pushing, provoking. And still, I let myself…”
His fingers flexed around hers. A humourless laugh escaped him. “It was so stupid… I could see what he was after, and I still fell for it. Let it spiral. Because— because he was doing what, deep down, I-I wanted. I wanted him to let me go. To—” His voice dropped to a whisper, hoarse and ashamed. “—To set me free. And I hated that I wanted that, by Merlin, I hated that he could tell. Half the things I said to him, I was really saying to myself. He was voicing everything I was too ashamed to feel, and I was answering that, not him— I let him take the brunt of the anger I had for myself, I— pinned my own guilt on— he didn’t deserve any of—”
Remus couldn’t say the rest. Couldn’t say how the last thing he’d ever said to Sirius had been… that he hadn’t had the chance to take it back, to fix it, to—
“And then— and then he was gone.”
He swallowed again. It was like shards of glass in his throat. When he finally looked at her, Nymphadora’s gaze was steady, brows drawn together in something either understanding or piteous, and he wasn’t sure which was worse.
“I sort of guessed,” she murmured at last.
Remus blinked.
“That you and Sirius… had something,” she clarified. “I just assumed you were…” She hesitated, as if choosing her words. “I thought you were exes. Not that… not that it ran quite this deep, let alone that it was still… intact. When you and I started.”
She wasn’t looking away – wasn’t pulling away – but there was something in her eyes that made his stomach twist. Funny, that this would be what earned him her castigation and not what he’d done to her.
But so like her, too.
“That’s a bit sick, Remus,” she said, firm but matter-of-fact. “If I’d known, I’d never have…”
“No, I know. I know.” Remus pinched the bridge of his nose, staving off both guilt and a headache. “But we… I… fuck, I don’t know where to start. It wasn’t… what you must be thinking.”
“So what was it like, then?” she asked easily.
Remus hesitated because he had to. The words caught in his throat. He inhaled unsteadily, staring down at their joined hands.
Before he could manage an answer, however, she sighed. “Do you really mean it?”
Brows furrowed, he glanced up. “Mean what?”
“That you do want this,” she clarified. “That this is real.”
Remus’s chest tightened. The answer came immediately, instinctively, as certain as anything he had ever known: “Yes,” he said, hushed.
Nymphadora nodded, her expression pitying. “Then you need to let me know you,” she murmured. “Not just the bits you’re comfortable with, not just the parts you think I’ll like – all of you.”
He swallowed.
“We can’t do this – really do this – if we’re only showing each other half of who we are,” she continued. “I just realised that for myself, yeah? That I can’t pretend to be someone else if I want something real. And neither can you.” Her fingers curled slightly around his. “Tell me. I won’t judge you, Remus. I promise.”
He searched her face for resentment, but there was none. Only patience.
“…I’ve told you about my past relationships,” she went on. “Not that there was much to say – none of them meant enough to hurt, when they ended. That’s why I assumed it was the same for you and Sirius – because you never said otherwise.” She tilted her head, studying him. “But now… I can see it. The way you talk about him— even the way you avoid talking about him— you’re in pain, sweetheart. He was important, wasn’t he?”
Remus’s breath hitched.
“You can’t hide an important piece of your life from me, if we’re going to build one together.” Nymphadora shook her head. “I told you about Cassie, didn’t I? Her case— losing her like that, the way she just— went missing, no closure, no nothing— it’s the reason I became an Auror.”
He nodded; he could do nothing else.
“If I had what you had…” she murmured, barely above a whisper, “If one of my most, my most significant could-have-beens just, came back…” She released a breath, shaking her head again. “Who knows what I’d have done?”
She gave his hands a gentle squeeze.
“So please, trust me,” she urged. “Trust that I— that someone— can understand.”
He didn’t know what was in his eyes when he turned to her once more, but whatever it was it made her smile tenderly. She reached her free hand up, brushed the hair out of his face: “You’ve got to lay poor Sirius to rest. Otherwise there’s three in this marriage, which normally I wouldn’t be that opposed to, but consent would be required all ’round then, and consent’s a little bit hard to obtain when one of us is dead, innit?”
To his own surprise, Remus let out a startled, breathless laugh – something halfway between disbelief and genuine amusement. It burst out of him, unbidden – like air rushing into a long-sealed room. But allowing it to escape meant breaking the rest of the dam, too. The weight of everything – the loss, the guilt, the love tangled up in grief – settled over him all at once. Overwhelming, like a tidal wave. His laughter faltered, and, quicker than he could control, he was burying his face in his hands. His shoulders curled inward as he swallowed around the stinging in his throat; his breaths came uneven, trembling; he fought to keep the tears at bay.
“I loved him,” he hissed. “Yet, I— why could I never love him enough?”
And then it all came spilling out: the innocent years, the uncertainty of the war, the unbearable strain of those last months, the mistakes Remus still couldn’t seem to stop making.
“—And then… then he was just… back.” He exhaled into his palms. “I really thought I could do it then. I thought… I’d weathered his storms before. But this was different. We were too different. It hurt, Do—it hurt more than I could bear. Watching him like that. I’d found some solace, some normalcy, in the interim. I had – finally – started to heal. Not as much as I would’ve liked, sure, but some of the wounds had scabbed over. And then he was back.”
His voice cracked. “I loved him, I did, but I wanted that feeling of finally having settled back, too. Fuck… why would I ever want that over him?”
He inhaled unsteadily, raking a hand through his hair, gripping the back of his neck as if anchoring himself might keep him from unravelling.
“Azkaban had already broken him enough, but Grimmauld Place— God, the horrors he’d suffered there as a child, the ghosts he thought he’d left behind. It wasn’t— it wasn’t something that he could recover from, that house. He tried— Merlin, he did— but it was always there, just beneath the surface. I saw it, I saw the way he couldn’t stand being indoors too long, the way his hands shook when it got too quiet, how he flinched at shadows. He didn’t sleep, he barely ate, he paced like a caged animal until he burnt himself out, he half-drank himself to death.”
Remus clenched his jaw, something hot and bitter rising in his chest. He was still angry – angry at the world for never loving Sirius the way Sirius had loved it.
“And he didn’t have anyone. Just me. And Harry. A child. …And a man as broken as he was.” Remus swallowed hard. “Even I had people. I may have suffered, but I always had someone – my parents, the Order, you. But Sirius—” His breath hitched. “He only ever had us. It wasn’t fair.”
Saying so cracked something in him. He pressed his knuckles to his lips, inhaled deeply, but the memories clawed their way out regardless.
“I should have done more, I should have tried harder— but I didn’t know how— I didn’t know how to carry him.” His voice faltered. “It got so bad sometimes. Some nights were…” He shook his head. “One… one night, I— woke up to him— Merlin—” Remus closed his eyes, as if that might block out the memory. “He was having a nightmare. The sort where he wasn’t really awake even after… where he was still trapped in it. And when I finally— got him to wake up— when he finally realised he was safe—”
Remus swallowed around a burning throat.
“He begged me to Obliviate him.”
His breath shuddered. Still, he forced himself to keep going, though the words scraped against his tongue like sandpaper.
“I wasn’t strong enough,” he confessed, hating himself, and a brittle laugh escaped him. “Going away on missions— leaving that, him behind— it was a relief. A fucking relief. You were a relief. What sort of a lover thinks that, damn it?” His grip tightened on his knees. “You were light. You were warmth. You were everything we weren’t, he and I—”
He broke off and pressed a hand over his mouth, as if he could shove the truth back in. But it was too late now.
“I hate myself for it,” he whispered. “For abandoning him like that. I took every excuse to run, didn’t I? I’m still doing it now. I couldn’t— I just couldn’t.”
He could feel his hands trembling; realised he’d been clenching them too hard. He squeezed his eyes shut. “And then he— and now he’s gone. He’s gone, and I can never make it right. The guilt of it, the knowing— I failed him, in every way that mattered. I left him alone when he needed me most, and now he’s—” His voice cracked, and he had to stop, or he’d sob. “How could I have possibly turned around and let myself build anything with you after that? With you, of all people, when that was the reason we— he and I— when it as good as—”
He ran a hand through his hair, agitated. Still, the words kept on coming, tumbling out entirely beyond his will. “But I did, didn’t I?” Rough, desperate. “I let myself forget. I let myself want. I let myself believe— just for a moment— that maybe, maybe I could—”
His hands dropped again. His fingers dug into his knees, nails biting deep enough to sting. “It’s not that I didn’t want to marry you, D—that’s exactly the problem. I did! I wanted it. And that was selfish. I knew better. I acted against my own judgement, simply because I wanted— because it’s hard, not to believe you, you— you’re made of hope. Even though I knew, I know I can’t be a good—”
He broke off, teeth snapping together. Finishing the thought felt like admitting too much.
His head snapped up suddenly, eyes wet with anguish as he met hers. “How can you say you wouldn’t judge me for that? All my life, I’ve wanted not to turn into my father, and now… now, I’m sympathetic to so many of his choices. My mum would’ve been ashamed. My younger self would’ve been ashamed.”
Nymphadora didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. If anything, her expression softened, something unbearably gentle settling in her eyes.
“No, love, no,” she murmured, and caressed his back. “You were a broken heart trying to carry another broken heart. That’s not your fault. Either of you. And it’s not fair condemning yourself by the standards of the past. Too much has happened since then. It’s alright that your limits have changed.”
She reached for his hands again, lacing their fingers together. “If anyone is to blame, it’s us – the ones who should’ve stepped in, who should’ve helped him instead of leaving it all up to you.”
Remus’s breath hitched. He wanted to protest, but she wasn’t finished.
“Sirius was neglected. Criminally neglected,” she said, rough with something both sad and angry. “Left to rot in that house, with only his grief for company— and no one did anything. I didn’t do anything— I didn’t even know.”
Her thumb brushed absently over his knuckles, as her gaze dropped for a moment. “I wish I had…” She exhaled, shaking her head slightly, lips curving up, though it was too small and sad to be a smile. “Reckon we might’ve been good friends.”
“…You would’ve,” Remus agreed, with a rueful exhale. “He adored people like you. Fun-loving. Free.”
Her half-a-smile mellowed, then levelled altogether. She pinned him with a serious look, when she met his eyes again: “Is it that… d’you think we’ve got a lot of similarities?”
Remus frowned, confused. “What d’you mean?”
She tilted her head, though her gaze remained steady. “It’s impossible not to see it,” she said simply, then let out a small, dry laugh. “We’re both Blacks – by blood, at least. We’ve got similar… sort of… aesthetic… preferences.” She gestured vaguely at herself, as if to indicate her typical ragged, ripped-up style; one that Sirius had always favoured, as well. “We can both transform, in a way. Me with my Metamorphosing, him as an Animagus… and…” Her voice dropped slightly, hesitant now. “There are thirteen years between you and me. Thirteen years between you and the Sirius you knew before Azkaban.”
Something in Remus’s chest went oddly tight. A slow understanding unfurled in his mind, and he straightened. His lips parted to argue, before she had even finished speaking. She was afraid he had been replacing Sirius. With her.
“You think—” He huffed a short breath, disbelieving. “No! Merlin, no. Is that what you’re asking? If I—” He shook his head. “No. That’s not it at all.”
She said nothing, only watched him, waiting.
He reached for her hand again, grasping it like that might somehow make her believe him more. “The similarities are surface-level at best,” he assured her. “I’d never even thought about them before you brought them up just now. And knowing you both as well as I do, I can say without a doubt that you and Sirius are as different as chalk and cheese, my love.”
He managed a vague quirk of the lips, bittersweet. “If… if anything…” He shut his eyes against fresh pain. “If there’s anyone you remind me of, it’s actually James.”
Nymphadora blinked. “Harry’s dad?”
Remus nodded. For a while, he couldn’t speak, too busy tamping down grief.
Evidently uncomfortable with the silence, Nymphadora cleared her throat. “Yet another thing you never talk about.”
There was distant sorrow in her voice, and it was clear that the fear she’d admitted to – that fear of not being a real part of his life – had once again reared its ugly head.
Remus’s throat closed up. He swallowed against it, glancing down at their joined hands. James was always a wound that… just when he thought it had closed, someone would poke at, surprising him with the force of how much it still hurt.
She must have taken his lack of response as an answer in itself, because she exhaled a slow, resigned breath. “You don’t have to. Not if you don’t want to. I know I’ve pushed a lot today.”
He managed a wry, half-bitter laugh, and shook his head. “James was like that, too. Pushy.” A faint, sad smile tugged at his lips. “Must be an only-child thing.”
She huffed, going along with it. “You’re an only child, too.”
“Ah, well.” He breathed a silent laugh. “Growing up as a werewolf balanced it out.”
She chuckled, too – a quiet sound, no real amusement in it, but, warm enough to show that she wanted to. And yet, in the silence that followed, that old dejection returned to her expression as well. Not disappointment, exactly, but something close. An intangible sadness, an unspoken wish to know more – see him beyond just the pieces he was willing to bare.
Despite his half-hearted joking, that twisted something deep in his chest.
Remus sighed, rubbing his thumb absently over her knuckles. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you,” he rasped. “It’s just… it’s been such a relief. Having a fresh start with you. Having someone who cares for me – for who I am right now. Not someone who’s missing a version of me that… only pains me to remember.”
Her gaze softened, but of course, she didn’t let it drop that easily. “But that’s not fair to him,” she chided, softly.
Remus frowned. “To who?”
She gave his hands a squeeze. “That boy. The boy you used to be. Why abandon the poor thing when he’s already lost all his loved ones?”
She met his eyes. “I’d like to be acquainted with him. Whether or not he’s the man I married.”
Remus sucked in a sharp breath, feeling winded. He closed his eyes. Merlin— this was, somehow, an even worse disinterment than Sirius’s. He’d run from it for so many years…
But eventually, he opened his mouth. And the words came. And he told her. About their most infuriating king – even though Remus would swear fealty all over again, again and again, beyond a shadow of a doubt.
About Remus’s treason, in spite of it.
“After everything James had done for me…” he hissed at his knees, “And it turned out he’d been the most steadfast all along. The only one who never thought I’d… and yet, I still—” He paused, calming his breath. “Sirius. It just had to be Sirius. When, when I saw that photograph in the papers, that awful morning after… the way he was laughing. Sirius, I mean. I knew something was off, I knew—” His breath caught. “And there wasn’t a trial. And he would never, never betray James. Not James, of all people. At least not willingly.”
“And you were right,” Nymphadora reminded him gently, squeezing his hand.
Remus shook his head, almost frantic. “But I wasn’t sure I was right. Not yet.” His voice quivered. “And I still… I still shielded him. Even before we knew the truth, before Peter— I just couldn’t, wouldn’t admit to everything I knew Sirius had to have known. The best hiding places at Hogwarts, the fact that he could transform…” He ran an agitated hand through his hair. “What does that say about me? That I could doubt him and still take his side? That I could do that to James in my heart—”
“If he loved Sirius as much as you say he did, wouldn’t James have appreciated that, though?” Nymphadora placated, but Remus shook his head with a harsh breath.
“I was never the friend— the brother— to him that he was to me. Even when, even when I thought Sirius might have been the one selling our secrets to the Death Eaters, I never told him. I let him trust me, let him call me family, all while I harboured suspicions I never dared to voice. And then he— was gone, and I was left with nothing but this awful, awful guilt, and it hasn’t left me since, Dor—not once.”
His breaths came unsteady. “That’s why I could never face Harry,” he whispered. “Why I stayed away. I had nothing to offer him, but also, I… I couldn’t. Knowing what I’d done— what I hadn’t done. For James.”
He closed his eyes and swallowed down pain. “God. And Harry looks so much like him. I hadn’t expected it. Seeing James’s face looking at me, that first time… it felt like a punishment. It was.”
He tried to fight the memories that leapt up immediately – like some devilish flame – but he couldn’t. That very face, the accusatory look in those eyes – Lily’s eyes – I’m pretty sure my father would have wanted to know why you aren’t sticking with your own kid, actually… my father died trying to protect my mother and me, and you reckon he’d tell you to abandon your kid to go on an adventure with us?
Remus swore under his breath. Or that night, that terrible night, in his old cottage, just after Sirius— jolting awake because of the sudden noise, like rummaging— and finding Sirius desperately tearing through his drawer.
Why haven’t you got any pictures of James? Why the fuck haven’t you got any pictures of James?
Scrambling out of bed, half-dazed, pulling Sirius into his arms, shushing and explaining that Hagrid had asked for them all, for Harry… Sirius, still caught in whatever nightmare he’d been having before it, sobbing that he couldn’t remember, couldn’t remember. Every time he tried to picture James, he’d just see Harry, and he couldn’t remember what the differences were.
Why can’t I—? We used to sleep together, like this, our faces barely inches apart, why can’t, why wouldn’t I—?
For one, frightening moment, as Remus had shut his eyes against the answering pain in his own chest, he hadn’t remembered, either. For a second where he could barely breathe, he saw only Harry, too.
He’d strained for the sake of the trembling ghost he was embracing. His eyes, he’d whispered. His nose. He’d promised Sirius that they’d look for photos in the morning, but hush now, darling, rest…
Remus swallowed down the sound that wanted to escape. That had been one of the reasons it got too much to bear, he realised. Because he was still mourning James, too. Because, Sirius and he… as they were… they’d only pried that wound right open for each other.
“He was always our joy,” Remus whispered, pained. “Without him… all we had left was our own separate miseries. It wasn’t… sustainable.”
“Bollocks,” Nymphadora murmured. “That’s a mad amount of responsibility to place on one bloke, first of all. And second, even if I might not have known you like he did, what I do know about you both is – you’re survivors.”
She drew her legs up onto the sofa with her, turned her whole body so she could face Remus fully. “Come on. Knowing Sirius like you did, can you honestly say that, if he’d lived, if he’d gotten the chance to be anywhere but Grimmauld Place… can you honestly say that things wouldn’t have improved?”
Remus pondered this. His first instinct – one that had been lodged in his bones for far too long to shake – was to resist, push back against the hope, for hope always failed him, in the end.
But he allowed himself to truly consider it.
And he could. He could see it. Sirius was too tough, too stubborn to simply break. Ever defiant, ever clawing his way out of pit after pit no matter how impossible it seemed. Burning against the darkness like the star he was named for. Given time – real time, not just borrowed moments between battle and grief – he would have found his way to something better.
Remus let his eyes slip shut, and the images came unbidden: Sirius… far from that wretched house… he would still be haunted, yes, still broken in places, but… he would have grown around the cracks. Like he always had.
He pictured it – Sirius throwing an arm around Harry’s shoulders, a crooked smile tugging at one corner of his lips as he teased his godson about something or the other. Sirius with them, even. With him, and Nymphadora, and the child they had yet to meet. Whatever name they might have chosen to put to what they’d be to each other, then… lovers, friends, something else entirely… they would have been something. Whatever Sirius’s pain had led him to believe, he’d been wrong. There was too much between them, too much history, for it to have simply faded.
Nymphadora was giving him a look like she could read his mind. She smiled, painfully tender. “There you go. You’d have been fine, Remus. The real injustice is that he died. That you never got the chance.”
Remus swallowed hard, his chest a tangled knot of sorrow and love. “Is this fair to you?” he asked, pleading. “Talking about this, like— if it bothers you, you should say so, love. I don’t want to repeat my mistakes. I love you, I do.”
Nymphadora only barked out a brief laugh, that charming, almost-cackle of hers. “Between the two of us, you’re the only one with such a traditionalist idea of romance, sweetheart. I’ve never believed in one true love. People are different, come in all sorts, and to me, it follows that the love we have for different people must be different too.”
Her smile softened. “I know you love me – the way you love me. And you loved him – the way you loved him. There’s no hierarchy to it, just parallel lines.”
She reached out, half-heartedly bumping her fist against his shoulder – clearly aiming for levity. “You’ve got weirdly conventional notions for a bisexual guy, I’ve got to say. You know what you need? More time in queer spaces, that’s what. We should do the gay bar circuit, you and me, once the war’s over. God, you’ll love Brixton. Expose you to some more liberated models of love.”
Remus managed a smile, too, if bittersweet. “…Everyone was dying,” he explained, hoarsely.
Nymphadora’s smile faltered. She nodded, understanding, and gave her lap a pensive look. “People are still dying,” she murmured. “AIDS hasn’t gone anywhere.”
“No. But it’s better, better than it used to be.” Remus sighed, and dropped his head back onto the cushion behind him. “Those first few years… they were a waking nightmare.”
Nymphadora inched closer as well, resting an elbow against the top of the sofa, and her face against the hand she’d propped up by extension.
“I’m sorry.” Her free hand trailed light fingers against his cheek. “We live as fully as we can, for as long as we can. Despite. It’s what we do – have always done. I really think you should come out. Give yourself a reminder of that.”
Remus nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
Eventually, he cleared his throat. “Can’t believe you ever thought you might be like Sirius,” he huffed a rueful laugh. “He’d have hated what you said. He’d have insisted that you were naïve for believing fate works in our favour – that he was always headed for a tragic ending no matter what.”
Nymphadora chuckled along, less actual sound and more a rising and falling of her chest. “That’s naïve too, in its own way,” she said. “Endings are endings. What’s the point in calling it tragic or happy when it’s over? It’s still over, isn’t it? What matters, I reckon, is you got to have a happy all-the-times-before.”
Remus didn’t bother tamping down the grief this time – too exhausted for it. He ignored the tear that escaped one eye as he murmured, “Better to have loved and lost?”
Nymphadora reached across and gently thumbed the tear away. “Nah. Still sucks to have lost,” she sighed. “But – bitch of a thing – they’re pairs. It’s proof you had. Loved.”
Remus huffed. Nymphadora inched even closer, and he let her tuck her head in between his jaw and shoulder, wrapping his arms around her to hold her there, while she toyed with the buttons at his chest. “Besides, if fate exists, it shapes the whole story – not just the final bit. Can you imagine if you and Sirius had met as adults instead of when you did? You, with all your struggles trusting people, and him, carrying that gaping hole in his heart – he wouldn’t have been able to hold on to any love you tried to give, and you wouldn’t have been able to offer it. You got the chance to love each other the way you did because it started when it did. Isn’t that fate, too?”
Remus couldn’t even argue.
She smiled knowingly. “Let’s say… Remus… that there was a potion or a spell or something out there that could make you forget Sirius. And James. Just sort of… vanish all the pain away.” She leaned up enough to meet his eyes. “Would you take it?”
He huffed a half-amused, half-despairing breath. No. Of course not. Not for all the world.
“…Wise for your years,” he marvelled.
“Daft for yours,” she retorted, with a mischievous grin as she glanced up. Remus chuckled, squeezing her.
Her grin mellowed into something tender. “Will you tell me?” she asked. “About the happy times?”
Remus idly rubbed her shoulder. He had to cast his mind back, to burrow under the walls it had built to protect him from the pain those memories brought, but he found them, nevertheless. He found the summer of their lives.
He told her. And told her. And told her. By the end, she was smiling from ear to ear, and her eyes were filled with tears, at the same time.
Which was apt, Remus thought. He’d felt that way for decades now.
“You’re lucky to have had that,” she whispered. And, “Small wonder it kills you that you couldn’t have it forever.”
Remus nodded, then couldn’t stop. He managed a smile, as well, though when he closed his eyes, a few stray tears slipped out again regardless.
“Where’s Harry’s mum in all this?” came the inevitable question, and he had to exhume that, too. The resentment he still carried: she’d been his friend first. She’d been his friend first.
And yet… Lily and Sirius… they’d banded together, in the end. Co-conspirators, driven by their mutual love for James, for Harry.
Forgetting – abandoning – any love they might have had for him.
“If she was always going to treat me like a werewolf, in the end, I wish she would’ve done it from the start,” he hissed. “But she spoilt me, Lily did. I understand why Sirius suspected— I do, at the end of the day— but Lily? After all her talk about— support, about rights—”
He had to physically calm himself, steady his breathing, relax his hold on Nymphadora lest he accidentally clutch too hard. “Sorry. She had Harry. I know it was… maternal instinct.”
“What, to protect her baby from a friend?” Nymphadora snorted. “Please, you sound like mum. There’s nothing mystical about motherhood, and I reckon I’m allowed to have a say in that now, all things considered. It doesn’t elevate you to fuckin’ sainthood, alright? Doesn’t absolve her of having been a bad friend to you. …Although in fairness, maybe the stress of the war and having You-Know-Who breathing down her neck does.”
“…Yeah,” Remus granted, forlorn. The ironic thing was he missed her most, lately. Who else would have understood this? An unexpected baby in the middle of a war?
“Should go easier on your mother, though,” he murmured, just to change the subject, although he couldn’t help fixing his eyes on Nymphadora’s belly. “Different times. She doesn’t understand when you say your gender is bisexual. I barely understand that.”
Nymphadora only cackled, thumping him lightly. “Only because you’re judging it by how strange it sounds at face value, not giving it some proper consideration. Sexuality often informs people’s understanding of their gender, yeah? Like, loads of straights would say being straight is a part of their manhood or womanhood. ’Specially the ones that are massive bell-ends about us to begin with. My bisexuality is a part of mine, that’s all.”
Remus hummed and sent her a placating smile. “I know. Making a bad joke. Sorry. ‘Genderqueer’ I understand perfectly.”
“Mm, you’d better, you hook up with enough of us,” Nymphadora teased back, grinning. “Preference, my arse.”
Remus chuckled. They’d inched close enough that their noses all but brushed, now, and she brought her hand up to cup his neck, her thumb stroking idly.
“As long as you get that I’m only a woman in the way that a shack was at some point a tree— and is still made of the same stuff, I guess.”
“Crystal-clearly,” he promised. His own hand hovered over her waist – the proximity necessitated it. It made his eyes drift downward again, too, and he could see her bend her own head out of his peripheral vision, following his gaze, probably reflexively.
She seemed to realise. Murmured, “…I know you don’t understand… about the baby, that is… but I can’t explain it either, Remus. He wants to be born. I just know it, feel it – he does. Nothing’s going to happen to him.”
“He?” Remus echoed, feeling rather small, and very lost.
She nodded confidently. “I know that, too, somehow,” she said.
He had to swallow around the lump in his throat. At last he let his palm rest lightly against her belly, careful, feeling as though his touch might burn. “…I’m not sure I believe you,” he whispered. “But… what I am sure of now is… I’ll stay. I’m staying. If you’ll… forgive me… if you’ll still have me.”
Nymphadora beamed. It scrunched up all her features. She looked so sweet, cheeks flushed, eyes wet.
“You always talk as if you don’t know your worth,” she sniffed. “And that’s the greatest tragedy of all.”
Then, without warning, she sat up. The movement was so sudden that Remus nearly stopped her on reflex.
Her smile had turned mischievous, as she glanced down at him. “Your punishment for running off is that I get to rummage through your things,” she declared – then slid off the sofa altogether. She started for the door: “Be right back.”
Remus sat up as well, bewildered. “What—?”
“Stay,” she ordered, making him chuckle in spite of himself.
“Pushy,” he reiterated.
“You love it!” she shouted back, having already disappeared into the corridor.
Remus huffed a quiet laugh – then let himself release a slow, shuddering breath as he sank back into the sofa. The rush of emotions was ebbing, finally, leaving him feeling both light and oddly hollow. Pressing his fingers to his temples, he exhaled again, deliberately, willing away the last traces of anxiety.
She’d take him back. They’d have their baby. The realisation settled in his chest, warm but fragile, buried still beneath his fears. He’d never really been a praying man before, but at the minute he couldn’t help it – he absently clutched at his mother’s Magen David pendant, where it rested against his collarbone underneath his clothes, and sent up a little plea that Nymphadora would be right, that their baby would be well.
He let his eyes wander the sitting room while he waited, listening to the faint sounds of her digging in the other room. Every so often, there’d be the clatter of shifting objects, the muffled huff of breath when she likely dropped something. His lips twitched slightly.
Then, at last, she returned— and his breath caught.
She was holding a photograph.
Remus recognised it instantly, even from across the room. He had held it enough times, traced its edges, committed every detail to memory.
Lily and James on their wedding day, beaming. Sirius standing beside them, slightly dishevelled as always, but grinning in that way Sirius used to, just for them. James had an arm slung around him, as if his joy was too great to contain. Remus had been behind the camera that day, never comfortable with having his own picture taken, even then.
He stared, silent.
“Found it in your trunk,” was all the explanation Nymphadora gave him, though gently. She crossed the room again.
He swallowed thickly and barely managed a nod. “It’s the only one I’ve got left,” he admitted, after a while, forcing the tremor from his voice. “Hagrid wrote to me asking for photos for Harry. I sent all of mine. But I wasn’t the only person to send this one, so it got returned.”
She offered a soft smile. “It’s a good one. No wonder so many people kept it.”
Remus could only nod again, the old, familiar ache stirring in his chest.
Nymphadora, still smiling, reached for her wand. “I’m rubbish at Transfiguration,” she muttered mostly to herself, then gave it a small, confident flick. A moment later, a frame shimmered into existence around the photograph – slightly lopsided, a bit uneven at the edges, but unmistakeably, a frame.
Remus couldn’t help a quiet, startled laugh. “That’s atrocious.”
“Oh, I know.” She grinned, clearly pleased with herself. “Does the job, though.”
Before he could respond, she turned on her heel and strode toward the fireplace. With care, she placed the photograph on the mantel, adjusting it until it stood just right.
Then she stepped back, as if to admire her work.
Remus was beside her before he even realised he’d moved. One arm curled around her waist. He pulled her close, leaning his head down to touch hers, his eyes fixed on her little arrangement.
He couldn’t stop staring, despite the twinge of melancholy it sparked in his chest – not just at the sight of Lily and James’s wedding photo, but at where she’d placed it.
Right next to theirs.
Both of them in suits, Remus in black, Nymphadora in white. The pair of them beaming: pure joy in Nymphadora’s face, Remus’s more the exhilaration of getting away with something he’d felt he wasn’t supposed to. A hushed and rushed affair, that day had been. They’d barely been able to invite anybody, not least because Remus had been publically outed in the papers by then…
He sometimes, privately, nursed a little fantasy about doing it all over again. Properly. Once everything had settled. Merlin, Nymphadora had an awful way of doing this to him, making him dare to dream, despite knowing better.
If one ignored the separation between the two picture frames, it was almost – almost – believable that they belonged together. A continuity.
And behind those, rather appropriately set a step back, two more frames. One cupping Andromeda and Ted; the other, Remus’s own parents.
His throat tightened.
Nymphadora placed her hand over his where it held her, squeezing gently. “There,” she murmured. “Our family’s complete.”
Remus closed his eyes, overwhelmed. He pulled her even closer.
“Not quite,” he managed hoarsely, after a long moment. “Missing one.”
Nymphadora shifted slightly in his arms, then turned just enough to glance up at him, a question in her eyes.
Remus exhaled. “Harry,” he clarified.
Her grip on his hand tightened, but she didn’t speak. She waited, patient, as if letting him find the words.
“I’ve spoilt things with him. Badly,” he whispered. “I can’t go into all of it right now, but I will. I’ll tell you everything later.”
Nymphadora nodded against him.
“I don’t know if we’ll ever be… family, really,” he continued, the admission heavy. “Not the way he and Sirius were. Whatever we might have had, he and I, it had already started slipping away between us long before I ever met him properly.”
She tilted her head slightly – encouraging him to go on.
Remus swallowed. “The way Lily and Sirius shut me out during the war, when they thought I was the spy… they were protecting him. I understand that. I do. But it meant that in the end, I was never—”
He hesitated, then sighed. “I was never part of their little family,” he whispered.
Silence settled between them, and then Nymphadora turned in his arms, pressing her forehead to his.
Then, after a while, she spoke, both gentle and firm at once. “So fix it.”
Remus blinked, then pulled back slightly to meet her eyes. “Sorry?”
“It’s not too late,” she said. “You can build whatever future you want, Remus. If you want Harry to be part of our family, then make that happen.”
He stared at her, a mess of emotions swirling in his chest – shock, grief, hope, something else he couldn’t name.
Before he could speak, she smiled, nudging him slightly. “The baby’s going to need a godfather, anyway.”
His breath caught entirely. His eyes widened. “You—”
She nodded, her own bright with certainty. “I mean it.”
Something inside him broke and mended all at once. He didn’t know what to do, other than pull her toward him and hug her.
They moved as one. The space between them vanished in an instant. Their lips met in a slow, aching kiss – something between a promise and a plea. Her fingers slipped into his hair, and, for a moment, the world narrowed to the press of her body against his.
When they parted, she lingered close, breath ghosting over his lips. But something in her eyes made him pause – something elusive. It was rare for him to struggle to read her.
“What is it?” he frowned.
She hesitated, then sighed, tracing idle patterns on his shoulder. “I just can’t believe I almost lost you.” The words wavered between a sigh and a laugh, though there was no real amusement in them. “And not because you actually wanted to leave me, apparently. Just because you were too— bloody guilty about loving me and Sirius at the same time.”
Her voice softened – but the pity underlying it was unmistakeable. “Even now… with him gone… you still thought you didn’t deserve this?” She shook her head. Her eyes glistened, lips quirked in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “You’re absolutely bonkers, you know that?”
The tone was fond enough, but rough at the edges, making his heart clench.
She tilted her head, studying him. “You know… I never got the sense that Sirius was the vindictive sort. Molly had her… opinions, sure, but from what Bill’s said, she isn’t exactly a saint herself, no matter how she pretends.” A wry twist played at her lips. “And I’ve heard her be judgemental enough times that I learnt not to take her too seriously. Especially about other people.”
Remus didn’t argue. He liked Molly well enough, but she had been unfair to Sirius. Even now, he couldn’t deny it.
Nymphadora continued. “I suppose I wouldn’t know… I didn’t know him like that. But would he really have been quite so jealous? Enough that you felt the need to pull away from me the minute he was gone?”
Remus’s throat tightened. “No,” he admitted hoarsely.
He had to swallow against the weight in his chest. “Sirius was… deeply misunderstood. People saw what they wanted to see. Molly…” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “There’s history there that isn’t mine to tell. But I think, at the root of it, she was afraid he’d take Harry from her. And people expected him to be like me, willing to make excuses for those who didn’t deserve them, willing to see every side of things, as if that’s some sort of virtue.” His jaw clenched. “As if I don’t do it because I’ve got to. Because it’s how you survive.”
He let out a slow breath, eyes distant. “Sirius spent most of his life being blamed for things that weren’t his fault. And yet he forgave people for things they never would’ve forgiven him for.” A bitter smile quirked up his lips. “And for him to have loved me the way he did, after everything he’d been put through…” His voice faltered. “Merlin. It was nothing short of a miracle.”
Nymphadora furrowed her brows. “Right, so… if you believe all that… if you think he was so wonderful… then why on earth did you assume he wouldn’t have wanted you to be happy?”
The question struck like a blow.
Remus stiffened, words failing him. He opened his mouth, then shut it again, staring at her, shaken by the quiet, devastating truth of it.
Nymphadora chuckled. Her fingers trailed up to cup his face. Her thumb brushed gently over his cheek.
“See? Bonkers,” she murmured.
Then – without any indication that she was going to do it – she turned to face the picture frames once more.
He didn’t need to follow her gaze to know she was looking at Sirius.
“Thanks for loving this one while you were around, mate,” she said, smiling warmly. Remus didn’t dare turn, his attention arrested by the impossible sincerity of her expression. “He’s a bit thick when it comes to knowing his own worth – which I’m sure you were well aware of, eh? – but I’m glad he had somebody to show him it before me. Needs a lot of loving, dun’t he?”
Remus could only watch, as she pulled away, stepping up to the fireplace silently, purposefully. Her fingers brushed the edge of the frame, then traced its contours, as if memorising them. The sunlight caught the soft sheen in her eyes, but her voice remained steady.
“Wish we’d had more time,” she said. “I always did like you. I don’t know if you ever thought much of me – probably just saw me as that weird, clumsy kid who kept knocking over furniture at your place – but I would’ve liked to know you better. Not just the stories, not just what everyone else decided about you.”
Her grip tightened around the frame for a moment… then let it go. “Goodbye, Sirius. Sleep well.” Like a prayer, like the gentlest wish.
She turned back to Remus. “Talk to him,” she urged. “Say what you wish you’d said. It’s time to let him rest, love.”
Remus tensed, feeling as though he was bracing for a punch.
She smiled; a small, knowing thing. Returning to his side, she reached for his hand, then squeezed it once.
“I’ll give you some privacy,” she murmured. Then – with a tired exhale – she crooked her neck side to side. “Besides, I didn’t sleep much last night, and I could use a nap. I’ll be in the bedroom if you need me.”
With one final glance, she turned and disappeared down the corridor, leaving him alone with the sudden silence.
Remus released a slow breath, steeling himself. He had to gather all of his courage to lift his gaze to the mantel, and when he did the photograph met him like a relic from another life: Lily and James glowing with youth, and Sirius—
Sirius, mid-laugh, eyes crinkled in that reckless, boundless way he had about him. But then, as if sensing Remus’s gaze, the grin eased into something softer. A quieter sort of warmth.
Remus’s throat closed up once more. He knew – with aching certainty – that the Sirius in the photograph had been smiling like that for the Remus who’d been behind the camera all those years ago. And yet, standing here now, it felt as though it was for him.
For the first time since Sirius had died, he let himself miss him without guilt.
But he didn’t – couldn’t – step closer the way that Nymphadora had. She was young, full of hope. She still believed in cruel fantasies like speaking to the dead.
He wasn’t sure if he’d ever been like that, himself. If he had, it was too far behind him now to remember – he was too jaded.
He didn’t know what to say.
Instead, a poem surfaced unbidden in his mind – a habit inherited from his mother, who’d loved poetry so much she’d always carried one for every occasion.
We have not long to love.
Light does not stay.
The tender things are those
we fold away.
Coarse fabrics are the ones
for common wear.
In silence I have watched you
comb your hair.
Intimate the silence,
dim and warm.
I could but did not, reach
to touch your arm.
I could, but do not, break
that which is still.
(Almost the faintest whisper
would be shrill.)
So moments pass as though
they wished to stay.
We have not long to love.
A night. A day…
He swallowed hard, searching for his own words, but nothing felt right. He mourned Sirius. He missed James. He forgave Lily. How could he not, when he’d made so many mistakes of his own?
His gaze lingered on Sirius’s face, his heart a slow, heavy ache.
At last, after a long, drawn-out silence, he murmured, “If I’d known that having it easy would mean being without you, I would have forgone it. Every time.” A belated answer to the last words his first love had ever said to him, and an apology – inadequate though it was – for never finding the right ones in time, himself.
Somehow, that was enough.
The knot in his chest loosened – not gone, never gone, but lighter. He turned from the fireplace and left the sitting room behind, his feet carrying him forward.
When he entered the bedroom, Nymphadora was already curled beneath the duvet, her breath soft and steady – though not yet deep enough to be sleep. He slid in beside her, fitting himself to her back and draping an arm around her waist. She hummed in quiet contentment, and pressed closer. Her fingers found his, lacing them as one.
His lips curved into a smile. “Are you quite done bossing me about?” he teased, half-heartedly, against her head.
He could feel her quivering with mirth against his hold. “Well, you can have a go when I’m less tired,” she returned, though impishly.
He chuckled, exhausted himself. “So,” he said lowly, “What should I call you now, if not Dora?”
She sighed, content, but didn’t answer straight away. A quiet, drowsy pause stretched between them – then she yawned. “I’ll have to think about it.”
Remus hesitated. Then – bordering self-conscious – he confessed, “It’s your choice, of course, but… I hope you won’t ask me to call you Tonks again.”
She turned her head, as if trying to catch his expression. “Why?”
A noiseless laugh escaped him. “I rather like that you’re Lupin now.”
Her breath hitched. Warmth bloomed against his skin before he even saw her blush. Then, she turned in his arms, her lips finding his in a kiss – soft, sweet, and just a bit bashful.
The Hogwarts Express sat idle in its place at Hogsmeade Station, steam curling lazily past the windows, carrying the distant murmur of students saying their last goodbyes. Any minute now, the whistle would blow, and the train would lurch forward to pull them toward London – toward separate homes and separate summers.
But for now, the world had yet to force them apart – and Remus had no intention of wasting a second. Sirius was warm against him – pressed close on the leather seat, those perfect, soft lips moving with reverence against Remus’s own. The bit of wall behind Remus’s head might have been uncomfortable, and Sirius’s precarious position (one knee on the seat, one foot on the floor) wouldn’t hold forever, but none of it mattered. Coherent thought barely had room to exist, for Sirius was kissing him the way he did everything else – bold, consuming, and utterly without fear, like the world belonged to him and he meant to have every piece of it.
Even though, with Remus, there was always something softer beneath it – something careful, tender, like Sirius was cradling priceless valuables – snogging like this on the school train, secluded compartment or not, was still brazen, thoughtless, hardly the safest choice.
But for that moment, Remus couldn’t bring himself to care. He felt as reckless as Sirius was. His fingers tangled in Sirius’s hair, soft as silk, and he let himself savour the way it slipped through his hands. He’d spent so long admiring this impossible beauty from a distance – staring, longing – and he’d never let himself believe it could come to this. Now that he had it up close, he wanted to memorise it all, every detail. The sharp line of Sirius’s jaw, the way his lashes fluttered when he sighed into the kiss, that ghost of dimples that only the Marauders ever got to see – because Sirius never smiled wide enough for anyone else.
Remus felt starved for it. Ravenous.
Sirius pulled back just enough to look at him, grey eyes bright even in the dim light of the compartment. His lips were red, kiss-swollen, and Remus had to fight the urge to close the gap again, to steal just a little more before the whistle could sound and time would run out. He must have caught something in Remus’s expression, because his thumb brushed over his cheek, lingering at the corner of his mouth. His smile was a little crooked, a little astute – but no teasing behind it. Only fondness.
“I hate this part,” he murmured.
Remus swallowed. Nodded.
Outside, trunks thudded into compartments, voices called across the platform, and the train was alive with movement, with chatter. But there – in their quiet little world – they clung to stillness, stubborn, Sirius’s fingers tightening where they rested against Remus’s jaw.
“Let’s not,” Sirius said, suddenly, as if it were an option. “Let’s get off the train. Stay at the castle. Find a nice, abandoned classroom to live in. We could—” He cut himself off with another kiss, slower this time, lingering, as if doing so could stretch this moment into eternity.
Remus managed a quiet chuckle against his mouth. “We couldn’t,” he protested – half-heartedly, barely pulling away. “We’d have to go home eventually.”
“Then shrink me,” Sirius returned, and brushed his lips against Remus’s chin. “Put me in your pocket and take me with you wherever you go. Keep me like that, forever and ever.”
A shiver ran along Remus’s spine. Warmth pooled at the base of it. He exhaled shakily, then curled his fingers into Sirius’s shirt, tugging him closer.
“Well.” (He had to pause, clear his throat, try to recover his train of thought from the way Sirius was kissing along his neck—) “I d… don’t see why we’d need to bother with all that, when mum would be perfectly happy to have you normal-sized.”
Sirius hummed against his skin, utterly unrepentant. Warm lips brushed the spot just beneath his jaw, one that Sirius had far too quickly discovered made him melt. It took everything in Remus not to just give in completely. “But,” he pressed on, if less-than-steadily, “You’ve got plans this summer, remember? The flat? Moving out of James’s?”
Sirius only sighed, as if even the idea was a dreadful inconvenience now. “I don’t care anymore,” he mumbled, petulant. “Want you. Don’t want to let you go.”
A breathless, soundless laugh escaped Remus. He carded a hand through Sirius’s hair, tilted his head back enough to see his face. “…Just so you know,” he whispered, in quiet confession, “This was me, every summer before this.”
Sirius stilled. Then, after a pause, he eased back to meet Remus’s gaze properly, grey eyes softer now, muted by something that looked suspiciously like regret.
“Really?” he murmured, a small, self-conscious smile tugging at his lips. “Poor Moony. I wish you’d said something then.”
Remus barely had time to breathe, let alone answer, because Sirius was kissing him again. Slow and deep, like he was trying to leave an imprint.
Remus melted into it – into the warmth of Sirius’s body pressed against his own, the familiar weight of his hands, bracing himself up by Remus’s shoulders, the effortless way they fit together. They’d snogged before, of course – stolen moments behind drawn hangings; closed doors; the Forest floor; the Shack; in all the fragile spaces between a mayhem-filled life that never quite let them be still. But, for some inexplicable reason, this felt different, desperate – final in a way Remus couldn’t rationalise.
He didn’t want to stop, couldn’t bear to. The thought of letting Sirius go, of pulling away and enduring months apart separated by miles and circumstances beyond their control, was unbearable. He knew a variation of this ache – had carried it through every summer before this one – but the form it took now was unaccountably sharper, heavier.
Maybe it was because this time, he actually had Sirius. And who knew how long that could last? What if Sirius found someone better? What if this was their last chance? What if years from now Remus would be reaching for this moment across time, across an absence much crueller than just the inevitable separation of a school holiday?
The thought made something inside him twist; a yearning too deep to name.
Sirius pulled back, then, breathing uneven, and rested his forehead against Remus’s. His fingers ghosted over the collar of Remus’s shirt, absent, gentle, like he was trying to memorise the feel of him, as well. A small smile played at his lips, but his eyes were bittersweet now – distant in a way that made Remus’s chest tighten.
“Thank you,” Sirius murmured, barely more than a breath.
Remus blinked, still dazed, still lost in the ghost of Sirius’s lips. “What for?”
Sirius only shook his head. “Hasn’t been an easy year.” In a quieter voice, touched with something as weary as it was affectionate. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”
Remus felt his throat close up. He opened his mouth, but Sirius beat him to it, leaning in until their lips just barely brushed.
“I love you,” he whispered. It was the second time ever, yet it made Remus’s heart hammer faster than after the first.
He parted his own lips, an urgent feeling bubbling up in his chest, all the way up to his throat, fuelling the echoing words with nothing short of actual fire— but, Sirius’s mouth wouldn’t give them the chance to actually escape, closing over Remus’s again.
They were just getting drunk off each other one more time when the compartment door slammed open with a force that rattled the glass. Remus jerked— James and Lily were tumbling inside, mid-laugh, caught up in whatever conversation they’d been engrossed in before this.
“—No, but really, you’re telling me you’ve never—” James cut himself off with a strangled noise, as he came to an abrupt halt. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake!” he squawked, and flung an arm over his eyes as if that would somehow erase the sight of his best friends necking right in front of him. “Are you serious—? You know I’m very happy for you both, really, very supportive, very modern wizard, me, but does that mean I’ve got to witness this firsthand?” He gestured wildly, still not actually looking at them.
Lily, meanwhile, had slapped a hand over her mouth – clearly trying to smother her laughter, but failing, shoulders shaking with amusement. “Oh, James, come on,” she managed in between all the snickering, though her ears were tinged pink. “It’s their compartment too.”
James turned an affronted expression on her in some scandal. “It’s a matter of principle! There are things a bloke should never have to see!”
“Such as your arse peeking out of your pyjama trousers when you roll over in your sleep?” Sirius drawled lazily, and Remus envied him his composure – Remus himself was certain he looked a right pillock, red-faced and straightening his tie.
Still, as soon as Sirius sat down properly, Remus tugged him into the circle of his arms, regardless, and Sirius burrowed into the crook of his neck delightedly. Well, Lily would have to learn that being a Marauder meant having rather porous boundaries at some point, anyway; it might as well be now.
James had recovered enough to launch into a huffy tirade. “Unbelievable— here I thought Lily might like to sit with us, just this once, one single time, because next year she’s going to be in the prefects’ carriage the entire train ride to school, seeing as obviously she’s going to be Head Girl—”
“Obviously,” Lily echoed solemnly.
“—And on the journey back we won’t be getting on the train at all as seventh-years, will we, we’ll be taking the boats. But what do I get instead? Not a nice, fun time with all of us together, no, just Sirius Black making me sound like a dunce in front of my best girl.”
“I’m sure your bum is very cute,” Lily gave him a supercilious pat on the arm, making Sirius bark out a loud laugh.
Remus chuckled along. “Well, welcome to the Marauder compartment, Lil.” He sent her a sheepish smile. “Sorry about, er, that.”
“I’m not.” Sirius lifted his chin haughtily. “C’mon, Moony, d’you really think these two are gonna pass up the chance to do the exact same thing as soon as they start getting physical?”
“Beg pardon?” Lily’s chortling was somewhere between self-conscious and entertained. Nevertheless, she’d taken the seat opposite them, and James instantly materialised by her side, and they surreptitiously joined their hands as if the folds of their cloaks could actually hide it that well.
Remus smiled to himself.
Conversation sparked as naturally as kindle meeting flame – Sirius and Lily bickering, as they always did; James and Lily finishing each other’s sentences, like one half of a mind had at last met the other; Sirius and James being Sirius-and-James – and, distantly, Remus wondered where Peter was. They could hear the whistle of the train warning everyone to board, so he had to have gotten on, at the very least.
“Anyone seen Wormy?” Remus asked out loud.
“Thought he was in here already,” said James, though a bit distracted, his eyes on the side of Lily’s face; Sirius returned, “We assumed he’d be with you.”
“Oh, he might’ve swapped with Lily.” James, in the tone of an epiphany. “The girls will be short one if she’s in here; maybe he saw his chance and took it.” (To Lily, for her benefit:) “He fancies Marlene, you see.”
“Does he really? Poor thing,” Lily winced. “The only thing Marlene’s ever going to be infatuated with is her broomstick. I mean, I can try and put in a good word, but I dunno…”
“Well, we’ll meet him on the platform if he doesn’t turn up,” Sirius said with a dismissive wave. “Anyway, Yoko, you’ve got a point, but I reckon—”
Remus briefly tuned out the rest. He peeled away from Sirius, who didn’t seem to mind, taking the opportunity to straighten and gesture at Lily with both his hands. Remus stood, stepped up to the compartment door, slid it open, and peered outside. Peter definitely wasn’t coming down the corridor, so James might have been right… must have found another seat somewhere…
Behind him, the conversation carried on. Lily was saying, “When are you ever going to start calling me by my proper name?”
“What, like Lily Jane Evans? Fully?” Sirius’s voice, flat with mockery.
A sharp smack – Lily swatting at him. “No, you know what I mean! Not Yoko.”
“You’re a Marauder now, you’ve got to have some sort of nickname. And you should start calling me Padfoot, by the by.”
“Oh, alright.” Lily huffed – then, probably turning to James: “Does that mean I get to call you Prongs? Finally?”
“No! Please, no. It’s just weird. I want to be James, to you. …Your James.”
A heartbeat of silence. Lily’s half-abashed snickering. “Your James. Like, your highness?”
“Exactly.” James, smug, playing along.
“Moonbeam, come back!” Sirius whined. “They’ve forgotten I exist.”
Remus chuckled. He shut the door and returning to Sirius’s side. Like a pleased pup, Sirius instantly curled into him, pulling his legs up onto the seat, folded beneath himself.
Remus slid a hand over his shoulder, leaned down, and pressed a kiss to the top of Sirius’s head.
Sirius beamed up at him, softly sweet, and Remus’s heart stuttered. Distantly, he registered James and Lily’s animated chatter. Satisfied that they were too wrapped up in each other to notice, he bent to Sirius’s ear and whispered, “Love you more.”
The way Sirius’s entire face transformed stopped Remus’s breath short. His already ethereal good looks, paired with that painfully innocent stare – lips slightly parted, eyes wide with disbelief – made it nearly impossible for Remus to resist kissing him senseless all over again, audience be damned.
Instead, he ran a thumb along Sirius’s cheek, tracing the warm silk of his skin. However long this was destined to last, he knew he’d treasure this moment, at least – that he’d carry it with him, always; even to the grave.
Notes:
Hearken back to the “it’s alright to love someone and leave them for your own good” sentiment in Chapter 7… Your Needs, My Needs by Noah Kahan intensifies.
TBH, if you haven’t listened to the Wolfstar-in-Grimmauld-Place section of my Marauders playlist,
and if you hate yourself enough to put yourself through that,now might be a good time.I take back every joke I made about being a Remus kinnie, Tonks is my Patronus, actually.
Remadora is tricky because there are three different canons to consider: the books, the movies, and the extra-textual stuff (the Pottermore thing). In the books, it has that classic JKR radfem vibe – problematic in that she doesn’t seem to believe women can be creeps. Tonks definitely crosses a boundary there, but the narrative never really treats it that way.
In the movies, though, they’re actually pretty decently written IMO, and they heavily downplay a lot of the ship’s more questionable aspects. (The age difference is never mentioned, and for all we know Remus might not have even left her.) And then there’s the Pottermore article, which finally expands on how Remus actually feels about everything. The additional context that he does want to be with Tonks, but is battling self-hatred + werewolfphobia + his grief over Sirius would have made all the awkwardness in HBP much less weird if it’d been included as text rather than as extra material.
So, overall, while I do think HBP handled it badly, I also think with the full picture this ship does have potential and is ultimately salvageable. I get the sense that JKR was going for a Mimi/Roger type of vibe (the release dates for both properties would fit) but fumbled it horribly for lack of space, so I just. Did that myself, LMAO. (Or at least attempted to.) “Another Day” is kinda them, if you squint.
Actually it’s more Remix*-coded to me in my delulu world but that’s for another instalment.* - For the youngins: Remix = Teddy/James Sirius II; no I am absolutely NOT calling it “Jeddy.” Judges you.
The flash-forward is intended to be read as the other puzzle piece to Chapter 6 (although by no means should you let my intention colour your interpretation, of course. Regardless:). Basically, Remus always feels like he has to “earn” or “justify” his place, whether in the world or in relationships with other people – his “usefulness” is always in terms of what he can do, and not who he inherently is. He evaluates himself less as Sirius’s partner and more as Sirius’s emotional support; less as the husband Tonks already wants and more as the completely, 100% flawless man he thinks he should become in order to deserve her. So, when he believes he’s failed Sirius, he runs, and when he’s scared he’s going to fail Tonks and Teddy, he runs again. He’s a runner, man.
PoA makes infinitely more sense when you read it with the interpretation that Remus didn’t fully believe Sirius was guilty.
I just can’t think of a believable reason for Tonks – of all characters – to not want an abortion given the circumstances, sooo… I decided it must have been some Divination-related thing. Only a magical hunch would explain that choice, STG.
Poem by Tennessee Williams, FTR.
Chapter 25
Notes:
At the end already! How did we get this far? Thank you a million times once again for all of your support, every single one of you. Cookies all around.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The stone gargoyle stood sentinel in its usual place, weathered features cast in flickering torchlight. In front of it, Professor Maddalena Bordastrega, rather uncharacteristically, fidgeted, tugging her deep-green robes more securely around her shoulders. A chill bit through the fabric regardless – she had yet to grow accustomed to this unrelenting Scottish air – but the weather was only partly responsible for it. Anticipation coiled tight in her stomach as well, of a sort that bordered dread: a familiar weight she’d long since learnt to carry.
For it was ugly business, this. Best to be done with it. She’d been raised in a household where “for the greater good” was more than a sentiment – it was doctrine. Her family had twisted it into something sharp-edged, something unyielding. And yet, for all their differences, she could not deny the necessity of standing by it now.
Troubled times. Troubled times indeed.
She drew in a breath, steadied herself, then murmured the password. The gargoyle stirred, stone grinding against stone, as it stepped aside to reveal the spiral staircase beyond. The sight was familiar, yet it never failed to set her pulse just that little bit quicker. Without further hesitation, she ascended, each footfall swallowed by the thick hush that pressed in around her.
By the time she reached the landing, she had already smoothed the tension from her face. She knocked. A pause, and then, from within, a slightly hoarse voice:
“Enter.”
Maddalena stepped inside. At once, the warmth of the office curled around her. The scents of parchment, candle wax, and something faintly sweet – lemon drops, most likely – clung to the air. The space was much as it always was: inviting, in its clutter, with shelves that overflowed with books and scrolls and strange metal contraptions that ticked and whirred away. It should’ve been comforting – it probably was, to a student – but not to her, and not tonight. Even the familiar had an edge to it, knowing what had to follow.
Above her, the portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses stirred in their frames, roused by the late-night visitor. Their eyes followed her, watchful, though none of them spoke.
And at the heart of it all, there sat Albus Dumbledore.
He regarded her from behind his desk – hands folded, half-moon spectacles perched low upon his crooked nose. The sconces played along the silver of his beard, turning it into threads of spun moonlight. He looked, as he always did, both impossibly ancient and infuriatingly amused, gaze sharp with that ever-present astuteness to it: an invitation and a challenge all at once, somehow.
“Ah, Maddalena,” he said warmly, though there was – as always – something measured beneath it. “I trust all is in order for your departure? Is your carriage ready?”
Maddalena inclined her head and folded her arms over her chest. “Yes,” she said simply.
“Excellent. Now – before anything else, I must thank you,” he smiled. “Your time as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor has been of great value to Hogwarts. Because of you our students will be more than equipped to protect themselves, should the need arise – though we can only hope not.”
Maddalena nodded and loosened her stance ever so slightly. “It was my duty,” she answered. “I hope they need not as well, but if so, they will be prepared. They will not fear it.”
Dumbledore’s blue eyes twinkled, though there was no real mirth in them – she knew too much to be fooled. “Of course,” he murmured. “But before you leave, we must conclude our business, mustn’t we?”
She gave a short nod, schooling her expression into professional apathy. “…Yes,” again. “That we must.”
She cleared her throat.
Dumbledore leaned back slightly in his chair. Laced his fingers together. “And so… what do you have for me?” he asked, in a light and almost conversational tone.
But Maddalena knew better than to mistake it for anything but serious. She did not answer at once – instead, she let her gaze flicker to the fire, watching the flames coil around the logs, licking at the wood like something alive.
No, this was not pleasant business – the work of an Auror rarely was, but this? This was different. She had never needed to do this to children before. Even she was not so mercenary that the thought could sit well in her stomach.
Still, there was no room for softness in duty. She had taken her oath, and comfort had long since ceased to be a consideration.
She would have to wash her hands of the rest. This would serve the greater good, after all – that much, she knew.
Drawing in a slow breath, she turned back to Dumbledore. “First, you must understand,” she began, “Profiling is still… not exact. Not yet. It is new – untried. We are still learning, testing… there can be no guarantees – no certainty – as such.”
She met his eyes, searching for some sign that he understood the weight of what she was saying. Dumbledore inclined his head, his expression contemplative. “Yes,” he said, “I do keep a close eye on the developments within your field. Let’s see… it is a discipline still in its infancy, and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has long relied on Legilimency, Divination, and instinct rather than… patterns or methodology. Plenty still look at profiling with some scorn. But times are changing, are they not?”
He spoke as if reminiscing, though Maddalena knew it wasn’t quite that.
“The first real attempts at profiling, I believe, came during… the last goblin rebellion? If I recall correctly, a group of scholars sought to… map, the minds of key revolutionaries – to predict their movements. And it failed spectacularly.” A flicker of something – wry amusement, perhaps regret – passed over his features. “Then of course there was the experiment in the fifties, when the French Ministry attempted to apply Arithmancy to criminal psychology. That ended… inconclusively.”
His gaze found hers again, sharp beneath its warmth. “Nevertheless, I should like to risk trying again. Just this once.” He smiled – small, knowing. “Besides, I trust you. And surely your name is quickly becoming foremost in its field for a reason, my dear.”
Maddalena could only sigh. She rubbed her fingers together as if to physically shake off the unease.
Well. It was worth the try. But Dumbledore was too shrewd – too stubbornly insistent in that subtle way of his. Of course he would never have left it be, based merely on a threat as measly as imprecision (she thought, sardonically). So what if the wrong ones were to be trapped alongside the right? Bodies were bodies.
She had no real choice.
Straightening, she cleared her throat – bracing herself. With practiced efficiency she reached into her cloak and withdrew a stack of parchment-bound folders, their edges curled from handling. These, she placed on Dumbledore’s desk, with a quiet but decisive thud.
“Here,” she said, tapping the topmost folder, “Are the ones of age. The ones you can—” She paused to search for the right phrase, “—Keep an eye on. If you require.”
To his credit Dumbledore did not immediately press for an elaboration. He merely hummed in acknowledgement. His long fingers brushed against parchment as he slid the stack toward himself. The fire crackled softly as he perused the first folder, sharp gaze flicking across its contents.
Maddalena stood still, watching. Waiting.
After a moment, Dumbledore glanced up at her over his spectacles. “And if you had to choose?” he asked. “Your own top picks?”
Maddalena tilted her head as she considered the pile before them. “The sixth-years,” she decided, at last. “That class, in particular… it is most remarkable. There is something about them…”
Dumbledore said nothing, merely eyeing the parchment again, nodding for her to continue.
She tapped a knuckle against the desk. “They invent new spells like breathing. They have no need for textbooks, no care for school- nor Ministry-imposed constraints. So much talent, all in one year… it forces them to push one another. They set the bar higher without even realising it. A student who might have already been impressive in another year becomes—” She made a small, precise gesture with her fingers, “—Practically a prodigy, among them.”
Dumbledore’s expression remained unchanged, but there was a glimmer of interest in his eyes.
Maddalena shifted slightly, reaching for a folder near the top. “For instance… Emmeline Vance. Muggle-born. Slytherin. Highly skilled. Ambitious, but in the right way – eager to learn, to sharpen herself like a blade. She understands that knowledge is survival. She is determined to protect herself, her people.”
She slid the folder aside and picked up another. “Then… Marlene McKinnon. A smart duellist. Fearless. She should complete the set nicely.” Her tone was dry, but Dumbledore would understand: he already had McKinnons among his recruits. Adding Marlene would be a natural choice.
She paused as she searched for another folder. “And this one – Kingsley Shacklebolt. Ravenclaw. He does things… what is the phrase… by the book, yes? It’s good, makes him a soldier, but he is not stupid, either – he does not need to be told every little step. Can follow orders, but knows when to use his own mind. Rare – he would make an effective Green.”
She hesitated then, just for a fraction of a second. But there was no avoiding it now. No more hedging.
Sighing, Maddalena reached for another folder, this one slightly more worn than the rest. Her fingers brushed against the label… then she lifted it.
“Those would be of mediocre talent in any other year but this one, I think,” she said. “But now, I suppose, it is time to point out the truly exceptional?”
She set the folder down on the desk.
“Remus Lupin,” she read. “Bright mind. Excellent duellist. Follows orders well.”
Dumbledore glanced down at it. There was a knowing glint in his eyes. “Lyall certainly does not – how do the children put it? – slack,” he observed, wryly.
Maddalena allowed herself a quiet huff, something just short of a laugh. “Indeed not,” she agreed, ruefully amused. “Not even with his own son.”
Her fingers tightened slightly around the folder. Poor boy.
She exhaled. Straightened her shoulders. Back to business.
“He would be good for a Black or a Yellow,” she said, tapping the top. “He possesses the instincts for it. Quick to make believable excuses on his feet, as well. And, most importantly, he retains information.” She frowned slightly. “But his weakness… he lacks stamina. He can duel – expertly, I have to add – but, with such physical limits, it might only be useful for self-defence. He is not good offensive. So—” She made a small, vague gesture, “—He cannot be used in Red.”
Dumbledore merely smiled. “In any case, as it happens, I have other uses in mind for him.”
Nodding, Maddalena set Remus Lupin’s folder aside and reached for the next one. She was not in the habit of asking questions when she knew she wouldn’t like the answers.
The name on the new folder was written in bold, decisive script. “James Potter,” she read out loud.
Dumbledore made a considering sound as she flipped it open.
“This one,” Maddalena began, “Would be an excellent Red. In fact—” She glanced up and levelled Dumbledore with a pointed look. “—You should consider him for your strike team captain.”
Dumbledore lifted an eyebrow.
“He keeps his head in a crisis, as recent events have shown,” Maddalena elaborated. “A lot of pure talent, sì, but not only this. The brains to back it up as well. Good at moving from analysis to synthesis – sees a situation, breaks it down, then creates something new from the pieces.” She gestured with one hand, sliding it, illustrating the process in the air.
She paused for a moment, considering, then gave a small, regretful shake of her head.
“Would have made a good Purple, too, if he let himself,” she half-sighed. “But he does not. He seeks peer approval too much. He likes to be admired, to be seen, to be at the centre. This holds him back from the more… academic, intellectual paths his mental capabilities would have otherwise suited him for.”
Dumbledore hummed thoughtfully, but Maddalena lifted a finger, pre-empting any debate.
“It is not a disadvantage,” she clarified. “He has simply used his cleverness to sharpen his more practical skills instead. He thinks fast, acts fast…”
She tilted her head slightly, allowing some amusement into her otherwise carefully-professional tone. “If it were otherwise… I imagine you must have been a lot like him, as a young man.”
At that, Dumbledore chuckled; indulgent, unoffended. “A dangerous comparison, Maddalena,” he mused, eyes twinkling. “But carry on – what are his weaknesses?”
Maddalena exhaled, almost a sigh. “He is still immature,” she said bluntly. “No ideology, no politics other than a broad notion of honour. Not yet, anyway. If he fights for this cause, it will not be for conviction.”
She tapped her finger against James Potter’s folder once more; then set it aside. “However…” she murmured, reaching for the next one…
She lifted it, the name Lily Evans printed neatly across the front. “This,” she said, “Is the simple remedy.”
Dumbledore’s eyes flicked to the folder with interest, but he said nothing, waiting for her to explain.
“Lily Evans is just as capable as James Potter,” Maddalena elaborated, “But… they are different. I think – if there is a distinction between talent and skill – Potter, he has the talent. Things come to him like instinct, it is intuitive. But Miss Evans, she is skilled. She needs instruction, but once she has it – mm – she learns fast, very fast. Precise. Adaptable. Potter flies. She builds wings.”
She paused, contemplative. “But her skills are much more… eh… spread. She does not shine in the same way as him mostly because she does not sharpen any one in particular. That is to your advantage, of course – she is flexible. Can be a Blue, Green, Red, Yellow, as needed. And, unlike Potter, she is inclined to be dedicated to some cause. She is Muggle-born, first of all, but also principled. Passionate about her beliefs, in general.”
She couldn’t help a half-amused breath. “In that sense, they are much like yin and yang, head and heart. Opposite, but matching. Just as Potter has his instinct – his talent – for magic, she has that for right and wrong, for people. She feels what is just. It is natural for her, either she is born or raised with it. Potter… he does not have that so easily. Too much of an objective thinker to understand, eh… empathy, innately. He must be shown. Taught. He can learn it, but not feel it the same way. As magic is for her – she picks up, but not on her own. Not without guidance.”
Dumbledore nodded with an impassive expression.
Maddalena exhaled. “I have observed them,” she added. “I believe they are already… counterparts. In whatever sense that may be.”
She looked at Dumbledore now, making sure he understood what she was implying. “If so, she will be his compass. You should consider them as a pair. Together, they would be unstoppable.”
Dumbledore hummed. Then he gestured for her to move on.
Maddalena reached for another folder— hesitated for just a fraction of a second— then placed it before him.
His expression shifted – just slightly, but she caught it. A glimmer of surprise, quickly schooled into neutrality as he read the name on the label: Severus Snape.
Maddalena noted his reaction with a knowing glance. “I see you did not expect this one,” she remarked, drily.
Dumbledore’s fingers rested lightly on the folder, though he didn’t open it. “I must admit, I am curious.”
Maddalena chuckled. “This one is a wildcard,” she granted. “I do not believe he has ideals. Not truly.” She rolled a hand, searching for the right words. “He surrounds himself with would-be dark wizards, sì, but he does not possess any zeal. Not in the way the rest of them do.”
Dumbledore watched her carefully.
“He is the truest nihilist I have ever observed,” she continued, blunt. “I do not believe he necessarily supports a cause – theirs, nor anyone else’s – he simply goes where the greatest benefit is. It is his nature.”
A pause. Then, with a slight tilt of her head, she added, “If you want, you can use that. Offer him the better deal, the greater reward. He would be useful in many areas – a talented potioneer, good at moving unseen, and not without other skills. What holds him back, mostly, is sheer bad luck. In any other class, he would have shone as a prodigy. But it is his misfortune to be in the same year as James Potter. There is no competing with a natural-born genius of your ilk.”
Dumbledore remained silent, still studying her.
Maddalena sighed. “But it is too much of a gamble,” she admitted at last, folding her arms. “Mr Snape should only be considered as a last resort. If all else fails.”
With that, she set the final folder aside and exhaled. “Those are my ‘top picks,’” she said, with an air of finality. “If I were in your position, they are the ones I would consider first.”
She straightened, and smoothed the front of her cloak. “Now, if you will excuse me, Albus…” She cleared her throat. “I still have some packing left, and as I have said, my carriage is waiting.”
She’d barely shifted toward the door, however, when his voice – calm, but insistent – halted her.
“Maddalena.”
She stilled.
“Are you absolutely certain you’ve named everyone?”
Turning back, she forced her expression to remain neutral. “Yes,” she said.
Dumbledore tilted his head slightly. His eyes glinted with something just short of amusement. “Curious,” he remarked. “There is one more I would have chosen… especially considering what you said about ideologies. Or the lack of them.”
Maddalena’s fingers curled slightly at her sides, but she did not speak.
Dumbledore did not break eye contact, either. “Sirius Black,” he said.
A heartbeat’s worth of silence.
Dumbledore smiled, if faintly. “Now – there is a young man with a personal philosophy that could very much aid our cause, wouldn’t you say?” His gaze sharpened. “Why did you not pick him, I wonder?”
Inwardly, Maddalena cursed Dumbledore for his perceptiveness. The old man never let anything slip past him… but on the outside, she held onto her composure.
“I don’t believe he would be up to it,” she said evenly.
Dumbledore merely watched her.
She exhaled, slow and longsuffering. “Yes, he is talented. And yes, he has a dedicated ideology, which is rare for his age. But—” She tapped a finger against the desk for emphasis, “—He is not ready. He is emotionally and mentally unfit to cope with crises. He would break under stress.”
Dumbledore’s eyes turned cannier than ever, and they lingered – scrutinising.
Maddalena’s jaw tightened. Damn it. She hated when he did that.
Against her better judgement, she found herself elaborating. “His core,” she begrudgingly admitted. “It is unstable. Fractured – close to splitting.”
Dumbledore hummed, thoughtful rather than dissuaded. “A fractured core,” he mused, “Only means that… if the need ever arose… he could wield dar—powerful magic.”
Maddalena stayed silent, but her fingers twitched at her side.
Dumbledore tapped a fingertip lightly against the arm of his chair. “More than that,” he observed, “A fractured core means he would require no wand-loyalty to wield one… he could use multiple wands with ease.” A faint smile. “Making Expelliarmus particularly effective, wouldn’t you say?”
Maddalena schooled her expression into something aloof.
Dumbledore’s smile stretched, almost teasing. “You must have noticed these benefits already,” he said. “An Auror of your calibre, with your particular skillset… and yet, you did not name him?” He tilted his head. “Very curious indeed. Are you playing favourites, Maddalena?” The words came light, but the sharp glint in his eyes told her it was at least to some extent a genuine question. “How unexpected… you aren’t known to be – how do they put it? – soft.”
Maddalena’s expression turned steely. “You should heed my advice, Albus,” she warned. “You would not be able to control this one.”
Dumbledore’s smile didn’t fade entirely, but something in his gaze shifted – warier now, assessing.
She continued, undeterred. “Indeed, I do not think anyone would.”
Her fingers curled slightly around her arm. “Mad dogs,” she said, coolly, “Are not to be relied upon. You – of all people – should know better than to put your trust in them.” She tilted her head, deliberately making her tone thoughtful, but mocking. “Before you have to put them down. Just like the last one. …No?”
Dumbledore faltered – imperceptibly, perhaps, to anyone else. But not to her.
Her smirk was slow, knowing. “If you wanted to hire someone who didn’t know about your past,” she challenged, “Perhaps you ought not to have chosen dear Uncle Gellert’s great-niece, eh?”
Dumbledore’s expression shifted; not in shock, or offence, but into something entirely unreadable.
And then – to Maddalena’s quiet irritation – he smiled.
“Well, there’s no real point in fretting,” he said – lightly, almost nonchalant. “It isn’t actually up to either of us.”
Maddalena’s smirk faded slightly.
Dumbledore clasped his hands together atop his desk. “If you ask me to consider Remus Lupin, James Potter, and Lily Evans,” he clarified, “Then Sirius Black will follow. Of his own accord.”
There was something faintly amused in his tone now, though whether it was genuine or calculated, Maddalena could not tell.
Dumbledore’s blue eyes twinkled with something dangerously close to mischief. “Mad or not, dogs are faithful by nature, Leni,” he added. “Especially if they’ve already chosen their masters.”
Maddalena exhaled sharply – a sound halfway between a sigh and a scoff. “Then it seems you have everything in hand, as always,” she said, dry as parchment.
Dumbledore merely smiled.
She straightened, gave him a curt nod. “In that case, you will excuse me. My carriage is waiting.”
This time, he did not stop her.
Maddalena turned on her heel and strode toward the door, trying and failing to keep from stomping. She refused to look back as she exited, then closed the heavy door behind her.
As she made her way down the spiralling staircase, however, she allowed herself an ounce of pity. She’d tried to spare that poor boy, but… oh, well. Dumbledore could not be denied. Such was the way of it.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the strap of her purse. She forced them to relax.
She did feel rather sorry for Sirius Black, she couldn’t deny… but, just as quickly, she shrugged it off.
Not her concern. Not her job. She’d done her duty.
And that was all that mattered.
Notes:
What are all the colours about? What was Snape actually up to, if not the Mulciber plot? And when-oh-when are we ever going to see Peter’s thoughts? Stay tuned for seventh year! ;)
If you’re not subscribed to me, you probably should, so you’ll be notified as soon as Part III is up. I have also been posting my progress on my AO3 profile page, if you’d prefer to just check in and refresh that every once in a while. Sorry about the wait, but I really do prefer to have everything written down before posting, for this project – at the very least, it helps me decide what should go in the summary. I’ll be posting a spinoff one-shot sometime tomorrow though! Just a silly little interlude.
Did you enjoy this instalment? Wonderful! I’d really appreciate it if you could take a moment to leave a kudos, bookmark it, or (best of all) comment, if so. There’s kind of a mismatch between the number of hits and the amount of interaction on both this and spring, which is always a little bit disheartening when you’re pouring a lot of time and energy into a massive project like this. I completely understand that not everyone has the time or spoons to leave feedback, but if you do have a thought, a feeling, or even just a keyboard smash to share – I promise it means more than you think! And if you can’t, a quick click of that kudos button (maybe two, with you logged off, wink-wink) does me just fine too. Interaction really helps keep the momentum going on my end.
Also, if you think you know people that might enjoy this, too, please do pass it along! Recs to friends or shoutouts on social media (particularly the subreddits, they’re always looking for canon-compliant content IME) would make a big difference and really help me out.
See you all next time!
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