Half-Blood Harmony

by lizzyK01

Summary:

She sings. He stares.
The past never left—it just learned how to dance.

Sevessa Snape is shunned in the wizarding world—called cruel, unlovable, and worse. But in the Muggle town of Spinner’s End, she is a legend. Her voice, raw with power, brings light to the dark corners of a place long forgotten.

When Voldemort rises, determined to conquer both magical and Muggle worlds, he takes an unsettling interest in Sevessa and the strange magic that stirs when she sings. Desperate to protect the people she loves, Sevessa performs a soulbinding ritual—and unintentionally links herself to Lily Evans and the Marauders.

Now, bound by magic older than Hogwarts itself, the six must learn to fight as one. With the help of Sevessa’s estranged father, Tobias, and a group of fiercely loyal Muggle friends, they prepare for the war looming ahead—and the monster who wants to claim Sevessa’s voice as his own.

 

(Updates come every Sunday!!)
(P.S Please do not post elsewhere!!)

Chapter 1: Not a Fan of Fun

The Black Lake glittered in the sun. It was a beautiful day; temperate, with a soft breeze. Students could be seen relaxing on the grass, outer robes laid out as blankets, sleeves rolled up and shoes tossed aside. Giggles and shrieks rang out from a group of first- and second-year girls who were standing knee-deep in the lake, taking turns splashing each other.

“You’d think with voices that can reach such unimaginable pitch that they’d take care to mind their volume,” muttered Sevessa Snape to the redheaded girl sat beside her.

“You’d think that with exams finally over, you’d have relaxed a bit,” Lily teased.

Sevessa rolled her eyes.

“I am relaxed,” she said stiffly, arms crossed over her chest. “This is me at my most serene.”

Lily laughed, tipping her head back so the sunlight caught in her hair—bright copper catching fire. Her freckles stood out starkly against her pale skin, and her socks were mismatched, one already damp from where she'd dipped her toes in the water earlier.

“Yes, you look like a portrait of peace,” Lily said dryly, poking Sevessa’s boot with her own bare foot.

Sevessa, by contrast, was all sharp lines and cool tones. Black hair pulled tightly back into a ponytail, boots polished, sleeves buttoned to the wrist despite the heat. She sat as if the grass might bite, her expression somewhere between disdain and contemplation. Only the faintest crease between her brows betrayed how closely she was listening—to the shrieks, the wind, the lake.

“Besides,” Lily added, brushing a bug from her skirt, “they’re just kids. Let them have a bit of joy.”

Sevessa didn’t answer right away. Her gaze lingered on the group in the water—one girl had slipped and was now dripping—laughing harder than ever—her friends squealing in delight. Sevessa’s lips twitched, just slightly.

“I don’t remember being that loud,” she said at last.

“Oh, you weren’t,” Lily said, smiling. “You were far too busy reading to participate in any ‘mundane and nonsensical activities.’”

“What’s that?” yelled a tall, lean boy with messy black hair as he strutted toward them. “Snape’s not a fan of fun? My god, that’s really shocking news, that is!”

Sevessa groaned, turning to glare lightly at Lily.

This boy was a menace.

She had first met James Fleamont Potter on the Hogwarts Express. He was then, as he is now, an absolute troublemaker. Loud-mouthed and opinionated, he had strutted into the carriage she and Lily had secured and plopped himself down opposite them. Introductions had been quick; the boy was movement personified. If his mouth wasn’t moving, then his hands were—and if they were bound, he would pace. Sevessa was pretty certain she’d even seen him wiggle his ears once to release some of that voracious energy after being told by a professor for the forty-seventh time to “Sit still!”

His exit from the carriage had been just as quick when he’d learned she expected—and hoped—to be placed in Slytherin. A house that, in his mind, had all the redeeming qualities of a slug.

Sevessa had, of course, been sorted as expected. Potter had ended up in Gryffindor, along with his merry band of misfits that he’d managed to collate after departing from her and Lily. Lily had also ended up in Gryffindor, to no one’s surprise—and Sevessa’s slight disappointment.

Following behind him were the aforementioned misfits: Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew.

Sirius Black was James’s shadow and mirror—equally loud, equally maddening, but with an edge sharper and darker than James’s boyish charm. Sirius didn’t strut so much as prowl, all sharp angles and a kind of careless grace that made people turn to look whether they meant to or not. His black curls spilled past his shoulders, glossy and untamed, catching the sunlight like raven feathers. A single silver hoop glinted in his left ear—strictly against uniform, but no one seemed persistent enough to make him take it out.

Where Potter was mischief dressed in red and gold, Sirius was rebellion in a school tie. He wore his uniform like a joke—shirt half-unbuttoned, tie hanging on for dear life, black combat boots peeking out beneath his robes as if daring someone to comment.

Trailing behind him, trying to keep up with their pace, was Peter Pettigrew. He was shorter, round-faced, and perpetually wide-eyed. Many found him out of place in the quartet, only understanding his Marauder status after learning he and James were childhood friends. But he made more sense when you watched closely. He was physically the least impressive of the lot, but he was smarter than most gave him credit for. While he was positively dismal at potions, his charms knowledge was something to admire.

And then there was Remus Lupin. Quieter, always. He lingered a few steps behind the rest, hands in the pockets of his cardigan, shoulders slightly hunched as if he’d been caught somewhere between a book and a nap and was still deciding which one to return to. His hair was light brown and a little too long, and there was always a tiredness about him that didn’t seem to match his age.

He was a contradiction. Thoughtful but evasive, gentle but closed off. Of all the Gryffindor boys, he was the only one Sevessa didn’t have an immediate and visceral dislike for. He was also the only one she’d spent more than two minutes in the presence of. Around the end of second year, Lily had struck up a friendship with the boy and he had become the tentative third member of their little study group. You could say they were friends—until one of the boys wanted something.

“Did you hear that, Sirius?” James yelled again. “Hogwarts’ very own Snivessa Snape—not a fan of fun.” He mockingly sounded out the last phrase, feigning shock.

“I can’t believe it, James, I really can’t believe it,” Sirius mocked back. “I suppose that means we need to convince her it’s worthwhile then, don’t we, James?”

“Indeed we do, my good Padfoot. Indeed we do.”

Lily stood up from her spot under the tree, arms folded. “Oh, would you two shut up and leave us bloody well alone?!”

Sevessa stood as well—not eager to be a sitting duck for their impending attack.

All four boys had made their way over and were now only a few meters away. Lupin, still hanging at the back, looked hesitant and regretful.

“Guys!” he called. “Is this really how we want to celebrate finishing our OWLs? Can we not just… go steal some whiskey from Filch’s office instead?”

“Oh no no no, Moony,” said Sirius, spinning on his heel to look at him, mock-shocked. “This is our civic duty! We are the Marauders—we must convince all the untapped potential of fun!”

James nodded solemnly. “It’s a public service, really.”

Not in the mood for their nonsense, Sevessa grabbed Lily’s hand and turned to walk away.

She’d taken three steps when she heard James mutter, “Levicorpus!”

There was a sudden whoosh of magic, and Sevessa found herself wrenched violently off the ground, the world flipping as her ankles were yanked skyward. Her robe fell around her face as she dangled helplessly, suspended midair by an invisible force. Her polished boots pointed indignantly toward the sky.

“Oh brilliant,” Sirius crowed, clapping his hands like a child at a fireworks show. “That’s exactly the posture of someone having the time of their life.”

James grinned up at her, proud as anything. “See? Isn’t this fun, Snivessa? You’re swinging! Just like the first years on the jungle gyms!”

“PUT. ME. DOWN.” Sevessa’s voice was low and cold, which would’ve been more effective if she hadn’t been twirling slowly in midair like an angry, upside-down chandelier.

“Oh, don’t be so uptight,” James called. “You’re finally seeing the world from a different angle! It's character building!”

“Character assassination is more like it,” Lily snapped, face flushed as she pointed her wand at him. “Finite incantatem!”

With a sickening swoop, Sevessa dropped. She landed hard on the grass with a dull thud, robes askew and hair tumbling from its tight ponytail. She was silent for a beat—dangerously silent.

Lily knelt beside her. “Are you okay?”

Sevessa sat up slowly, brushing her hair back with a trembling hand. Her eyes locked on James with a look that could have melted cauldrons. Then she stood, slowly, deliberately, and looked down at her now grass-stained sleeves.

“Oh, you absolute cretin.”

“Hey, no permanent harm done!” James offered, backing up a step, grinning nervously now.

“Speak for yourself,” Sevessa muttered. She turned her wand in her fingers like she was weighing its capacity for homicide.

“Right,” said Lupin from the back, scrubbing a hand down his face. “And this is the part where we regret all our life choices.”

Peter was already nervously edging away, sensing the incoming storm.

Sirius, still laughing, held up his hands. “Come on, Sevessa. You’ve got to admit, it was a little bit funny.”

“I will admit nothing,” she said icily. “Except maybe that one day, I’ll hex you all so thoroughly you’ll be coughing up slugs for a month.”

“Promises, promises,” Sirius said with a wink.

Sevessa turned sharply, grabbed Lily’s hand again, and stormed off toward the castle. Her boots squelched slightly from the patch of damp grass she'd landed in. She didn’t look back.

“I don’t understand,” Peter said once they were gone, “why do they never find us as funny as we do?”

Remus sighed. “Because we’re not, Wormtail.”

 

The girls’ bathroom on the second floor was, as usual, deserted. Sevessa burst through the door, dragging Lily behind her.

“I hate those bloody boys,” she snarled, already unlacing her boots. “How arrogant does a person have to be to think it's their civic duty to teach others about the value of fun? And I do have fun, thank you very much! Just because my version of fun doesn’t involve inconveniencing, demeaning, or injuring other people doesn’t mean I don’t know how to enjoy myself!”

As she ranted, Sevessa yanked off her boots and began scrubbing them in the sink. They were a sixteenth birthday present—the first proper, sturdy pair of shoes she’d ever owned—and now those bloody boys had gotten mud all over them.

Lily hovered at her side, slightly miffed at having been hauled across the castle—but mostly just angry on her friend’s behalf.

Without a word, Lily took the other boot and joined Sevessa at the sink. Sevessa shot her a sideways smile, pausing mid-rant.

“I just don’t understand why they feel the need to educate—educate, of all things—me.” Her voice rose again, thick with fury. “I’ve done bloody fucking nothing to deserve this.”

Lily placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Their behaviour has nothing to do with you,” she said gently. Then, turning Sevessa so they faced each other, she added, “But it might help if you didn’t retaliate. They target you because they know you’ll respond. Everyone else shrugs it off. You—” she softened— “you fight back like every hex is a crime against your soul.”

Sevessa blinked. Her expression shifted—first to shock, then anger, then something more like defeat. She looked away, jaw clenched.

“So I should just let them humiliate me?” she said quietly. “Let them toss mud, call me names, throw hexes—just so I can be one of the people who shrugs it off?” She scrubbed harder at the boot, fingers white-knuckled around the leather. “I don’t want to win. I don’t want to teach them a lesson. I just want them to leave me the hell alone.”

Lily stayed quiet. She knew Sevessa didn’t need comfort—at least, not the soft, surface kind. What she needed was for someone to stand beside her without trying to fix her.

“They think it’s funny,” Sevessa continued, voice low. “They look at me like I’m a character in a story they’re telling each other. I’m not a person to them. I’m—what? A challenge? A joke? Something to prod until it breaks?”

The tap squeaked as she turned it off. Water dripped from her hands. She stared down at the boot like it might suddenly dissolve in her grip.

“I fight back because it’s the only thing I can do,” she said. “I’m not going to let them turn me into something small. I’m not going to pretend it doesn’t hurt.”

She glanced at Lily, eyes a little watery but sharp as ever.

“So no, I’m not going to shrug it off. I’m not like everyone else. I don’t want to be.”

Lily nodded. “Do you want me to uninvite Remus to your gig this summer?” she asked. “I asked him a few days ago if he’d like to come and stay for a few days—in the spare room—so he could finally come and see the ‘secret’ we keep talking about.”

Sevessa hesitated. Lupin was tricky. She liked him on his own—calm, thoughtful, less performative than the others. But he was the optimal bystander: always quiet, always watching, never stepping in. And that had stung more than once.

“Despite his faults, he managed to rein in those delinquents a bit more this term. And…” she ran her fingers along the rim of the sink, “…he was really excited about finally being let in on everything.”

Lily smiled faintly.

“I think he’ll love it.”

“He better,” Sevessa muttered, “or I’m putting him to work hauling amps.”

Chapter 2: Sage and Smoke

Summary:

Sevessa returns home for the Holidays

The air was thick with smoke, shrouding all of Spinner’s End in a heavy grey haze, like stepping into an old, grainy film. Small, rundown houses lined each side of the road, a few of the larger ones carved up into cramped apartments over the decades. It was a place of little colour and even less money. Across the river that cut through Cokeworth lay Marlowe Crescent—the schools were there, and the colour too.

Sevessa stood alone in front of her house. Like its surroundings, it was grey and worn, two stories if you counted the attic, which she did, since it was her bedroom. The subtle, lingering scent of burning sage clung to the walls, a small ritual her mother refused to part with. Sage: for cleansing evil.

She and Lily had meant to part ways at the station, but the Evanses, ever compassionate, offered to drop Sevessa home. As it had been a whole summer since she’d last worked, she accepted, grateful that the bus fare home could be put to other uses.

Stepping up to the door, she raised her hand slowly to the doorknob. Coming home was a conflicting affair. Her parents weren’t the worst in the neighbourhood by far—she might even go as far as to say they were fairly good—but all members of the Snape family had similarly bad tempers, and worse pride. Love, while understood to be present, was rarely expressed, and largely unwelcome.

Turning the knob, she stepped into the sitting room. It comprised an old wooden rocking chair, a worn loveseat, and a large armchair, all facing the perpetually unlit fire. There were few picture frames on the walls. One of her parents on their wedding day, happy by the looks of it. One of her as a child of about three, standing on the bar at the old pub down the road while her mother served a drink to her father. And a final one: her father receiving a long-service medal, his naval dress crisp, his back straighter than it ever was at home. A leg injury had forced his retirement not long after. It had taken more than just his mobility—it had taken his direction. And so, the house had settled into what it had slowly become: three lonely people, all a little angry, all a little proud, and all deeply uncertain about the purpose left in their reality.

She left her bag by the stairs and climbed slowly to the attic, her fingers skimming the chipped wood of the banister. The air grew warmer with each step, more confined. Up here, the sage smell clung strongest, tangled with dust and something faintly metallic—old nail polish or hair dye maybe. The attic door stuck, as always, and she had to hip-check it open with a grunt.

Her room was small, slanted on one side, with yellowed newspaper crammed into the cracks where the roof met the walls to keep the cold out in winter. She crossed to the window and shoved it open. It creaked, protesting. The haze outside was thicker than it had looked from the ground, curling in the gutters like cigarette smoke.

From here she could just make out the pub down the street, the old one with the faded green door and the dented jukebox. Neutral ground. One of the only places in Spinner’s End where people from rival patches would share a pint without knives being drawn. Sevessa had started working there when she was 14, first waiting tables with her mother, then as live entertainment a few months later when the old man with a tambourine and a tenor voice passed away. Her voice had filled that room softly at first, then braver, louder. The one constant in this part of town was that everyone needed some hope every so often and her singing, along with a beer in hand, had gifted that to the people of Spinner’s End, every Friday night while she was home from school. It had made her off-limits to the amateur gangs in the area. Not officially, not with any sort of peace deal, but enough looks had been exchanged to make it known. You didn’t mess with the girl who sang at Sullivan’s. Even if you’d been jumped the night before on Hollow Street, or your cousin had caught a bottle to the head last month. Some things—some people—were better left untouched.

She stepped away from the window and pulled her trunk open. The scent of Hogwarts still clung to her robes: candlewax, parchment, firewhiskey someone had smuggled into the dorms. She folded them carefully and placed them in the bottom drawer of her old dresser, behind the loose panel she’d never fixed. It clicked shut with a familiar sound.

From the hooks behind the door, she pulled a pair of worn jeans and a black cotton t-shirt. The jeans were faded in a way no charm could fake, and the shirt still bore a tiny stitch of red embroidery on the collar—her mum’s handiwork from a Christmas long gone. She stripped out of her wizarding clothes with a practiced efficiency, replacing them with the weight and anonymity of Mugglewear. Her wand, she tucked into the inside of her boot. Just in case.

Down the street, a shout echoed—too sharp to be casual, too short to be a real fight. A warning, maybe. Someone cutting too close to someone else’s turf. She didn’t flinch.

She’d grown up with the rhythms of this place: the breaking of bottles, the sirens that only sometimes came, the occasional stabbings that nobody ever talked about but everyone knew the names behind. The violence wasn’t constant, but it was enough. Enough to know where to walk, when to cross the street, who to nod at, and who to ignore.

She tied her hair up with an old hairband and turned toward the stairs. Her mother, Eileen, was in the kitchen standing over the counterspace next to the sink washing and peeling potatoes.

“Hi Mum,” Sevessa said softly. “How’ve you been?”

Eileen hummed in response, not looking away from the potatoes. “Come help shred some cabbage,” she said in lieu of greeting.

Eileen Snape was a moderately tall woman, five foot seven, with a slight, wiry frame. Her long black hair was plaited into a crown at the top of her head, pinned in place with unmatched clips. She only wore Muggle clothing, swearing by the practicality of polyester over the stiff linen tunics she’d been forced into as a girl. Her ears bore the remnants of youthful rebellion: three piercing holes in each, though only the centre lobes were filled. On the inside of her upper arm, faded into her pale skin, was a tattoo—sage leaves, once bright, now blurred at the edges like a half-forgotten memory.

Sevessa crossed the room and fetched the grater from the doorless kitchen cupboard, grabbing the quarter cabbage from the bench as she did.

“Work is slow,” her mother said, still facing the sink. “The boss’ll be happy you’re back. Might bring in a steadier flow of customers. People don’t tend to stay long enough for a meal when you’re away.”

Sevessa said nothing.

They worked in silence, the kind born not of discomfort, but of long habit. Their words, when spoken, were practical—what to stir, when to add salt, how thin to slice the onions.

Half an hour later, a heavy thump signalled the return of Tobias Snape. The front door groaned open, then slammed shut. His work boots hit the floor with a dull, tired weight.

Unlike her mother, Tobias was not slight. He had once stood at six foot four, though the occasional hunch in his shoulders now brought him closer to six. The outline of his former life as a naval officer still clung to him—broad shoulders, heavy hands, a jaw that looked carved from stone—but age and disappointment had softened the edges. A limp from an old injury gave a slight hitch to his step.

He made his way towards the kitchen, his steps an almost even rhythm.

He paused at the kitchen doorway. His eyes met Sevessa’s briefly. “Back then, are you?” he said, voice low but not unkind.

She nodded.

“Good. Pub’s quieter without our little dúži čirikli.”

He moved on, the faintest trace of affection softening his eyes.

Sevessa and her mother plated dinner and followed him to the small dining table.

The usual meal of colcannon and sausages was as warm a welcome home as it could have been.

“I was thinking I’d head down to Sullivan’s after washing up, let Walter know I’m back,” Sevessa stated, breaking the silence.

Neither parent acknowledged her for a moment, then—“I’ll accompany you,” Tobias said. “I could do with a drink.”

The walk to Sullivan’s was tense and silent, a silence thick with years of words never quite said.

Tobias strode a step ahead, his boots thudding against the pavement with clipped, deliberate rhythm. Old habits from the Navy died hard. He carried himself like he was still on a ship’s deck in public; back straight, eyes forward, as if posture could anchor him to a world he understood.

It had been a shock, back then. Discovering his wife was a witch. Not the sort he’d grown up hearing stories about in drunken whispers—Romani fortune-tellers, trinket-sellers with amulets for luck and curses for a price—but something real. Tangible. Powerful. A whole other world humming beneath the surface of their own, one that answered to different laws, different hierarchies. One he couldn’t command.

The shock had faded with time, but the discomfort never truly left him. Magic—real magic—unsettled him. It undermined logic, disrupted cause and effect. It made a man like Tobias feel small. And men like Tobias did not like to feel small.

Sevessa walked quietly beside him, steps light and measured. She wasn’t afraid of silence; she’d grown up inside it. It wrapped around their house like the fog: thick, clinging, impossible to shake. Not the soft silence of understanding, but the brittle kind, sharp-edged and full of things unspoken.

Her father hadn’t always been like this. She remembered his voice once warm, his laugh unexpected and loud. He called her *dúži čirikli*—his little wren—and hoist her onto his shoulders to sing sea shanties out of tune. Now he rarely looked at her for longer than a moment.

It wasn’t hatred. It was fear. Not of her, not exactly. But of what she represented. Of the unknowable.

She didn’t resent him for it. Not anymore. But she did mourn what it had cost them. She saw the way he gripped control with both hands, trying to manage a world that no longer obeyed the rules he’d been taught. A world where his daughter could make glass sing and shadows bend.

Tobias knew it wasn’t fair, the way he kept his distance. But how could he be close to something he didn’t understand? He had spent his life commanding order. And magic… magic wasn’t ordered. It was a current that ran beneath everything, wild and unpredictable. Loving Eileen had required surrender. Loving Sevessa meant living in a house where he would never be the one steering.

And yet, here he was. Walking her to the pub like always. Because he had to. Because Spinner’s End was dangerous after dark and she was still his daughter, and despite his distance, perhaps because of the distance, he had to appreciate the time they could have—the limited moments when he could still offer her some semblance of fatherhood.

Sevessa adjusted her scarf, casting him a sideways glance. There was affection there, buried beneath the stiffness, the history, the long shadow of unspoken disappointment. He didn’t know how to say he loved her. But he was saying it in every step.

She didn’t speak. Neither did he. The space between them pulsed with things they’d not yet learnt to say.

But they walked, side by side, just the same.

Notes:

Hey guys! small translation: dúži čirikli (pronounced: DOO-zhi CHEE-reek-lee) – a stylised Romani phrase combining “songbird” (čirikli = bird, especially a small bird) and “voice” (duži = long, strong, deep)

I'm hoping I've use this language correctly, I only speak English so if anyone who reads this and knows some Romani and thinks it should be different, please let me know :)

Chapter 3: You and What, a Brick?

The air inside Sullivan’s was thick with sweat, cigarette smoke, and the bitter tang of old beer. The usual crowd hunched over their pints, shoulders curled in like they were hiding from the cold, even though the pub was stifling.

Tobias found a corner and settled in with a short grunt, already half-lost in the rising hum of local gossip and cheap lager.

Sevessa made her way through the crowd, winding between bar stools and slumped shoulders. Heads turned as they always did — a few nods, a few soft whistles. Someone at the jukebox queued up a Bowie track.

From the corner near the dartboard, a boy rose from his chair.

Tall, wiry, and dressed in his usual layered flannel, Jem lifted his glass lazily in salute.

“Light of my world, love of my life, how are you?”

A grin broke across Sevessa’s face.

“Missing your body, baby, how are you?” she fired back, voice wicked, eyes bright.

The call and response slipped between them like an old song, practiced and precise. A few regulars chuckled knowingly. Jem leaned against the bar as she approached, dragging a stool beside his with the toe of his boot.

He grinned, lazy and lopsided, leaning against the bar like he owned the place. Jem was seventeen and looked like trouble, with a mop of dark curls and a chipped front tooth from a fight two summers ago.

Their eyes met for a moment too long.

“Didn’t think you’d be back for another week,” he said, stepping closer, voice low.

“Well, you were wrong,” she quipped.

“Lucky me,” he said, fingers brushing her wrist as he handed her a drink she hadn’t asked for. “You singing tonight?”

“Not with you watching like that.”

He leaned in, voice just under her ear. “Then I’ll turn around.”

She rolled her eyes, lips twitching.

Somewhere behind them, Tobias coughed loudly — a warning or just clearing his throat, it wasn’t clear.

Sevessa took a sip, eyes still on Jem, and slid onto the stool beside him. Her fingers tapped a silent rhythm against her glass.

“Just here to loiter tonight, maybe remind Walter I’m still his best reason for having live music” she said. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Jem smirked. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

They sat silently for a moment, “So how was wizard school?” said Jem cheekily.

Sevessa turned to face him shocked, slapping his shoulder lightly, “Statue of Secrecy much, asshole? We cannot discuss that in here.” She said eyes sweeping the room for anyone who might’ve overheard. “And what happened to your knuckles, dumbass? You go punching brick walls again?”

Jem scowled slightly rubbing the fresh scabs, “Got into a fight with Cal” he grumbled.

“Ha, same thing then” she smirked, then quickly grew more serious. The aforementioned crime in Spinner’s end involved most of the teenagers in the area to at least some degree. Jem, cunning and stupid as he was, had become involved a few summers ago when he’d needed extra cash. He’d managed to get back out of it for the most part, his alliance with her enough to get most people off his back but still got stuck in a scuffle every now and again.

“Cal’s been pushing again,” Jem muttered. “Started nicking from Dev’s corner last week.”

Sevessa sighed. “Dev say anything?”

“Yeah,” Jem said, dragging a finger through the condensation on his glass. “Told him to piss off. Got shoved into a fence for the trouble.”

She shook her head, half a grimace, half a laugh. “Spinner’s End justice.”

“Cheapest kind,” Jem said, smirking. But it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

There wasn’t much left to say — this stuff had always simmered just below the surface. A few broken fences, a bruised rib, maybe a stolen bike. Enough to annoy, never enough to make the paper.

“You’re not still hanging around with them, are you?” she asked, tilting her head.

“I’m not in it,” he said, too quickly. “I just... know the routes. Can’t help that.”

She gave him a look. “That’s not the same as being out.”

Jem didn’t argue. Just shrugged, eyes fixed on the peeling edge of a beer mat like it had something worth saying.

“And what about you?” he threw back after a beat. “Those boys at your school — the… Marauders or whatever. They leave you alone yet?”

The question dropped between them with more weight than he probably intended. Sevessa’s brow lifted, guarded.

It was a dangerous topic to broach. Jem had developed a quiet, stubborn protectiveness over the past few years — one that usually showed itself in half-jokes and long silences. But every so often, it slipped out in sharp corners like this. He, like Tobias, had trouble reckoning with the fact that there were things beyond his reach. Especially when those things hurt Sevessa.

“They’re just boys,” she said finally, breezy but not quite light. “Loud. Full of themselves. You’d hate them.”

“I already do,” he muttered.

She nudged his knee with hers, smile curling slow. “I’m not some helpless first year, you know.”

He met her gaze, still frowning.

“I give as good as I get,” she said, voice low and certain. “Better, most days.”

Jem huffed, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “I know. Still doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

She tipped her head, eyes warm now. “You don’t have to like it. You just have to trust me.”

He didn’t say anything, but he nodded once — short and sure.

“SEVESSA!”

A booming voice rang out from behind the counter. A moment later, a portly old man rounded the bar with surprising speed and swept her into a bear hug.

Sevessa cringed inwardly at the sudden closeness — she liked a bit more warning before being crushed by affection — but patted his back politely.

“Hi, Walter,” she managed with a small smile, gently nudging herself free. “You still got my spot on Fridays? I’d like to keep that gig, if it’s all the same to you.”

Walter huffed out a wheezy laugh, face ruddy with delight. “My dear girl, if I replaced your spot, I’d have every soul in Spinner’s End raining fury down on my poor head.”

Jem raised his glass with a smirk. “He’s not wrong. Half of ‘em only show up to hear you tell their miseries prettier than they can.”

Sevessa snorted. “Don’t flatter me, Jem. You just like that I don’t sing about you.”

Walter barked a laugh, already heading back behind the bar.

Sevessa leaned her elbows on the counter. “I’ve got a few friends coming Friday, actually. Might be nice to remind them there’s more to this place than dodgy corner deals and expired crisps.”

Jem arched a brow. “Friends, huh? Hogwarts ones?”

“Some,” she said lightly. “Try not to scare them off.”

“No promises,” he said, as his grin sharpened.

The pub had thinned out a little by the time they slipped off their stools, a few familiar faces nodding them off with half-lifted pints and murmured farewells. Outside, the evening had settled into the kind of summer warmth that clung to skin and made the air feel syrupy. Moths flirted with the amber glow of the streetlamps, and somewhere in the distance, someone’s wireless spilled crackly music out an open window.

Tobias had moved to leave when they’d risen, standing outside with one foot braced on the edge of the curb, arms crossed, eyes tracking every shadow that moved. He glanced up as they stepped out, his expression unreadable.

“You coming home or heading with him?” he asked, jerking his head in Jem’s direction.

“Jem’s,” Sevessa replied simply.

Tobias grunted. “Right. Be smart.”

“I always am,” she said, lifting a brow.

He snorted. “I know, but his idiocy looks contagious.”

She smiled faintly and stepped up to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Goodnight, Dad.”

Tobias looked at Jem then, the weight of an entire father’s warning packed into one look. Jem met it without flinching — he’d had years to get used to that stare.

“I’ll get her home safe,” Jem said.

Tobias didn’t answer, just gave a curt nod and turned to walk around the corner.

They walked in silence for a bit, their boots clicking in tandem down the cracked footpath, past shuttered shops and dim yellow lamplight.

Jem’s place was two blocks away, a narrow terrace wedged between an off-license and a chippy that had been closed “for renovation” since before either of them could remember. He unlocked the door with a practiced jiggle and nudged it open with his shoulder.

Inside was small, but warm, cluttered in the way a lived-in space gets. Guitars leaned against the couch, mismatched mugs cluttered the table, and a familiar jumper of Sevessa’s was slung over the arm of the armchair, half-buried under a newspaper.

She kicked off her boots and flopped onto the couch.

“I swear Walter hugs harder every year.”

“You’re just getting soft,” Jem teased, dropping down beside her, close enough their shoulders brushed.

Sevessa turned her head lazily to look at him, a grin ghosting at her lips. “You wish.”

“Nah, I really don’t. You’d be no fun if you were gentle,” Jem replied, eyes turning to meet hers.

“So can I ask about wizard school now that we’re alone, your highness?” he asked with a mock bow of his head. “Or are there other requirements that need to be fulfilled first?”

Sevessa averted her eyes, mulling over how much to tell him. They didn’t generally keep secrets, but things had been getting worse in the wizarding world. Something sinister was bubbling beneath the surface, and she wasn’t sure how much information a person could take when they had no way to defend themselves.

“There’s a war coming,” she said blankly, her eyes facing forward, mouth pinched.

“No one really knows when,” she continued, “but there are whispers in Slytherin — of a man, a tyrant really, who’s collecting followers.”

“And he’s going after highschoolers?” Jem cut in, incredulous.

Sevessa didn’t answer right away. She picked at a loose thread on the couch cushion, brow drawn.

“It’s not like that,” she said finally. “He’s not targeting us. He’s recruiting us. Promises of power. Legacy. Purity.” Her voice twisted bitterly on the last word. “And the ones who say no... well, they don’t always get a second chance.”

Jem was quiet for a beat, his earlier teasing gone flat.

“Sounds like Spinner’s End,” he said eventually.

That startled a dry laugh out of her. “Yeah, except with wands. And worse hair.”

Jem leaned back, arms behind his head. “So, this tyrant... what’s he want? To rule the wizard world?”

She nodded slowly. “And burn out everything that doesn’t fit. Half-bloods. Muggle-borns. People like me.”

That made Jem sit up straighter. “You?”

“I’m not exactly pure,” she said with a sharp smile. “Half Romani, half Irish, daughter of a Muggle, born in the arse end of nowhere. I don’t tick the boxes.”

“Then I hope he comes for you,” Jem said, jaw tightening, “because I’d love to introduce him to a Spinner’s End welcome party.”

She smiled again — tired but touched. “You and what, a brick?”

“Two bricks,” Jem said smugly. “I’m not an amateur. And those ‘few friends’ of yours coming to the gig? I reckon we’ve got a groovy chance.”

Sevessa laughed. “Yeah, I suppose I should explain that, shouldn’t I?”

“Indeed, you should, missy. Who the hell is this ‘few’? You’ve got Lily — love her — but who else from that magic school have you decided is worth your time?” Jem ranted, riling himself up, running a hand through his hair and gesturing wildly.

Sevessa hesitated. “Remus Lupin?” she said, a sheepish smile tugging at her lips.

Silence.

Jem sat shellshocked, eyes wide, mouth hanging open.

“You mean to tell me that you — a gorgeous, stunningly intelligent woman — have invited a member of the godforsaken, ugly, imbecilic — your words, by the way — Marauders to infiltrate our home turf and experience the wonder that is your voice on stage?”

Sevessa rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched with amusement. “Yeah, well, he spent a decent portion of the last few months studying for OWLs with Lily and I, he’s good enough to hear the music.”

Jem shook his head in disbelief. “You’re something else, Sev. Bringing one of those boys into our world... it’s like inviting a fox into the henhouse.”

She bristled, leaning forward slightly. “Look, I can make my own choices, Jem. You don’t get to decide who’s ‘in’ or ‘out’.”

Jem raised his hands, a little defensively. “Alright, alright, I’m just saying—be careful. From what you’ve told me, where one goes the others will follow with that crew.”

He leaned towards her slowly, “and besides, I don’t like idea of anyone else putting their hands on you”.

“Anyone else?”, Sevessa questioned coyly, “as opposed to who?”.

“Me,” Jem replied lowly, and then kissed her.

The first time back was always slow to start, but his hands soon found her waist, fingers digging in like he was afraid she might vanish. She kissed him back with matching fire, sinking her hands into his hair. They stumbled up from the couch together, bumping into the cluttered desk and the edge of the old dresser, hands everywhere and nowhere at once.

Then, with a huff of breath and a wicked grin, Jem bent slightly and swept her off her feet.

“Jem!” Sevessa half-laughed, half-gasped, gripping his shoulders.

“Don’t complain now,” he murmured, as he carried her the last few steps and laid her back on the bed.

She pulled him down with her, the mattress creaking beneath them as the room melted away.

Chapter 4: What was Two is now Four

The Evans house always carried the comforting scent of vanilla sponge and rose soap — a soft, familiar perfume that clung to the curtains and settled in the stairwell. A modest brick home tucked behind a low stone wall, its front garden bloomed wildly with petunias tumbling from hanging baskets, and a perpetually crooked gnome that Petunia tried to dispose of at least once a season. The downstairs windows glowed with amber warmth, and the lace curtains danced lazily in the summer breeze.

Upstairs, Lily sat cross-legged on the floor, nestled in the familiar sprawl of her bedroom. An open record sleeve lay beside her, The Kinks crackling faintly from the battered player in the corner. The room was orderly in a way that suggested quiet control rather than compulsion — books stacked in precarious columns on the bedside table, and a small constellation of potion vials still gleaming faintly on the windowsill, in defiance of several half-hearted cleaning promises. A pale yellow shimmered across her eyelids as she leaned closer to the mirror, carefully layering a whisper of lilac above it, the colours soft and deliberate — more poetry than warpaint.

She glanced at the time. Sevessa’s set began at 6:30, but their small group wasn’t expected until closer to nine, when the older patrons filtered out and the energy shifted — from respectful hush to something freer, looser, wilder. Remus was due just after seven, having stayed for supper at home before flooing over. His parents were aware of the gig, though they hadn’t been fully briefed on the subtleties of attire expected for a night steeped in music and dim lights and the smoke-and-honey voice of Sevessa Snape.

Lily had attended a handful of Sevessa’s gigs by now — and had long since learned that arriving early meant enduring a parade of genteel ballads and nostalgic classics meant to please the pensioners nursing their pints. Not that Sevessa couldn’t make even a lullaby sound angelic, her voice turned anything into velvet, but the real show never began until after the 8:45 intermission. That was when she sang what she wanted, when the stage felt less like a platform and more like an altar.

Lily stood and smoothed down her skirt, casting one last look in the mirror. She tugged at a strand of hair that refused to behave, then gave up and let it curl the way it liked. The house was quiet in that particular way that only happened while its occupants thrummed with anticipation.

As if on cue, a soft whoosh echoed from the sitting room fireplace.

“Remus!” she called, racing quickly down the stairs, bare feet thumping against the floorboards.

He was brushing soot off his sleeves when she reached him, dressed in his regular slacks and a rumpled button-down with the sleeves buttoned at the cuffs. His satchel hung from one shoulder, looking oddly academic for a night of music and dim pub lighting.

“Hey,” he said, giving her a warm smile. “Your floo’s a bit aggressive.”

“Petunia insists on polishing the grate with something from Beautiful Home Weekly. I think it might be partially flammable.” She stepped forward and gave him a quick hug. “You made good time.”

“Well, I figured I shouldn’t turn up late to the main event.”

“Then you’re hours early,” Lily said with a grin. “But you’re just in time for wardrobe decisions.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Please tell me I don’t have to wear mesh.”

“No,” Lily laughed. “But Sev will be in something fabulous, and I’d like us not to look like we got lost on the way to the library.”

Remus gave her a mock-wounded look. “This shirt is timeless.”

“It’s beige.”

“It’s light brown.”

Lily rolled her eyes fondly and led him upstairs.

The spare room had clearly undergone some kind of domestic upheaval. Amidst the chaos stood a surprisingly dignified double bed, flanked by mismatched bedside tables and a chest of drawers whose handles were dusted with glitter. The wardrobe loomed in the corner, doors flung wide as though mid-sigh, its contents spilled across the room like the aftermath of a particularly opinionated fashion storm.

“So, I found us some options” Lily said, picking her way through the piles of clothes, “and I wanted your opinion before committing to anything.”

Remus turned a slow circle where he stood, taking in the garment-strewn battlefield. “And are all of these ‘options’?” he asked, raising an eyebrow and gesturing broadly at the sea of fabric.

“Of course not,” Lily replied primly. “Some of them are decoys. To confuse the enemy.”

Remus laughed, sinking onto the edge of the bed and narrowly avoiding a stack of sequinned tops. “And what exactly is the mission tonight? Seduction? Distraction? Intimidation?”

“A tasteful mix of all three,” Lily said with mock solemnity, holding up a sheer blouse that shimmered faintly in the light. “But mostly I just want Sevessa to feel like she has a proper entourage.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “Moral support by way of fashion. A noble calling.”

She tossed the blouse aside and held up a short mint-green dress with puffed sleeves and a soft floral print. “This?”

Remus tilted his head, considering. “You’ll look like a very well-dressed wood nymph.”

“Not the vibe!” she said decisively, tossing it onto the growing pile of rejections. “Now let’s find something for you. No offence, but that shirt’s not exactly screaming 'cool gig energy'.”

He looked down at his wrinkled button up and slacks. “It’s screaming something.”

“It’s whispering, ‘school librarian who lives with his mum’,” Lily teased. She dug into a nearby heap and produced a dark denim jacket and a striped polo shirt. “Here. You’ll thank me later.”

Remus took them with a theatrical sigh, but a small smile betrayed his appreciation. “You are terrifyingly prepared.”

“Please,” she said, “I’ve been planning this since March.”

A silence stretched between them then — warm, companionable — filled only by the rustle of fabric and the muffled echo of The Kinks still playing across the hall.

“You’re really excited, aren’t you?” Remus asked finally, watching her as she carefully folded a skirt she’d rejected.

Lily glanced up, her expression softening. “Yeah. Sev deserves to have more people who know how brilliant she is. There’s a lot of people here who appreciate her, at Hogwarts… not so much.”

He nodded, understanding. “Then let’s make sure we look like the kind of crowd she deserves.”

Just over an hour later, they were finally ready to head out the door. Lily’s copper-red hair was neatly plaited into double Dutch braids that framed her face before disappearing behind her ears. She wore high-waisted, dark blue flared jeans that swished with every step, the silver tips of her boots catching the hallway light. Her top was a cropped lavender singlet, tied at the front in a soft knot, revealing a sliver of midriff. Her makeup was light but deliberate, shimmering yellow and lilac eyeshadow blended to perfection, paired with a warm blush and a swipe of gloss that caught the light when she smiled.

Remus had, after some gentle persuasion, agreed to a few tweaks. Though he refused to part with his beloved brown slacks, he’d swapped out his usual jumper for a short-sleeved cream polo that made him look, in Lily’s words, “reluctantly stylish.” Glitter had somehow made its way into Remus’s blond hair—applied, of course, while he wasn’t paying attention. To Lily’s mild surprise and amusement, he hadn’t protested. In fact, after inspecting the shimmer under the hallway light, he’d muttered something about “festival aesthetic” and asked if she had any more for his collarbones.

They’d made it halfway out the door, the summer dusk warm and humming with cicadas, when a sudden, resounding crash echoed from the living room.

Lily froze. Remus blinked.

Then—

“What the hell was that?” they said in unison, before bolting back down the hallway.

There, in a heap of tangled limbs, trailing soot and indignation, lay two very familiar boys at the base of the now thoroughly abused fireplace.

“Get your bloody hand off my arse, James!” came Sirius’s outraged cry as he wrestled himself free.

“Oh, my hand? You absolute cretin, you fell on me, and your elbow’s in my spleen, you mangy—!”

“BOYS!” Lily snapped, arms crossed, foot tapping dangerously close to Sirius’s knee.

James and Sirius froze mid-scuffle like guilty schoolchildren. James, looking sheepish with soot in his hair and his glasses askew, disentangled himself from Sirius and stood, dusting off his jeans. Sirius followed, somehow managing to flip his hair dramatically despite the ash clinging to it.

“What,” Lily began, voice dangerously level, “on earth are you doing here?”

James straightened and adopted the same cocky grin he always used when he was about to be punched.

“Well, my dearest Lily-love…”

“…we heard our very own Remus Lupin,” Sirius added, brushing ash from his leather jacket, “had been talked into a night at a Muggle bar. Clearly wrapped up in a very fetching ensemble…”

“…and we couldn’t possibly miss such an auspicious occasion,” James finished with a flourishing bow.

Lily stood perfectly still. The silence between them prickled.

Then, ever so slowly, she turned to Remus with a glare that could crack granite.

“You told them,” she said, low and sharp.

“I—I didn’t! I swear!” Remus stammered, looking more rattled than he had when Sirius once dared him to prank McGonagall. “I briefly—very briefly—mentioned I was going to a gig. With you. That’s it! No specifics! I don’t even know how they found out it was today!”

James cleared his throat and produced a very crumpled scrap of parchment from his back pocket.

“There may have been a minor case of eavesdropping. A call to the wonderful Mrs Lupin. Possibly on accident. Entirely out of love.”

“And besides,” Sirius interjected with a charming smile, “we’re here now. Might as well make it a party.”

Lily pinched the bridge of her nose, inhaling sharply. “You’re not even dressed for it.”

“I am,” Sirius said proudly, gesturing to a black mesh shirt, low-rise flared trousers, and boots that gleamed like sin.

James, less impressively, wore a thin Chudley Cannons hoodie with the sleeves cut off and denim cutoffs.

“We’re a work in progress,” James said, unbothered.

“You’re a walking nightmare,” Lily muttered.

Still, she sighed. It was too late to send them back—perfectly on time had very quickly turned into running late.

“Fine,” she said at last. “But you behave, or I will hex your mouths shut until sunrise.”

Sirius and James beamed like they'd just been named Prefects.

“But you cannot be seen,” Lily added sharply, eyes flicking between them. “Sevessa will kill you, then me, if you show up to her first gig back.”

“Hold up! Hold up! Hold up!” James said, frowning in utter confusion. “What do you mean: Snape’s gig?”

Lily inhaled, long and slow, calculating just how badly this could spiral. But honestly, at this point, a forewarning seemed the lesser of two evils.

“Sev sings,” she said flatly. “She’s always had immense talent, and two summers ago she started waiting tables at Sullivan’s—the pub we’re going to—and Walter, the owner, asked her to start singing on Friday nights. She’s been doing sets ever since.”

James and Sirius blinked.

They looked at Lily.

Then at Remus.

Then back at each other—

And promptly exploded into laughter.

“Lily, my dear,” Sirius wheezed.

“No, Lily my dear,” James interrupted, gasping through a laugh, “you have absolutely flabbered my gaster—”

“—taken me aback!” Sirius added, barely upright.

“—and knocked out my stuffing!” James finished, doubling over.

“To tell me that Snape sings!” Sirius managed between peals of laughter.

Lily pinched the bridge of her nose. She was going to need a drink before they even got there.

“Yes,” she said tightly. “Now. Do you have a way to stay hidden, or am I going to have to obliviate the both of you in the alley?”

James wiped a tear from his eye, then grinned. “Do we ever, Lily-pad.” With a flourish, he pulled a silvery mass from his backpack, which Lily hadn’t noticed he’d brought. “May I introduce you to my favourite family heirloom: Indy the Invisibility Cloak.”

He threw it dramatically over himself and Sirius, and in a blink, they vanished—save for a floating pair of soot-smudged trainers.

“That’ll have to do,” Lily said briskly, studiously ignoring how impressed she actually was. She glanced at the time. “Now come on. We’ll miss the good set if we keep standing around.”

And with that, the four of them finally headed toward the door—

Two troublemakers cloaked in mischief and soot,

One reluctant werewolf glittering faintly in the hallway light,

And one redhead who, despite her plan, was already crafting an apology for Sevessa in her head.

Chapter 5: The Sound of Velvet and Whiskey

Notes:

Highly suggest listening to the songs as you read the chapter!!
They just add to the vibe so much!

The song in this chapter is 'At Last' by Etta James

The walk from Marlowe Crescent to Spinner’s End wasn’t far, but the tone of the night shifted with each step. Marlowe Crescent was warm and familiar; terraced houses with tidy gardens, the scent of honeysuckle drifting lazily through the air, and porch lights casting golden pools across the pavement. But as the group crossed the old canal bridge, the atmosphere thickened. The lamps dimmed and flickered, their orange glow warping against the damp stone walls. The air turned heavier, tinged with soot and river water, and the cobbled streets narrowed as they descended into Spinner’s End. Smoke curled from mismatched chimneys, windows were either shuttered or too open, and the low hum of the pub’s evening crowd was just beginning to swell in the distance. Beneath their feet, the ground felt a little more uneven—gritty and worn, with cigarette butts scattered in the gutters. Even Sirius quieted, eyes narrowing in curiosity. Ahead, Sullivan’s came into view—the squat brick building nestled at the bend, alive with dim light, the thrum of a bassline, and the echo of laughter spilling from its open windows.

As they approached, Lily turned and hissed quietly at the invisible tagalongs, “No slipping, no talking, and definitely no hexing anyone, understood? There are Muggles about—and Sev will flay us all if she sees you.”

James’s disembodied snort was the only response.

Lily led the group up the path, flashing a smile at a pair of older neighbours shuffling home with their groceries, and exchanging casual nods with a few teens clustered near the entrance. Around Spinner’s End, Lily was known—mostly as Snape’s Lily, which afforded her some wary respect but not the sort that made her bulletproof. Safer, then, to blend in until they were through the doors.

Remus, walking just behind her, took in the crowd—thrifted leather jackets, band patches, cigarette smoke curling under the flicker of the porchlight. A warm buzz filled the air, louder now, building like pressure before a storm. He was just about to ask Lily how often Sev performed here when—

“Hey, pretty boy!”

The call came from up ahead. A lanky figure peeled away from a group leaning against the wall. He was maybe seventeen or eighteen, tall and broad-shouldered, with shaggy dark hair and stubble just starting to define his jaw.

“That glitter on your neck…” the boy said, eyes raking down Remus with a bold smirk, “Is it edible?”

Remus blinked. “Excu—cough—Excuse me?!”

The boy stepped closer, gaze never wavering. “The glitter,” he repeated slowly, now only inches away. “Is. It. Edible?” He raised one hand, almost lazily, and traced an invisible line near Remus’s collarbone.

“I—I don’t know?” Remus stammered, heat rising to his cheeks. He glanced helplessly at Lily, who had stopped walking and was half-twisted around, her expression somewhere between panic and fury on his behalf.

The boy was about to say something else—something cheeky, no doubt—when the door of the pub banged open with a bang and a familiar voice rang out:

“CAL, FOR FUCK’S SAKE—BACK UP!”

The boy—Cal—froze mid-flirt, and grinned.

James and Sirius, still cloaked behind Lily and Remus, froze. That voice was familiar—but not. Louder, sharper, livelier.

And then she stepped out.

Sevessa Snape.

Not in robes or boots or greasy potions-stained black. But in a black denim skirt and heeled boots, a velvet wrap top that made her waist look unfairly good, and a face done in warm, glowing makeup that caught the golden light spilling out of the pub. Her hair - in waves - was half up, and the dark lipstick—paired with the death glare she shot Cal—made her look completely, terrifyingly magnetic.

James whispered, aghast, “Is that Snape?”

Sirius answered faintly, “I think I’m having a stroke.”

Sev pointed a sharp-painted fingernail at Cal. “Inside. Now. I start in three minutes and if you make me yell again I’ll kill you in your sleep.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Cal replied cheerfully, completely unfazed, and disappeared back into the building.

Then she turned her attention to the group on the footpath, eyes immediately landing on Lily. “You’re late.”

“Blame him,” Lily replied, jerking her head toward the stunned werewolf. “He got flirt-attacked.”

Sev’s eyes flicked to Remus, her expression softening for half a second. “It happens. You look nice, by the way. Now hurry up and come inside, Walter will throw a fit if he sees people loitering.” She didn’t wait for him to respond before scanning the space just to the right of Lily narrowing her eyes in suspicion for just a moment. James and Sirius held their breath standing perfectly still so as to not warp the appearance of the invisibility cloak too much.

Sev harrumphed, turning on her heel and strode back inside, the heels of her boots clicking against the old stone like punctuation. Her silhouette vanished into the warm pulse of low lights and music spilling from the doorway.

From under the cloak, James let out an indignant whisper as he nudged Sirius sharply in the ribs. “She’s hot?!”

Sirius hissed, “Shut up.”

“She’s Snape,” James countered, like that alone was enough to rewrite the laws of attraction.

“Snape with cheekbones and cleavage!” Sirius whispered back, voice cracking slightly. “I’m so confused.”

Lily bit back a laugh and turned to Remus, who still looked slightly dazed, glitter catching on his throat in the light. “Well. That was an entrance.”

He blinked at her. “Did she say Walter was going to yell at us?”

“Oh yeah,” Lily said cheerfully. “Owner. Has a bat behind the bar. Doesn’t use it for drinks.”

That got Remus moving, and the four of them—two cloaked, one still recovering from Cal’s advances, and Lily, utterly unfazed—made their way inside.

The pub was warm and lived-in, all dark wood and mismatched chairs, the air humming with conversation and old music. Regulars perched at the bar, teenagers crowded into booths, and Sevessa stood at the front checking the tracks were lined up correctly.

They slid into a booth near the stage, careful to keep the cloak in place, James immediately flattened his hair and tried to look casual. Sirius adjusted his jacket like that might help his sense of reality.

“I need to recalibrate everything I’ve ever believed,” James said seriously. “Snape can’t look like that. It’s unnatural. Unholy, even.”

“You kissed that girl from Beauxbatons who had fangs,” Remus said mildly.

“That was different,” James said. “She wasn’t Snape.”

Before Sirius could add his own existential crisis to the mix, the house lights dimmed.

From somewhere off to the side of the stage, a spotlight flicked on—catching Sevessa just as she stepped up to the mic. The room hushed, like someone had turned down the volume on everything else.

She didn’t smile.

She didn’t need to.

“Good evening, everybody,” she said, her voice low and smooth.

“Most of you are familiar with the order of things here, but for those of you who are new, I’m going to start off the night with a few golden oldies to wish the golden oldies an easy walk home. And then, as always…” She paused, lips quirking into the barest smirk, eyes glittering with mischief, “…I’ll be taking requests.”

The crowd erupted in cheers, whistles, and a few teasing calls. Then silence fell again, almost reverent.

Her voice—when it came—was smoke and silk, curling low over the crowd like it knew where to hurt and how to heal. It wasn’t polished like a choir girl’s or showy like a starlet’s—it was textured, grounded, rich with things unsaid. The first notes spilled from her mouth and wrapped around the room like velvet soaked in whiskey.

“At last…”

Lily’s eyes widened, hands tightening around the edge of the table. “Merlin, Sev…” she whispered, something like awe in her voice.

“my love has come along…”

Remus said nothing. His breath had caught halfway through her first line and hadn’t quite made it back. The curve of her voice, the way she carried herself, the command she held over the room—it was like watching someone become something larger than life.

“She’s brilliant,” he murmured at last, barely audible.

“…my lonely days are over…”

Even Sirius, who had never questioned what to make of Sevessa Snape, leaned forward slightly, his brow furrowed. There was newfound respect in his gaze—and a hint of discomfort too. He’d never seen this version of her before: not a rival, not Lily’s grim protector, not a shadow in a cloak—but a woman who knew exactly who she was. It unsettled him. Not in a bad way. Just… unexpectedly.

“…and life is like a song…”

James, on the other hand, looked like someone had hit him with a Confundus charm. His eyes were locked on Sevessa, jaw slightly slack. She didn’t just look good—she was radiant, sharp-edged and luminous all at once, the kind of beauty you didn’t see until it was too late and you were already falling.

“I can’t breathe,” he muttered.

Sirius side-eyed him. “You’ll live.”

James didn’t respond. He was too busy watching Sevessa’s gaze sweep casually over the crowd, watching it land.

“…the skies above are blue…”

A boy near the front, probably their age or a bit older, stood just slightly apart from the others. He was tall and wiry, with dark brown curls and a thin silver earring that caught the light. Sevessa’s eyes lingered on him a second too long, and the boy offered her a crooked smile. Flirty. Familiar. Intimate.

James blinked, a strange knot tightening in his chest.

“…my heart was wrapped up in clover…”

He didn’t like Sevessa. That wasn’t what this was. It couldn’t be. He liked charm and sunshine, not fire and ash. But something about the way she looked at that boy made something stupid and territorial flicker in the back of his throat.

“That’s Jem,” Lily said softly, hearing the almost imperceptible hum of confusion from beside her and noticing where Sevessa’s gaze had landed. “He plays fiddle sometimes, joins Sev in a duet when she needs it.”

James made a noncommittal noise, still staring.

“She said he reminded her that joy was worth chasing,” Lily added, a quiet pride curling into her voice. “Aside from me, he’s probably her best friend, maybe even including me.”

“…the night I looked at you…”

James didn’t know what to do with that.

Remus had leaned forward too, hand half-curled around a drink he hadn’t touched. “She’s like a completely different person,” he said, though there was no judgment in his tone—only quiet amazement.

“No,” Lily said, eyes shining. “She’s the same. This is just the part no one ever lets her show.”

On stage, Sevessa hit a low, aching note, and every pint glass on the table seemed to hum in response.

“…I found a dream that I could speak to... a dream that I can call my own…”

“She’s magnificent,” Lily whispered.

And James—confused, rattled, and entirely overwhelmed—couldn’t disagree.

Chapter 6: Slumber Party (and other Acts of War)

Notes:

Switching up the vibes a little bit here guys! I hope you enjoy! I certainly loved writing it, it never made sense to me that Severus Snape should be boring in any form :)

Also, I know I said it was only gonna be updates once a week but istg I'm too excited about this!

Songs for this chapter:
Slumber Party by Ashnikko
Sports Car by Tate McRae
Bark Like You Want It by Sir Mix-A-Lot

The final note of ‘At Last’ hung in the air like smoke—warm, heavy, and slow to fade. Sevessa let it linger, let the silence stretch, eyes half-lidded, heart still pulsing in time with the low tremble of the piano keys.

For a moment, the pub felt sacred. Old hearts softened, eyes shone, and the weight of decades lifted gently from stooped shoulders. This was why she sang the classics first—so the ones heading home could leave with a little something sweet on their tongues.

But then—

“SEV! Give us somethin’ with teeth!” came a voice from the back. It was familiar, slurred just enough to suggest mischief but not malice.

She cracked a slow smile; lips painted like danger. Her eyes found the crowd again, not reverent now, but restless. The old ones were donning coats, murmuring goodnights. The rest leaned forward, hungry. Younger. Louder. Thirstier in all the ways that mattered.

Time to shift gears.

“All right then,” she said into the mic, voice low and purring now, a different kind of silk. “Requests start now, and I’ve been told I’m feeling generous.”

A roar rose from the crowd. Laughter. Shouts. One call for Wicked Game, another for Gin and Juice, another for anything that makes my boyfriend uncomfortable. That got a good ripple of laughter.

Then she heard it—someone yelling Slumber Party.

Her grin widened.

“Oh, you little gremlins want filth,” she said, mock-scandalised. “You want glitter, lipstick, and something to grind on.”

A louder cheer this time—no one over 25 left in the pub.

She turned back toward the mic, hand lifting to remove the clips from her hair. Dark waves spilled around her shoulders as the beat began to build—deep bass, sticky and slow. The lights overhead shifted subtly, warm golds giving way to bruised purples and electric pinks. The bar transformed around her. No longer a pub. A club. A den. A stage.

Sevessa smiled.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The first notes of Slumber Party thudded into the room like a pulse. Sevessa’s hips rolled, voice sliding into the rhythm like it belonged there—half purr, half dare.

From their table, Lily let out a startled laugh turning to a very wide-eyed Remus. “Relax, this is the fun part.”

“I’m not shy I’ll say it;

I’ve been picturing you naked,

I’m a little faded,

You look like a fucking painting… ”

From their table near the front, the air around the boys shifted like a spell breaking—and being replaced with something far more dangerous.

James didn’t move. He couldn’t. His brain had stopped processing coherent thought somewhere between the hip roll and the lyric "Me and your girlfriend playing dress up at my house." His mouth might have been open. He wasn’t sure. He couldn’t feel his hands. He wasn’t sure if he even had hands anymore.

“That’s illegal,” he croaked, music loud enough to cover the sound of his voice from anyone other than the people at the table.

Remus choked on his drink.

“She warned us,” Lily said, laughing around the rim of her glass. “You just didn’t believe her.”

“She’s possessed,” Sirius muttered, watching Sevessa’s every move like he was trying to catch her pulling sleight of hand. “That’s not Snape. That’s some demon in a Snape-shaped meat suit.”

Remus wasn’t saying anything anymore. His eyes were wide, brows raised slightly, and there was a sort of stunned reverence to his posture—like a monk witnessing a revelation that completely rewrote his theology. It wasn’t lust, exactly. It was something more dangerous. Respect. Maybe even admiration.

“She’s brilliant,” he murmured again, like he was still trying to convince himself it was real.

James finally dragged his eyes away long enough to look at Sirius.

“Why is she like this?” he hissed, motioning vaguely toward the stage where Sevessa had just shimmied a hand down her side with practiced ease, mouth curling around the line "It’s an all-girl party, clothing optional."

Sirius blinked slowly. “Because Merlin is real and has a deeply chaotic sense of humour.”

“This is wrong.” James looked pained. “She was supposed to be… I don’t know, cranky and covered in potion stains forever.”

“She still is,” Remus offered, helpfully. “Just… part-time.”

Then Sevessa turned slightly—eyes scanning the crowd mid-verse—and for the briefest second, her gaze landed directly on their table.

James felt it hit like a Bludger to the chest.

She winked.

He died.

There was no recovering from that.

“Yep,” Sirius said flatly, downing the rest of his drink like it might erase the image from his memory. “We’re all in trouble.”

The beat dropped. The lighting shifted—slicker, moodier, pulses of violet and amber spilling across the floor. Sevessa strutted toward their table, hips swinging with the tempo, eyes locked on Lily and grinning like sin.

“(Ooh, ooh-ooh, ooh) Slumber party…”

The crowd roared. Sevessa tilted the mic toward Lily, who groaned and rolled her eyes—but stood anyway, up on the table like she’d done it a thousand times before.

“My girl look like Wednesday Addams,

Eyes go black when she orgasms,

Hide your back, she likes to stab them,

My butt cheeks she likes to grab,

Matching pyjamas, birthday suits,

Her spit tastes just like juicy fruit,

She do that thing she usually do,

Spell my name with her tongue like—uh-huh.”

A record scratch wouldn’t have made it more dramatic.

Remus choked on air. Sirius made a noise that was part laugh, part shriek, and slapped a hand over his own mouth. James clutched the table with both hands like it might anchor him to reality.

“Did she—did she just—?” Remus whispered, his voice barely audible over the riotous cheers.

“She grabbed what?” Sirius asked, eyes wide, face frozen between horror and reverence.

“Remus, I think we just witnessed a religious experience,” James murmured.

“She said stab them, mate,” Sirius hissed, turning toward him like Lily had personally launched a dagger in his direction. “And that’s meant to be your—your future wife!”

James looked genuinely winded. “Don’t… say that right now. I’m emotionally unstable.”

“I need to lie down,” Remus whispered.

Lily, back on the ground and looking far too pleased with herself, tossed the microphone back to Sevessa and went back to her drink like she hadn’t just burned every synapse in the Marauders’ collective brain.

“She's never doing that again,” James muttered.

“I hope she does,” Sirius countered, still staring in stunned disbelief. “But maybe not in front of Sevessa. Or Cal. Or… us.”

“She’s never looked hotter,” James admitted weakly.

Sirius groaned. “Don’t say that while I’m still recovering.”

Remus was blinking rapidly like he’d just disassociated. “Was it just me or was that… kind of terrifying?”

“Yes,” James and Sirius said at the same time.

Sevessa caught the mic again, picking the verse back up with a sultry ease that seemed to siphon oxygen from the room.

Remus sat frozen until a warm hand slid onto his shoulder.

“Fancy a dance, pretty boy?” asked Cal, low and smooth, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Remus blinked. “I—what—yes? I mean—”

Cal didn’t wait for clarification. He just pulled Remus up by the hand and led him into the sea of movement and sweat and sound.

At the table, Sirius slumped back, dazed.

“What the fuck is happening?” he muttered.

“Your sexual awakening,” James said, still staring at Sevessa like he was witnessing the second coming of Venus.

Sirius blinked. “I’m fairly sure I already had one.”

“Then it’s a sequel.”

They both paused.

“I don’t hate it,” Sirius admitted. “I’m scared. But I don’t hate it.”

“Yeah,” James murmured. “Same.”

On stage, Sevessa dipped into a low grind as Jem joined her with a mischievous harmony. Together, they were magnetic. Dangerous.

Untouchable.

James couldn’t take his eyes off her.

And for the first time in his charmed, arrogant, golden-boy life, he had no idea what came next.

Remus followed blindly at first—Cal’s hand wrapped firmly around his, the crowd parting like it knew better than to get in the way. The heat hit him in waves: the body heat of dancers, the low thrum of sub-bass curling through the soles of his shoes, the scent of spilt drinks, sweat, and sugar.

He’d never been more out of place.

And yet.

Cal didn’t dance like he wanted to be watched. He danced like someone who needed to move. His body was all sharp turns and fluid hips, a knowing smirk cast over his shoulder as he pulled Remus in. Close.

Too close.

“I don’t really—” Remus started, awkwardly half-swaying.

“You do,” Cal said, cutting him off gently, eyes half-lidded. “You just think too much. Stop thinking.”

Remus opened his mouth to argue. Then Cal’s hands found his hips and guided him—just slightly, just enough—and suddenly his body betrayed him by agreeing.

The music pounded. Sevessa’s voice slid into a slinky remix of Sports Car, and Remus felt his heart hitch.

It was too much.

And not enough.

Cal leaned in. “You alright, pretty boy?”

The nickname still made something fizz in Remus’s blood, but this time he didn’t flinch from it.

“Yeah,” he said, blinking slowly, “Just… new.”

Cal smiled, and it was devastating. “That’s the point.”

He spun Remus lightly, catching his hand again and tugging him flush. Their bodies found a rhythm—tentative at first, then magnetic. For a second, Remus let his eyes close. No war. No curfew. No wolf. Just this.

Just now.

Behind him, Sevessa hit a sultry high note that set the room on fire. Cheers erupted. Somewhere at the table, Sirius was howling in disbelief, and James was almost definitely broken. But that all felt miles away.

“Don’t tell me this is the first time you’ve let go,” Cal murmured against his ear.

“It might be,” Remus admitted, breath catching.

Cal chuckled. “We’ll have to fix that.”

And then Remus laughed. Honest-to-Merlin laughed, a deep, surprising thing that bubbled up from somewhere long buried. His limbs loosened. His hips moved with the beat. He forgot to brace himself.

He forgot why he ever needed to.

The music faded out, the last notes pulsing through the crowd like a held breath.

A heartbeat of silence.

Then Sevessa’s voice, low and laced with sin:

“For the next one, I’m gonna need a partner.”

Every head turned. Anticipation rippled through the pub like lightning.

She stepped to the edge of the stage, one hand on her hip, eyes gleaming.

“Jem…” she purred, drawing out the name like it was a sweet on her tongue. “Would you join me?”

James’s head snapped sideways, eyes landing on the boy from earlier—the tall, smug one with the silver earring and the nerve to smirk at Sev like he belonged there.

He was already moving through the crowd, casual as anything, slipping between people with the ease of someone who knew he was being watched. His curls were slightly damp from the heat of the room, and when he reached the edge of the stage, he didn’t hesitate, just took Sev’s outstretched hand and climbed up like he’d done it a hundred times.

Sirius, who hadn’t moved since Lily’s impromptu rap performance, gaped openly at the stage. “What the hell is happening?” he muttered.

On the stage, Sevessa had turned her back to the mic stand and was circling Jem with a lazy, predatory kind of energy. Her hair swaying with each step, her hips rolling in time with the rhythm. Jem just grinned—unbothered, already matching her, close without touching, like they were orbiting one another.

“(Woof) Bark like you want it,
(Woof) bark like you want it, baby…”

First, she was singing.

Then, he was rapping.

And then, they were dancing.

Back and forth, line by line. It wasn’t just a duet. It was foreplay in four counts.

James blinked. “Is this allowed?!”

“Nope,” Sirius said faintly, eyes wide, “And yet here we are.”

Lily was already on her feet, hips moving with abandon, arms in the air. “Oh, I love this one!”

James tried not to combust. Jem had just grabbed Sev’s waist. He spun her effortlessly and dipped her so low that her hair brushed the floor—then brought her back up, faces inches apart, eyes locked like there was no one else in the bloody pub.

“Oh, he’s good,” Sirius muttered, stunned. “I hate it. But he’s good.”

Meanwhile, on the dancefloor, Remus was in an entirely different universe.

Cal’s hands were on his waist again—lower this time—and they moved together like they’d always been meant to. Remus had abandoned any pretense of dancing shyly; his shirt clung damply to his back, glitter catching in the lights, his cheeks flushed and smiling.

“I love this song,” Cal murmured, voice husky against Remus’s jaw.

“I can tell,” Remus managed, trying not to sound too breathless. He failed.

“And just when I thought I could palm it,” Jem rapped.

“You better drop to your knees and bark like you want it,” Sevessa returned.

The crowd roared and joined in the call and return as Jem landed on his knees, head thrown back and a small bead of sweat dripping from his jaw.

“Woof, we want it”

“Meow, come and get it baby!” Sevessa sang, swinging her hips and hands placed on her head to look like ears.

It was obscene.

It was magnetic.

James was absolutely spiralling.

“She winked at him,” he muttered. “She winked at me earlier, but now she’s—what the hell is that move?! Is that even legal?!”

“She winked at me,” Lily said, laughing. “She doesn’t even know you’re here, you do realise that, right?”

But James was beyond reason. His hand twitched toward his wand like he might hex Jem’s smug earring off his ear.

Back on stage, Jem and Sev brought the song home with a perfectly choreographed final chorus. She sank low as he leaned in behind her, both of them mouthing the final words to the crowd with devastating ease:

"Bark like you want it, baby!"

The lights pulsed with the final beat. The crowd erupted.

Sev stood slowly, catching her breath, then turned her head ever so slightly, just enough to find Lily in the crowd.

Lily clapped and cheered. Sirius shook his head like he’d seen a ghost.

And somewhere between the lights, the sweat, and the song, James Potter finally realized something horrifying:

He needs her to like him, because he has no idea what to do with Sevessa Snape anymore.

Chapter 7: Permission to Stay

Notes:

Little bit of smut at the beginning here guys, not too graphic, just warning you :)
To skip just go to the first chapter break :)

The back door slammed shut behind them, cutting off the muffled roar of the pub crowd, they’d left to the jukebox. The air was thick with the scent of beer and cigarette smoke clinging to their clothes. Jem pressed Sevessa against the brick wall, her top a flimsy barrier from the rough surface. His hands slid under the straps of her top – already half-undone from the heat of the set, his fingers tracing the damp skin beneath.

“You were looking at me like I was your last goddamn meal that whole fucking set.” She said.

“Because you kept singing like you knew I was watching.” He growled, mouth slamming into her. The taste of whiskey and adrenaline was sharp between them.

Her knee hitched up, grinding against the hard line of his cock through his jeans. He groaned into her mouth, one hand twisting in her hair, the other slipping under her skirt. The lace of her panties was soaked – no surprise, not after the way they’d been grinding all set, eyes locked on his.

“Shit, Jem-“, Her breath hitched as his fingers slid under the fabric, dragging slow and deliberate.

“Quiet”, he muttered against her throat. “Or you’ll bring the whole fucking bar out here.”

 

 

Back inside the pub, James was getting antsy. Sirius was still sat beside him underneath the cloak, nursing his drink like it might provide clarity. James could spot Lily and Remus on the dancefloor. Lily was with a group of girls, bright and loose-limbed with laughter; Remus was near that boy from earlier—Jem’s friend. James couldn’t say why, but the sight made his jaw clench.

But Sevessa was nowhere to be seen. She’d vanished not ten minutes ago, slipping off into the night with Jem of all people—just thinking the name was like swallowing glass—and hadn’t returned. James checked his watch. Glared toward the door. Drummed his fingers.

“She should’ve been back by now,” he muttered, suddenly rising and ditching the cloak, assuming most people were too drunk to notice his sudden appearance. “Lily!”

Lily broke off mid-spin, brows lifted. “What?”

“Come on. We’re going outside. I’m not just sitting here while she’s Merlin-knows-where with—”

“She’s fine,” Lily said, brushing back a few flyaway strands of hair. “Jem’s a good guy, and she can handle herself. Besides she isn’t even meant to know you’re here! The plan was you come along invisible, stay invisible, then go home invisible, and Sev never notices!!”

“I’m not saying she can’t handle herself—” James snapped, already pushing through the crowd, “—I just want to make sure she doesn’t murder anyone.”

Sirius groaned and rose too, tossing off the cloak and stretching like he’d aged a decade. “If this ends in bloodshed, I want to watch.”

Remus detangled himself from Cal with a flimsy and apologetic excuse and fell into step behind them, flushed and still catching his breath. “You know she’s probably just smoking behind the bins, right?”

“Then we’ll confirm and leave her to it,” James said.

They pushed out into the warm night, rounding the side of the building—just in time to hear a groan then Sevessa’s low laugh then moan, rich and dangerously close. James took one more step—

“Hey. Hey—hey,” he barked, stumbling to a stop in disbelief. “Were you two fucking?!”

Sevessa blinked over at him from where she was pressed between Jem and the wall, still fully clothed but in a position indicative of their activities. Jem looked both angry and amused.

“Snape fucks?!” Sirius exclaimed, sounding physically pained. “Snape sings and now… Snape fucks.”

He clutched his chest like he’d been stabbed. “I need to sit down. The family madness, it’s finally caught me. Next thing I know I’ll be as crazy as my cousin.”

“Which one?” Remus asked mildly.

“Take your pick.”

“What the actual fuck are you doing here?” she snapped, eyes narrowing on James. “Did you follow me?”

James blinked, caught off guard. “I—what? No! We were already here.”

She scoffed. “Bollocks. You have absolutely no reason to visit this place.”

“I didn’t know you were going to be here,” he snapped back. “We just heard Remus was going out for the first time and wanted to be part of it.”

Sevessa fumed in Remus’ direction, then turned to glare at Lily, “Did you bring THESE BOYS here?”

“Hey now”, Sirius stepped in, “There’s no need to get mad at her, we sort of accosted those two on their way out and made them let us come along.”

“Oh, I have no doubt this is mostly your fault, Black,” Sevessa spat, “but Lily isn’t helpless, not in the slightest, and she knew. She knew I wouldn’t ever want you two here.”

Sirius raised his hands, grinning crookedly. “Well, we didn’t exactly come for you, Snape. Bit narcissistic, don’t you think?”

Sevessa turned on him with a look so venomous it nearly stopped his heart. “You came to watch me,” she said, her voice like cracked glass. “Like I’m some novelty. A freak who sings and shocks people by acting human.”

“No,” James cut in, fast, too loud. “That’s not— I didn’t—”

She whirled on him. “And you,” she snapped, jabbing a finger at his chest. “You’ve spent five years making my life hell and now what? You stalk me to a pub and get jealous because I kissed someone who actually knows how to talk to me like a person?”

James flushed. “I wasn’t jealous.”

“Oh, please,” she sneered. “You looked like you were going to throw him through the wall.”

“I just wanted to make sure you were safe.”

“I don’t need you to protect me, Potter,” she said, quiet and cold. “Least of all from Jem.”

Sirius muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Didn’t seem like she needed protecting from anything.”

“Say that again,” Sevessa said, rounding on him. “Go on.”

Sirius, to his credit, actually faltered. Her glare was a blade and he wasn’t sure he wanted to test its edge.

James exhaled harshly. “Look, we came for Remus. That’s it. No plan, no spying. It just… spiralled.”

Sevessa stared at him like he was something under her shoe. “You don’t get to ‘spiral’ into my life, Potter. You’ve made it perfectly clear what you think of me. Both of you.”

There was a beat of silence. Somewhere in the distance, a new song started thumping inside the pub, bass-heavy and sultry.

James looked like he wanted to say something else, but she beat him to it.

“You’ve had your fun. Now piss off.”

Then she turned on her heel and walked back inside without a single look behind her.

Jem, who had remained leaning against the wall with a sharpness in his expression that hadn’t been there earlier, stepped forward.

“Unbelievable,” he said, low and cutting. “I thought the lot of you looked familiar. You’re them, aren’t you?”

James frowned. “What?”

“The Marauders,” Jem said, eyes flinty. “God, Sev told me stories, but I thought maybe she was exaggerating. Bullying her in corridors. Hexing her things. Laughing while she cried. That was you.”

James’s throat went tight. Sirius looked away, jaw twitching.

Jem shook his head in disgust. “You don’t get to show up here and act like you care. Not when you’ve spent years making sure she knew she was nothing to you.”

Then he turned to Lily, softer but no less firm. “And you knew she wouldn’t want this. You’re her friend. What the hell were you thinking?”

Lily opened her mouth, then closed it again. She looked like she’d been slapped.

“I didn’t… I thought maybe—” Her voice wavered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would end this way. I – I’m sorry, I really am.”

Jem gave a small, disappointed nod and followed Sevessa inside without another word.

The four left standing outside were quiet for a long moment.

Sirius let out a low whistle. “Well. That was—something.”

James didn’t speak. His eyes were still fixed on the door like she might come back out and stab him for good measure.

Remus, ever the peacemaker, finally spoke. “She’s right, you know.”

“Yeah,” James muttered, jaw clenched. “I know.”

“You’ve got that look,” Sirius said, nudging him. “Don’t get ideas. She hates us.”

James didn’t answer.

Because he knew that.

And somehow, that made him want her even more.

 

 

Lily returned to the pub with Remus at her side after sending the other two back to her house to floo home. They’d caused enough trouble, and she didn’t need them hanging around to make it more difficult to apologise than it already was.

She found Sevessa sitting at the bar with Jem’s arm over her shoulder and a beer in her hand.

The other girl didn’t look up when Lily approached. She was staring straight ahead, jaw tight, the condensation on her glass trailing slowly onto the bartop.

“Hey,” Lily said quietly, coming to a stop beside her.

Jem turned slightly, his expression unreadable. Sevessa didn’t move.

“I’m sorry,” Lily said again, more softly this time. “I didn’t bring them to be cruel. I really thought… I thought maybe if they saw this part of you—” She faltered. “I didn’t think it through.”

Sevessa snorted, bitter and humourless. “No. You didn’t.”

Jem gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, then slid off the stool. “I’ll get us another round,” he murmured to her, brushing a kiss over her temple before disappearing toward the bar.

Lily watched him go, then looked back at Sevessa. “You were incredible tonight.”

A slow blink. “Don’t.”

“I mean it. That song—it gave me chills.”

“I don’t need your compliments to make this okay, Lily.”

“I know,” Lily said, trying not to let her voice tremble. “I just— I miss when it was simple. When we were eleven. Before everything got twisted.”

Sevessa finally turned to look at her, eyes dark with hurt. “You mean before they decided I wasn’t worth the time of day. Before you decided to look the other way.”

Lily flinched. “That’s not fair.”

“No?” Sevessa’s voice was quiet, but sharp. “Then tell me what is.”

There was a long pause.

“I’m trying,” Lily whispered. “To fix things.”

Sevessa stared at her for a beat longer, then turned away again, eyes back on her drink. “Maybe try doing that before you invite my worst nightmares to come gawk at me like a zoo exhibit.”

Lily didn’t respond. She didn’t know how to.

Behind the bar, Jem watched them from the corner of his eye as he paid for the drinks. He knew Sevessa wouldn’t let herself cry in front of anyone, especially not here. But still—he wished she didn’t have to be so bloody strong all the time.

He brought the drinks back over, placed one gently in front of her, and slid his other hand into hers under the bar.

“I’ve got you,” he said under his breath.

She nodded, leaning into him slightly.

“They arrived with you, I’m assuming.” Sevessa said, eyes back on the floor.

Lily nodded.

“And did you know they were coming?” Sevessa spoke again, this time directing the question at Lupin.

“No.” He replied, “and I’m sorry they did. All they knew from me was that I was attending a gig with Lily… the rest they found out themselves. But still… I’m sorry”.

It was Sevessa’s turn to nod.

She didn’t say thank you. But she didn’t snap, either. And Remus took that for what it was—grace she didn’t owe them.

The silence stretched between them, full of everything no one quite knew how to name. The thump of the bassline in the background gave the moment a strange heartbeat.

“I’m not asking you to forgive them,” Lily said eventually. “Or me. I just… I didn’t want this night to end with more damage.”

Sevessa huffed out a tired breath. “Bit late for that.”

Lily flinched again, but she didn’t leave.

Jem looked to Sevessa, waiting.

Sevessa looked at her for a long moment. Then, finally, she let out a breath—slow, deliberate.

“I know you didn’t mean for that to happen,” she said. “And I know you tried. I just… I needed you to try harder.”

“I will,” Lily promised, voice small but sure. “I don’t want to be another person who hurts you.”

“You’re not,” Sevessa said, and it came out rougher than she meant it to. “Not really. Just—don’t bring them around me again. Not unless I say so.”

Lily nodded, and some of the tension bled from her shoulders.

“And you,” Sevessa turned slightly toward Remus. “I know you didn’t invite them either, but next time—don’t tell them where you’ll be if it concerns me.”

Remus inclined his head. “Understood. You have my word.”

There was a beat, and then Jem gave Remus a once-over, not unkind but cautious.

“You’re the one she said was decent,” Jem said, eyes still flinty but not unfriendly.

“Depends on the day,” Remus replied, cracking a small smile as he extended a hand. “Remus Lupin.”

“Jeremiah Reyes, Jem for short,” he said, shaking it. “I wait tables here. Occasionally throw people out when they deserve it.”

“I’ll try not to be one of them.”

“That’d be a start.”

Sevessa let a small smirk tug at the corner of her mouth, then glanced back at Lily.

“You were invited,” she said. “And so were you,” she added to Remus. “So… stay. If you want.”

Lily blinked, surprised. “Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t.”

Lily slid into the stool beside her, her eyes a little shinier than before. “Thanks, Sev.”

Sevessa turned back to her beer, and without another word, Lily slid onto the stool beside her.

Conversation began to flow—tentative at first, like walking across cracked ice—but soon it softened, loosened. And as the pub’s noise rolled around them, the four sat tucked in their own pocket of warmth, stitched together for now by shared drinks, quiet apologies, and Jem’s steady hand wrapped in Sevessa’s under the bar.

Chapter 8: Operation: Don't be Tossers

The Potter Manor sat proudly atop a gentle hill, nestled in the heart of a sprawling estate that stretched in every direction. To the east, dense woodlands spilled beyond the boundaries of the property, their edges dappled with sunlight. Just before the tree line stood the stables, weathered and handsome, with their wide doors thrown open to the summer air. Two mottled horses — brown and white — lounged in the shade, flicking their tails lazily as they dozed through the midday heat. Nearby, a chestnut mare and a sleek, jet-black stallion drank from the cool troughs, their flanks rippling as they moved.

To the west, a stone patio curved gently around the back of the house, shaded by high awnings and ringed with planters overflowing with herbs and summer flowers. A narrow footpath meandered away from it, leading to a rustic circular pavilion crafted from pale timber and crowned with climbing vines. Trellises framed the sides, thick with ivy and sweet-smelling blooms. A firepit sat at its centre, blackened with soot and ringed with mismatched chairs, cushions, and a few errant gobstones left behind from a forgotten game.

To the north and south, wide green fields opened up in soft undulations, marked only by the occasional goalpost or scuffed patch of earth. These grounds were well-worn from years of Quidditch scrimmages and impromptu football matches — especially when broomsticks had been temporarily confiscated.

Such was the case today as James and Sirius lay sprawled in the grass, shirt sleeves rolled up, their hair damp from heat and effort. A scuffed football sat a few feet away, abandoned for now. Their late-night mischief two days prior had earned them a weeklong ban from brooms, and for once, neither had the energy — or inclination — to argue. The sun bore down, and the quiet hum of cicadas was only broken by the occasional bark of laughter drifting from the house behind them.

The realisation that Sevessa Snape was more than the snarky girl with lank hair and potion stains on her threadbare robes had shaken both boys to the core. It had been one thing to mock the Death Eater-bound Slytherin chit — easy, expected, almost sport. It was another entirely to demean and diminish the worth of the woman she had become in their eyes.

“We’ve really fucked up, haven’t we, Padfoot,” James murmured, his gaze fixed on a scuffed patch of grass between them.

For Sirius, the whole experience had upended his world. He now harboured a grudging respect for the girl he used to despise — and a fair amount of awe he resented himself for still feeling. Finding her attractive wasn’t the issue; plenty of terrible people were attractive. That was superficial. But the admiration — the magnetic pull of wanting to be near her, to see what she would do next, to feel the sheer force of her power — that was new. And that was the problem.

James’s reckoning was different. Despite the house she wore and the loyalties he’d assumed she held, he had always respected her fire. Sevessa Snape was the only one who could counter the Marauders with equal bite, and Lily had been right — it was her retaliation that had kept them coming back. He’d always seen her as an equal, at least in combat. He knew her wit outpaced his own, her intelligence ran circles around most of them, but he’d comforted himself with the thought that his moral compass made up the difference.

Now, after witnessing her at the height of her power — not just beautiful, but transcendent — that sense of equality was dissolving. What once felt like a rivalry now felt like worship. And he was beginning to realise, uncomfortably, that he was no match. A schoolboy with a wand and too many opinions. A peasant in the presence of something near divine.

“I want to know her, Prongs,” Sirius said, his voice uncharacteristically shaky. “Not like— not in that way. I mean really know her. The way I know you. Moony. Hell, even Wormtail.”

James didn't respond right away. His fingers twisted up a blade of grass until it snapped, clean and silent.

“She’d hate that,” he said at last. “Being compared to us like that. Like she’s some riddle we get to solve, if we try hard enough.”

“I’m not trying to solve her,” Sirius snapped, then immediately softened. “I just— she walked into that room and it was like the world adjusted itself around her. And I don’t know if that’s her or me. But I’ve never felt it before.”

James exhaled slowly through his nose. “That’s the thing, Padfoot. I don’t think it was her or you.”

He paused, searching for the right words.

“There was power in her voice. Real power. Not just presence or confidence or whatever else we’ve mocked people for claiming. I felt it — in my chest, in the floor, like the air itself was holding its breath. That wasn’t just some trick of the light or clever spellwork. Her voice does magic. Actual, wandless magic.”

Sirius blinked. “You think she sings spells?”

“I think,” James said slowly, “she summons spells. Or something even more. And you want to know her.”

He glanced over, lips twitching toward something that wasn’t quite a smile.

“I want to feel her. Understand her.”

Sirius tilted his head. “That’s not better.”

“No,” James agreed, shaking his head. “It’s not. I keep thinking if I just… piece it all together, all the contradictions — her kindness, her fury, the way she sings like she’s tearing the sky open — maybe I’ll figure out how to be someone worthy of standing next to her.”

“And I keep wondering what she’d see if she looked at me without that disgust she’s been sharpening since second year,” Sirius muttered. “Do you think we broke something in her back then?”

James didn’t answer immediately. He was thinking about one time in the hallway in fifth year — Sevessa, blood on her lip and wand steady as stone, hexing Mulciber and Avery after they’d made some cruel joke. He’d laughed. Not because it was funny, but because he hadn’t known what else to do with the uncomfortable stirring in his chest.

“No,” he said. “We don’t have that power, we just missed who she really was.”

There was a long pause.

Then Sirius said quietly, “What if we both want something from her she’ll never give?”

James looked at him, eyes shadowed beneath the fringe that never sat quite right. “That’s never been our way before, has it, Padfoot?” he said, upper lip twitching with the hint of a grin. “We want her to like us? We’ll prove ourselves worthy.”

Sirius huffed a weak laugh, then smiled — crooked and familiar. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds about right.”

They fell into silence, but it wasn’t a quiet one. Their minds were already racing, fuelled now by the spark of shared purpose. The Marauders were troublemakers — that much was undeniable — but they were good troublemakers. And good trouble required great planning.

To win Sevessa Snape’s good opinion would take a plan with more contingencies than they’d ever dreamt necessary. Diagrams. Schedules. Bribes. Apologies. Possibly disguises. Definitely snacks.

Operation: Don’t Be Tossers had officially begun.

 

 

 

Lily was sitting in her living room with her mother, reading a book and nursing a cup of tea when James’ head appeared in the fireplace.

“Lily-pad!” he exclaimed, beaming far too brightly for 9 a.m. on a Saturday. “So wonderful to see you — we need your help!”

Her mother yelped and clutched her teacup tighter. Lily, unfazed, calmly set her book down and raised an eyebrow. “Is this about Sevessa?”

James’s grin faltered slightly. “...Possibly.”

“You’re banned from brooms again, aren’t you.”

“No comment. But that’s not relevant.” He cleared his throat. “We’re calling it Operation: Don’t Be Tossers.”

Lily blinked. “Catchy.”

“Right? It was that or Project: Snape Redemption Arc, and Sirius said that sounded too dickish.”

Her lips twitched. “He’s not wrong.”

From somewhere off to the side, Sirius called, “Tell her she’s brilliant and we’ll make her biscuits if she helps.”

James nodded solemnly. “Biscuits, Lily. Homemade. Possibly shaped like frogs.”

“Tempting.” She crossed her arms. “And what exactly is it you think I can help with?”

“You’re friends with her. You know her. We need insight. Weaknesses. Preferences. Favourite flower. Worst fear. You know, standard intelligence-gathering.”

“I am not giving you a dossier on Sevessa Snape so you two can… emotionally manipulate her into liking you.”

James looked genuinely offended. “We would never—well, not on purpose. We just don’t want to accidentally step in it again. We’ve done enough of that.”

Lily sighed, long and loud. “You're both idiots.”

“But motivated idiots.”

Lily shook her head. “Two days, James. Two days since I broke Sevessa’s trust and brought you to Sullivan’s. I shouldn’t have done that, and I really don’t think I should be doing this now.”

She paused, eyes growing glossy with guilt. “I promised her I wouldn’t be another person who hurts her. Helping you two—” she glanced toward the hearth “—would hurt her.”

James nodded, suddenly serious. “But we don’t want to hurt her anymore, Lily,” he said quietly. “We were wrong. About her. About everything. And we’re sorry. We want the chance to apologise.”

“WE WERE PRICKS!” Sirius shouted from the other side of the Floo. “But we’re not terrible people, and we—” he sighed, loud and heavy, “—she touched our fucking souls when she sang, Lily. It was unlike any magic I’ve ever felt. And I… we need a chance to show her we can be worthy of her friendship.”

“You want to be friends?” Lily asked, surprised.

“Desperately,” James said. His voice was steady, but his eyes were shining with something that looked dangerously close to love.

Her mother stood, muttering something about needing stronger tea, and left the room. Lily regarded James’s floating head for a long, weighted moment.

“You want my help?” she asked.

James nodded vigorously.

“Fine. But we do this my way.”

“Of course.”

“No schemes.”

“Minimal schemes.”

“No disguises.”

“…Can they be metaphorical disguises?”

“Potter.”

“Right, right. No disguises.”

She narrowed her eyes. “And if either of you so much as breathe the word ‘duet,’ I swear to Merlin—”

“Understood!” James chirped. “Absolutely. No musical ambushes.”

From behind him, Sirius muttered, “Cancel the serenade.”

Lily sighed and stood, already regretting this. “Merlin help me. I’m enabling the two most emotionally stunted boys in Britain.”

But despite herself, she was already reaching for her shoes.

But despite herself, she was already reaching for her shoes.

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” James shouted, practically bouncing in place despite only having a head in the fireplace. “And we should get Remus and Peter too! This’ll be a Marauders-wide reconciliation!”

Lily froze mid-lace and gave him a look so flat it could have ironed his robes.

“You want to stage a group apology? Like some kind of emotionally-charged intervention?”

James grinned. “Exactly! But with snacks. And maybe a little music, Sev could sing again—”

“No music.”

“Right. No music.”

She shook her head, already wondering if she should start writing Sevessa an apology letter of her own right now. “This is either going to be incredibly meaningful,” she muttered, “or the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done.”

James beamed. “Either way, it’ll be unforgettable.”

From behind him, Sirius shouted, “Marauders assemble!”

Lily sighed deeply. “I take it back. Emotionally stunted and completely unhinged.”

Still, she couldn't help the small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Chapter 9: Téad na dTaibhse

Sunlight poured in through the attic window in hazy gold ribbons, illuminating the motes of dust that danced lazily in the still air. Sevessa Snape sat cross-legged on her bed in a dark blue sundress. Balanced delicately in her lap was a thick, weathered tome, its dark leather cracked with age and its silver detailing dulled by generations of touch.

Soul Weavings: Ancestral Magic and the Binding of Essence — the title read, embossed in a spidery, fading script that shimmered faintly when the light caught it just right. Her mother’s name was scrawled on the inside cover in a precise, curling hand: Eileen Prince, 1936.

Sevessa traced the name with her fingertip, apparently it was customary for the Prince family to gift an heirloom to every new child born into the line. The handwriting would have been her grandmother’s or grandfather’s, both dead now, before she had a chance to know them. Her mother had passed it on to her when she was born, as it was the only heirloom she had. It was Sevessa’s favourite book, not only for the familial connection, but for the knowledge it held, and the magic she recognised in herself.

She flipped slowly through the pages, absorbing diagrams of auras and binding circles, passages about resonance and vocal channelling. It wasn’t just theory. It was her — the way her voice could stop a room, hold people in place, shift the very air. The explanation wasn’t in any Hogwarts textbook. But here, in these brittle pages that smelled faintly of lavender and long-forgotten spells, she finally found her reflection.

“Magic that comes from the soul is not louder,” one passage read, “it is deeper. The voice is not a tool, but a thread. It weaves, it binds, it remembers.”

She closed her eyes and exhaled. Something in her chest unwound.

And then — the sharp tap, tap, tap of claws against glass.

Her eyes snapped open. A snowy owl, elegant and pale as bone, perched on the outer sill of the attic window. Its eyes, yellow and glinting, fixed on her with imperial stillness. Tied to its leg was a scroll of parchment sealed with a wax crest she knew all too well: an overly dramatic M surrounded by peacocks — the mark of House Malfoy.

Sevessa rose without hurry. She undid the latch and opened the window. The owl extended its leg, then took off the moment the scroll was freed, vanishing into the sun-bright sky without a sound.

The parchment was heavy, expensive. The ink, a rich emerald green.

Her name was written in an impossibly neat hand:
Miss Sevessa Snape.

She broke the seal and unrolled the scroll.

Dearest Sevessa,

I hope this letter finds you well.

I am writing to inform you of my engagement to Narcissa Black. Of Course, you’ve known this was coming for a while now but I am delighted to say my darling girlfriend has officially agreed to become my wife.

We haven’t spoken properly in a while; I miss that. You’ve got a sharper mind than most of the fools I deal with these days, and sharper tongues are in short supply too.

Additionally, I wish to offer you a word of warning.

Your intellect is well known and unsurprisingly, you've caught the attention of people you might rather hadn't noticed. He’s curious. You know who I mean.

Honestly, I’m not sure whether to be proud, worried, or both. Probably both. You’ve always had a knack for walking straight into trouble and making it look like art.

There are things moving, Sevessa. Bigger than schoolyard dramas and sulky prefects. I think you’d want to be informed. Whether or not you want in is your business, for now. But I’d like you to hear it from someone who actually gives a damn.

Consider this me reaching out before someone else does.

Fondly,
Lucius

She read it twice. Then again.

And then, folding the parchment slowly, she whispered aloud:

“Fuck.”

Panic surged through her chest. She turned back to the book like it might hold an answer.

She knew exactly who Lucius meant. Of course she did.

It wasn’t the first time she’d thought of him — the Dark Lord, a ghost who haunted every corner of the wizarding world like smoke haunts fire. To think she was the kind of person he might want dead was terrifying enough. But to be someone he wanted to recruit?

That was worse.

She didn’t want to join him. Not now, not ever. But she’d heard the stories — half-whispers in the dormitories, rumours smuggled between pages of forbidden books. People who said no didn’t always get to keep saying it. Some were killed on the spot. Others...

Others were made examples of. Someone they loved, tortured. Killed in front of them.

And then the promise: join us, or we take them all. One by one.

Her hands trembled as she turned the pages, faster now, urgency rising in her throat like bile. She wasn’t even sure what she was looking for — a spell, a ward, a way out — just something. Anything to keep them safe. To keep herself hidden.

And then she found it.

An old ritual, nestled deep within a section on ancestral bonds. The ink was darker here, heavier, like it had been pressed into the page with conviction. The title read:

Téad na dTaibhse — The Phantom Thread.

Old magic. Older than Hogwarts, older than Britain.

It centred on the voice — her greatest power. The words shimmered faintly on the page, as if resisting her gaze, or testing her intent.

To bind one’s soul to those they love, to anchor the self in the fields of magic itself — such protection may be granted by Lady Magic herself. But protection is not freely given.

If you asked for her guardianship, you became her conduit. Her vessel.

Her instrument.

That was the price. And for some, it had ended in madness. In voices no longer their own. In melodies that tore the air open.

But if it worked—

She could keep them safe.

 

Her parents were both out — her mother on a midday shift at Sullivan’s, her father deep in the mines. Jem was waiting tables, too, and Lily’s parents preferred she stay on the other side of the river. There should be no interruptions.

The instructions were surprisingly lucid for a text so old. Lady Magic, it explained, was not just power but presence — intimately tied to the natural world, her will woven through roots and rivers, thunder and stone. To anchor one's soul in her keeping, the ritual demanded communion with the elements.

Sevessa arranged five oakwood bowls in a perfect pentagram on the small patch of grass behind the house. Water in one. Fresh earth in the second. The third, left open to the air. The fourth smouldered faintly with sage — the cleansing flame. And the fifth, placed directly opposite her, cradled her wand: the conduit of her will, her power.

Sevessa stood in the centre of the pentagram, book in her hands. She had practised the passage 6 times since receiving the letter, the 7^th recitation being saved for the ritual. This needed to work, and it needed to be powerful. She wasn’t sure how much faith she placed in her mother’s superstitions, but belief was a luxury and power was a necessity.

It had to be enough.

She closed her eyes and began to chant. Her voice was melodic, steady — it rang with clarity, weaving sound into spell. She felt her magic stir beneath her skin, rising like a river cresting its banks.

Then it was above her skin — streaming down her arms to her fingertips, humming beneath the book, winding down her legs to kiss the grass. It spilled outward, lacing across the ground. A pulse. A current. It looped around her, then shot outward — connecting her to the bowls, and the bowls to each other.

The ritual had begun.

 

James, Sirius, Remus, Peter, and Lily were halfway across the old bridge that spanned the river, their boots echoing faintly on the weathered stone.

“We’ll let you two go ahead,” James said, nodding to Lily and Remus. “You’ve actually been decent to her.”

“Gee, thanks,” Remus muttered, though a small smile tugged at his mouth.

“She’s not going to like this,” Lily added, her tone soft but certain. “But I’ll try and convince her to let you apologise.”

Peter shifted uncomfortably beside Sirius, who was unusually quiet.

“Then I go in after,” Peter said. “Maybe she won’t… scream.”

“She will,” Sirius said grimly.

James swallowed, glancing toward the edge of town where Sevessa’s house sat, grey and dull. “We’ll go last,” he said. “Together. And we’ll mean it. No clever lines. No jokes. Just the truth.”

“And the truth is?” Remus prompted.

“That we were utter pricks,” Sirius said, voice low. “And we’re sorry.”

James nodded. “We prove we’re worth her time. Earn it back. If she’ll let us.”

They walked on in a loose formation, the river glinting silver to their left, summer clouds thickening overhead.

And then it hit them.

A pulse. Not sound, not sight — something deeper. A surge in the magical field, like the earth itself had drawn breath. It rippled underfoot and sliced clean through their bones. Birds erupted from the trees behind them. The wind shifted direction.

Everyone froze.

“What the hell was that?” Peter whispered.

Remus’s face had gone pale. “That felt like very old magic.”

Sirius stared towards the run-down town. “It has to be Snape.”

But James didn’t wait for confirmation. He was already running — sprinting full-tilt toward Sevessa’s house like his life depended on it.

He didn’t wait for Lily or Remus to lead. Didn’t wait for apologies or plans or second chances. The surge of power hit him like a punch to the chest, and he ran.

The others called after him, voices ragged with urgency — Sirius yelling his name, Remus demanding they think — but it was already too late.

The sky over the hill twisted with magic, clouds spiralling in unnatural motion. The earth buzzed under his feet. He could feel it, now, all of it — like a wire had been run straight through his spine and someone had thrown the switch.

Then Peter stumbled. Fell forward with a grunt and vanished — pulled as if by invisible threads toward the westernmost bowl, the one filled with air. He landed hard beside it, eyes wide with confusion, already glowing faintly with residual magic.

“Pete!” Sirius shouted, but the moment he lunged after him, the same force caught him — snatched him like a wind snapping a kite string — and flung him across the grass to the bowl smouldering with sage. Fire. He hit the ground with a strangled noise and couldn’t rise.

Lily screamed — and then she, too, was caught.

She crashed beside the water bowl, magic arcing over her like mist catching sunlight. Her hands trembled as she pushed herself upright, eyes darting wildly. Remus, struggling to move forward, didn’t even get the chance — he was wrenched off his feet and dragged toward the bowl filled with earth. His hands curled into the soil as if grounding himself was all he could do.

And then — James.

He was only steps from the fence when it hit. A sharp, blinding pull, not like hands, not like ropes — like gravity, sudden and absolute. His limbs seized. His knees buckled. He pitched forward—

—and the world tilted.

He landed not on the grass, not at one of the outer bowls, but directly across from her. Before the bowl holding her wand.

The magic surged and then held, locking him in place. The others were still — not unconscious, not hurt, but held in a stasis, one hand stretched toward the element that had claimed them.

James lifted his head.

Sevessa didn’t stop chanting.

Her eyes were closed, her expression taut with focus, but something in her face shifted — the tiniest furrow of her brow. She’d felt him.

She hadn’t meant for this.

But the ritual had taken them anyway.

James tried to move. To speak. But his limbs were heavy, locked to the earth by runes older than Hogwarts. The bowl before him glowed with white light, brighter now, filled not just with her wand — but with the thrum of two magical cores now tangled together.

His and hers.

The chant lifted to a peak, and all five elemental bowls answered in kind — glowing, humming, pulsing in perfect rhythm.

James stared at Sevessa, heart in his throat.

Whatever she had begun — they were bound to it now, all of them.

Together.

 

Notes:

Ahhhhhhh!!!! We're finally here!! the bonding! what'd you think?

Chapter 10: Bound, Gagged, and Emotionally Compromised

Notes:

Bit of humour in this chapter guys! Hope you enjoy, I enjoyed writing it, it's a bit silly but I'm loving the development of the relationships between the characters.

The first thing Sirius said, once the smoke cleared and his eyebrows stopped smouldering, was:

“Ten out of ten, Snape. Would bind my soul again.”

Peter coughed out a leaf. “Did we just die?”

“No,” Remus muttered, pressing a hand to his sternum. “But I think my heart tried to file for early retirement.”

They were all sprawled across Sevessa’s backyard in various states of magical disarray. Peter had dirt smeared across his forehead like a very earthy war hero. Lily was sitting cross-legged beside the water bowl looking bewildered. Remus was half-covered in grass clippings. Sirius was inexplicably shirtless. And James—

James was lying flat on his back, eyes wide, staring at the sky like it owed him an explanation.

In the centre of it all stood Sevessa.

Crackling with power.

Absolutely fuming.

Her hands were clenched into fists. Her hair had puffed up with static and wrath. Her wand was still in the oak bowl in front of James, who now looked like he wanted to politely excuse himself from the astral plane.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” she said, voice dangerously low.

Sirius raised a hand. “Oh! Oh! Was it… become eternal soulmates? Because I’m very open-minded, but I draw the line at matching robes.”

“You absolute morons!” Sevessa exploded, voice rippling with leftover ritual magic. “I was conducting an ancient rite of elemental anchoring, and you stampeded into it like magical bulls on a sugar high!”

Lily, to her credit, did try. “To be fair, we weren’t stampeding so much as sucked in by a vortex of sparkly doom—”

“That I specifically set up at a time when I would not be interrupted!” Sevessa’s magic flared — a gust of wind knocked Peter flat on his back again. “Do you know what happens when you mess with soul magic?!”

“...Group therapy?” Remus offered, sitting up gingerly.

James finally sat up, rubbing his face. “I didn’t mean to ruin anything. I—I felt it. I had to come.”

“Oh good,” Sevessa snapped. “Your magical man-instincts kicked in. How noble.”

“I was worried about you!”

“Well now we’re magically tethered, Potter!” She gestured wildly at the pentagram. “You, and your band of enchanted idiots, have soul-bonded yourselves to me, and to each other, for what is probably a cosmic eternity. Do you have any idea how long that is?!”

Peter raised a tentative hand. “Longer than NEWT prep?”

“Infinitely longer!”

There was a pause.

Then Sirius beamed. “Does this mean we can feel each other’s emotions? Like a magical mood ring?”

Sevessa closed her eyes. “I’m going to set you on fire.”

“Little help,” Peter hissed. “I think I’m bonded to the air bowl and I really need to pee.”

Remus groaned. “This is going to be such a nightmare.”

Sevessa turned to Lily, wild-eyed. “Do you see why I don’t talk to these people?”

Lily patted her shoulder, carefully avoiding the sparks coming off her sleeve. “We’ll fix it.”

“Great,” said Sevessa. “You can fix it after I bury Black in the fire bowl.”

Sirius was already attempting to fashion a laurel crown from twigs. “Soul-bonded and still stylish.”

“Okay,” said Remus, brushing grass off his jumper. “Let’s not panic.”

“Too late,” Peter squeaked. “I can taste dirt with my brain.”

Sevessa paced the internal edge of the scorched pentagram, muttering to herself in increasingly hostile Gaelic. The bowls—formerly serene and elemental—were now gurgling, hissing, or vibrating ominously. The wand-bowl pulsed like a heartbeat. James was studiously avoiding looking at it.

“Sev,” Lily tried, keeping her voice soothing, like she was approaching a very magical, very murderous cat. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll sort it out.”

“Oh?” Sevessa spun around. “Are you a High Ritualist now, Lily? Did you happen to memorise the sixteenth-century soul-binding codex this morning over toast?”

Lily blinked. “I had porridge, actually—”

Sirius collapsed dramatically onto the grass. “Can we circle back to the fact that I might be emotionally entangled with Peter for the rest of time?”

“Oi!” Peter snapped. “You think I want your drama flooding my chakras?!”

“I don’t have chakras, I’m emotionally constipated!”

“Explains so much,” Remus said under his breath.

“QUIET!” Sevessa shouted, and the ground trembled.

Everyone froze.

Including James, who had just inched too close to the wand-bowl and was now levitating approximately five inches off the ground, limbs locked in a starfish of panic.

“I didn’t mean to!” he yelped. “It just grabbed me!”

“Get out of the bowl, Potter!” Sevessa barked.

“I’m trying! It’s sticky! Emotionally!”

The wand let go with a magical pop! and James crashed down, knocking into Sirius, who shrieked like someone had hexed his hair.

“Oh bloody hell,” Sevessa muttered, storming over to inspect the wand. “If this thing is imprinted with your magical signature I swear to Merlin—”

“I think,” Lily said slowly, “the bond might be… active?”

Remus straightened. “How can you tell?”

At that moment, Peter sneezed.

Sirius also sneezed.

Then James hiccupped, and the entire pentagram flickered pink.

Everyone stared.

“Oh no,” whispered Sevessa. “Oh, this is so broken.”

“WAIT,” Sirius said, pointing at James. “Did you just have an emotion?”

James blinked. “I—what?”

Sirius pounced, shoving a hand on his forehead like a dramatic healer. “Quick! Think sad thoughts. Are you thinking them? I think I can feel guilt. Is it guilt? Or did Peter just fart?”

“I’M STRESSED!” Peter cried. “My soul is full of air!”

“Mine’s full of you,” Sirius said dramatically. “The worst fate imaginable.”

Sevessa groaned and sat down in the middle of the pentagram, rubbing her temples. “You’re all going to combust before we even find an unbinding spell.”

“Could be worse,” said Remus, casually inspecting the Earth bowl. “At least no one’s burst into flames.”

There was a crack! and a bush behind them ignited spontaneously.

Sirius turned. “Well, someone had to say it.”

 

Sevessa growled and stormed out of the pentagram like a hurricane in human form, the ritual book clutched in both hands and her shoulders squared like she was preparing to hex a god.

The moment her foot left the ring of grass, there was a collective whoosh—as if the air had sucked in a breath—and all five elemental bowls abruptly stopped their magical theatrics.

The water stilled. The fire snuffed out. The air bowl—somehow containing a small, confused finch mid-hover—popped like a soap bubble. The wand lay inert. The earth bowl let out a burp and spat Remus’ shoe out.

The Marauders collapsed as if cut from puppet strings.

“...Ow,” Sirius muttered, flat on his back. “My soul just hit the floor.”

“Did… did she turn it off?” James asked, blinking groggily. “Did she just rage-quit a soul binding ritual?”

Remus sat up, brushing leaves from his hair. “Honestly? Fair.”

“Do you think she’s going to kill us?” Peter asked, looking nervously at the air bowl as though it would reclaim him.

Sirius sighed. “Only emotionally.”

Lily was already standing. “We should follow her.”

James scrambled to his feet like a retriever who’d just been told his human left the room. “Right. Yes. Absolutely. Make sure she’s okay. Offer emotional support. Grovel. Deep, heartfelt grovelling.”

“I don't think heartfelt grovelling is your forte,” Remus said mildly.

“I can grovel,” James insisted, tripping over a bowl. “I’ve been practising!”

Sirius snorted. “You practised grovelling?”

“I was preparing a speech!”

“You’re a menace,” Remus muttered.

“I’m a devoted menace,” James replied, and took off after Sevessa.

The others followed, a slightly limping conga line of magical shame.

Inside the house, the back door slammed shut just as James reached it. He knocked. Then knocked again. Then pressed his ear to the wood.

“You think she’ll hex me if I go in?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” said Sirius.

“Deservedly,” added Lily.

Peter shook his head. “Maybe we should bring a peace offering.”

“Like what?” James whispered. “Her wand’s emotionally bound to me now. That feels… personal.”

“She likes dark chocolate,” Lily offered, already fishing through her bag.

Remus sighed. “We are not bribing her with Honeydukes.”

“Better than offering our souls,” Sirius said, plucking a Liquorice Wand from the pouch.

James squared his shoulders and pushed open the door. “Alright. Operation Don’t Die starts now.”

The door creaked open.

James peeked his head through, holding the chocolate like it might serve as a talisman.

“Sev?”

The book slammed shut.

She stood at the kitchen table, ritual tome in one hand, the other braced against the surface like it was the only thing stopping her from levitating with rage. Her hair had begun to frizz with leftover magic and fury. Her eyes, which normally held stormclouds, now were the stormclouds.

“Out,” she said, voice low, dangerous.

The others hovered behind James, peering in like children at a cursed toy shop.

“I brought chocolate?” he tried, grabbing every sweet they had.

“No,” Sevessa said flatly.

“Oh sure, give her all the chocolate?” Sirius hissed. “What about my emotional damage?”

“YOU—” Sevessa snapped, pointing the book at all of them like it was a loaded wand, “—ruined a soul ritual older than Hogwarts with your STUPID, GUILTY LITTLE FACES AND YOUR DUMB LITTLE APOLOGY PARADE!”

Everyone froze.

“You mean the ritual with the bowls?” Peter said, uncertain.

“YES! PETTIGREW. THE RITUAL WITH THE BOWLS.”

Sevessa stalked toward them, book still brandished like a holy weapon. “Do you know how important this was? Do you know what kind of clarity of spirit is required for elemental communion?”

“No,” said Sirius honestly. “But you looked very glowy.”

“I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE GLOWY.”

A sudden pressure built in the air, crackling with leftover ritual magic. The lights flickered. The chocolate in James’s hand melted slightly.

“I was supposed to bond my soul with the magic of the Earth,” Sevessa growled, pacing now, furious energy trailing behind her like a heat shimmer. “Do you know what I got instead?”

“...Us?” Remus offered.

“A bowl of secondhand air magic and a five-pack of dunderheads.”

“Hey,” Peter protested faintly.

Sevessa turned, eyes narrow. “And YOU—” She stabbed the air in James’s direction, “—were not supposed to end up tethered to my wand. That bowl was for my will, not your—your chaotic Gryffindor nonsense energy.”

James was a little too proud of that.

“And I don’t even want to start on the fact that you all let yourselves get sucked in to a spell you didn’t understand!”

“We didn’t let ourselves get sucked in,” Lily muttered. “We got hoovered.”

“It was very aggressive magic,” Peter agreed, sitting carefully on a chair like it might bite him.

“I told you we should’ve waited another five minutes,” Sirius muttered.

“Oh, right,” Sevessa snapped. “Because five minutes definitely would’ve made the difference between a sacred soul weaving and your muddy footprints in my elemental pentagram!”

There was a long pause.

Remus coughed. “So… does this mean the ritual failed?”

“I don’t know!” Sevessa shouted. “It wasn’t supposed to involve any of you!”

The lights buzzed overhead again. A fork on the bench spontaneously bent.

James raised his hand tentatively. “Hypothetically… if it didn’t fail…”

“Then I just soul-bound myself to five morons who interrupted possibly the most important piece of magic I would ever perform in my LIFE, because they felt bad.”

Sirius grinned. “So you’re saying there’s a chance?”

She pointed to the door. “Out. All of you. I need to find the counterbinding in this mess of a book and I can’t think with your Gryffindor guilt radiating like a heat lamp.”

“But—”

“OUT.”

They scrambled.

Even James.

Even Sirius, who tripped over his own shoe in the rush.

 

Sevessa flipped each page with more force than necessary, eyes scanning the dense scrawl inked into the margins by witches who clearly never expected someone to be doing panic-research in a kitchen.

Symbols danced. Diagrams twisted. There was a familiar one—her pentagram. But not just hers anymore.

It took her a moment to realise what had changed.

There were now six glyphs in the centre.

She leaned closer.

The original diagram called for a single caster—one central spirit connecting with the elemental forces of Lady Magic herself. But her version had, apparently, been collaboratively edited by the universe mid-casting.

And now… there were six central marks. All bound by one spiraling sigil, blooming out from the bowl that had held her wand.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered, dragging a hand down her face. “It actually worked. Just not the way it was supposed to.”

She grabbed a piece of parchment and scratched out a rough copy of the inscription next to the amended diagram:

In the presence of willing hearts and unguarded souls, the binding shall hold. Magic will weave through them all. Through her conduit, they shall each be tethered to one another… and to Me.

“…I tethered myself,” she said slowly, “to five idiots and Magic Itself.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then a chair scooted itself in softly beside her, like it felt bad for her.

She stared at it.

“Oh, don’t you start.”

—
The grass outside was flattened in a rough circle where they'd clearly spent the last hour flopped like overgrown toddlers after a meltdown.

Peter was lying on his back, blinking at the sky. Sirius had his hands dramatically over his eyes, and Lily was halfway through attempting to see if she could pass disgust into James just by staring at him. It was working a little too well.

Remus looked up first as Sevessa stalked out, ritual book under her arm.

“Everyone shut up,” he called lazily. “Wrath incoming.”

They scrambled upright. Mostly.

“So,” Sevessa began, arms folded, voice tired but not sharp. “Here’s the bad news.”

“Start strong,” Sirius said, grinning.

“I’ve just confirmed that I accidentally soul-bound all of us together and tethered us to Lady Magic.”

There was a long pause.

“I… beg your pardon?” said Lily.

James blinked. “Like. All of us? Together?”

“Yes.”

Peter looked around at the group. “Forever?”

“Possibly.”

Remus coughed. “Including… emotional bleed?”

Sevessa hesitated. “How much have you already been experiencing?”

There was a chorus of overlapping answers:

“I’m ninety percent sure I just felt Sirius’s boredom for five minutes straight—”

“—felt guilt from James which is so rare I thought I was dying—”

“—and someone in here is hungry all the time, I swear to Merlin—”

“That might be me,” said Peter sheepishly.

“I knew it,” Sirius whispered, triumphant.

Sevessa closed her eyes and breathed out through her nose.

“Okay,” she said, opening them again. “Then yes. You’re definitely linked. You’re all soul-bound together through a ritual that was meant to be solitary, and now you’re each connected to me and to each other and—” she raised the book—“apparently also to Her.”

“Her?” Lily asked.

“Lady Magic.”

Remus frowned. “Magic is a lady?”

“She’s not a metaphor,” Sevessa said. “She’s a force. A sentient, ancient, occasionally testy one. And now, we’ve got a shared line. Like… a group Floo.”

Sirius groaned. “We’re in a group chat with an elder god.”

James turned to her, a strange look on his face. “So, what do we do now?”

She rubbed the heel of her hand into her temple.

“Now we need to talk to my mother.”

Peter whimpered slightly.

“Oh come on,” Sirius said. “How bad can Mrs Snape really be?”

“Do you remember me in a bad mood?” Sevessa said, gesturing to herself with a dramatic flourish.

There was a collective wince.

“She taught me everything.”

A nervous silence followed.

Then James stood up, brushing off his trousers. “Alright. Let’s talk to your mum.”

Sevessa blinked. “That’s it? Just—alright?”

He shrugged. “You said it yourself. We’re all stuck together. Might as well figure it out.”

“And maybe she can tell us how to fix it?” Lily added hopefully.

Sirius looked far too smug. “Or maybe it’s not a mistake. Maybe this is destiny.”

“You trespassed into a pentagram,” Sevessa said flatly.

“Still counts.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

As they began gathering themselves and heading toward the street, Sevessa tucked the book under her arm again. She could still feel the tingling in her fingertips, the echo of the ritual humming low in her blood.

Somehow, she’d rewritten a centuries-old magical rite and bound herself to five people she’d, three of which she’d prefer never see again in her life, and now she had to breach this topic with her mother.

This was not going to be fun.

Chapter 11: Sorry, Mum

Shock was the first thing Eileen Snape (née Prince) felt when her daughter interrupted her lunch break to announce that she had performed an ancient soul-binding ritual—one pulled from the family’s ancestral magics book—and not only had it worked, but she had also somehow created an entirely new ritual in the process. Sevessa had, apparently, rewritten a centuries-old magical text. Accidentally.

After shock came anger—a deep, maternal fury that blooms only when you discover after the fact that your child has put themselves in immediate, life-threatening danger. It was that anger that had made her snap, sending Sevessa and her entourage back to the house with a clipped, “Go. Wait.”

Then, after the anger simmered down, pride crept in. Sevessa had never shown much reverence for the old ways, for the intricate, painstaking art of ritual magic. And yet now—now—she had not only completed a soul-binding, she had transformed it, remade it, with raw power and instinct alone. The kind of power it would take to do such a thing… it was staggering.

By accident?

My word, Eileen thought, that girl might just be the next Merlin.

And then came exhaustion.

Magic had never been simple in her life—just test after test after test. Being born a Prince meant weighty expectations and suffocating rules from the moment she could hold a stand. It had meant betrothal contracts. It had meant silence.

That silence had broken the day she ran—bar-hopping across Ireland and northern England, waiting tables and singing in smoky pubs when she could. Her voice had been good—not as luminous as her daughter’s, but good enough to earn tips and the occasional pint.

Eventually, she’d drifted south to the Midlands. That’s where she met Tobias. He was older, and she hadn’t expected his affections. But he gave them. And, in his own quiet way, he still did—though not as openly as before.

The final test had come with Sevessa.

When Sevessa’s magic emerged, wild and powerful at the age of four, Tobias—so steady, so certain—had flinched. He’d recoiled from the unknown, from the way their daughter lit rooms with her presence and bent the world a little sideways when she sang. And though he stayed, he kept his distance. Not cruelly. Just… carefully.

Eileen had hoped, desperately, that when Sevessa went off to Hogwarts, there’d be space for something to reignite. That seven years of quiet would give way to ease, to warmth.

But they had stayed busy. Time passed. And seven years of silence made for very rusty conversation.

 

It was 4pm when Eileen arrived home to find Sevessa, Lily and four boys sprawled across the small living room.

The tall, scarred boy was stiff as a statue in her rocking chair—clearly too polite to rock. Two girls—her daughter and the Evans girl—were slumped together on the loveseat, radiating varying shades of irritation. The other three boys sat cross-legged on the floor like schoolchildren awaiting storytime, currently engaged in what appeared to be a staring contest charged with unnecessary amounts of magical tension.

She sighed through her nose, long and sharp.

“Right,” she said crisply, stepping into the room and setting her bag down with a thud. “Let’s begin with introductions. Full names. No nicknames. I don’t like guessing games.”

The room rustled with awkward energy. One by one, they responded.

“Remus John Lupin,” said the tall boy on the chair, voice careful and polite.

“Lily Jane Evans,” said the redhead, lifting her hand in a faint wave.

“James Fleamont Potter,” offered the boy with the wind-mussed hair, trying to look dignified and failing.

“Peter Jonathan Pettigrew,” came the small voice from the floor.

“Sirius Orion Black,” said the dark-haired boy, who then grinned and added, “and it is delightful to meet you Mrs Snape!”

Eileen’s expression did not shift in the slightest. She regarded Sirius the way one might a dog who had just brought in a dead bird.

“No, Mr Black. It is not delightful. It is deeply inconvenient, largely your fault I’d imagine, and I am rapidly running out of patience for Gryffindors in my living room.”

Sirius blinked, smile flickering. James elbowed him. Sevessa stifled a snort.

“Now,” Eileen continued crisply, turning to face them all with her arms crossed, “you’ve performed an illegal, barely-documented ritual, rewritten a protected family grimoire, and likely entangled your magical cores in a way that will be thrilling to explain to the Ministry, should they come knocking.”

She paused.

“Tea?”

“Tea?” Sirius repeated, looking bewildered. “You just said we broke the magical equivalent of the Statute of Secrecy, and now you’re offering a cuppa?”

Eileen raised an eyebrow. “Mr Black, in my youth I faced down Unspeakables, Goblin bankers, and then later, the PTA at Sevessa’s Muggle primary school. Nothing requires fortitude like mothers named Carol arguing about tuckshop rosters. I assure you, I can scold and steep simultaneously.”

She turned to the kitchen. “Do come along. I refuse to explain anything twice, and I will not shout over your adolescent chaos echoing through the walls.”

They scrambled to their feet, tripping over each other in their hurry—except Lily and Sevessa, who followed at a more dignified pace, and Remus, who still moved like his joints had recently filed a complaint.

In the kitchen, Eileen summoned mugs with a flick of her wand and gestured for them to sit around the old wooden table. The chairs didn’t match. One was clearly from a pub, another might have been a piano stool, and one of them creaked ominously as James sat.

“Let’s begin.” Eileen poured hot water into the chipped teapot and set it firmly in the middle of the table. “You’ve enacted an ancient ritual, poorly translated and never once successfully attempted in this form. Sevessa has rewritten the magic mid-ritual—impressively, dangerously—and as a result, you are all now… bonded.”

She stirred in sugar with clinical efficiency.

“Not metaphorically. Not emotionally. Magically. That means shared magical echoes, linked emotional threads, and in time, possibly even shared dreams. Congratulations, you’ve essentially soul-bonded five of your classmates in what I can only assume was an attempt to avoid NEWTs.”

Peter made a choking sound. Sirius looked delighted. Lily buried her face in her hands again. Sevessa rested her chin on her palm, watching her mother with the kind of long-suffering expression that implied this was far from the weirdest family moment.

James raised a hand. “Can we undo it?”

Eileen gave him a look that could curdle cream.

“Undo it?” she repeated. “Boy, you can’t simply return a soul bond like a library book. This is not amateur-hour hex work. It’s ancient magic. Foundational. Permanent unless addressed with equal force and intention, which would require you to be more powerful than the ritual itself. Which none of you are. Except perhaps Sevessa on an exceptionally bad day.”

There was a long pause.

“Right,” James said eventually. “So… what do we do?”

Eileen poured the tea, one by one, and sat down with her own cup.

“You learn to live with it,” she said. “Or you speak to Lady Magic herself.”

The table went still.

Then Sirius muttered, “Is she taking appointments?”

Eileen didn’t even blink. “No, Mr Black, she is not taking appointments. She is a primordial magical force, not a mediwitch at St Mungo’s. You do not knock politely on the door of the ineffable.”

Sirius opened his mouth again, but Eileen raised one hand—palm out, clipped and final. “Do not make the joke you are thinking of. I assure you, it is neither new nor clever.”

He closed it.

“Now,” she continued, steepling her fingers, “until we can identify exactly what the bond entails, your primary task is observation. You’ve tied yourselves together, souls first, logic later. I want you to treat this as an extended diagnostic phase. Discover your parameters.”

She looked around the table, eyes sharp. “Can you hear each other’s thoughts? Sense feelings? Does your magic react in tandem? Are you able to… influence one another?”

There was a pause. Lily glanced toward Sevessa. “We did feel things. While you were gone. Sevessa was inside reading and the rest of us were—well, mucking about a bit—and James sent this wave of smugness so hard I wanted to throw a rock at him.”

“That was completely unintentional,” James said quickly. “I was thinking smugly. I didn’t know I was broadcasting smug.”

Peter nodded. “We could all feel it though. Clear as anything.”

Remus added quietly, “I felt Sevessa’s anger earlier. When the ritual collapsed. Not just like... guessing. It was like someone was holding a candle to the back of my neck.”

Sevessa didn’t speak. Her jaw was tight.

Eileen leaned forward slightly. “Good. Document that. All of it. Keep track. You need to understand what you've done before you go trying to fix it. Magic of this depth doesn’t just bind power—it changes identity. Personality. It threads you into a collective.”

She stirred her tea once. Twice. Each motion perfectly measured, like a spell in and of itself.

“If you are not careful,” she said calmly, “it will become difficult to tell where one of you ends and the next begins.”

James shifted in his chair. “So… we just go back to Hogwarts like normal?”

Eileen gave him a look so flat and unimpressed it could have pressed parchment. “Mr Potter. Nothing about this is normal, it is lucky you have the entire Summer to adjust. What I am yet to understand is why on earth you would enact something like this in the first place.”

Then she sipped her tea. Patiently. Waiting.

“Mum…” Sevessa began softly. “They weren’t supposed to be part of the ritual.”

“Yeah,” Lily added quickly, “we were just—walking down to the house. For… something. Doesn’t matter what for,” she finished in a fluster, “but we were sucked in. We had no choice.”

Eileen looked slowly between the six of them, her gaze finally settling on Sevessa.

“That does not explain,” she said coolly, “why you felt compelled to conduct such a ritual in the first place.”

Sevessa shifted—barely—but it was enough.

Eileen’s eyes narrowed. They might not be close, but she knew her daughter. Sevessa didn’t fidget.

Without a word, Eileen pushed back from the table and rose, moving toward the back door.

“Sevessa. With me,” she said briskly, already halfway into the garden.

Sevessa stood and followed her, shoulders tightening as they stepped outside into the fading light.

Eileen stopped just shy of the disturbed pentagram, arms folding neatly over her chest. The bowls—now empty—sat askew in the flattened grass like the remnants of a dinner party hosted by a cult.

She didn’t look at them.

She looked at Sevessa.

“I recognise the ritual,” she said, voice clipped. “Page two-eighty-three. Téad na dTaibhse.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “That book should be used for theoretical study only.”

Sevessa looked down at her boots. “I needed it.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I needed it,” Sevessa repeated, louder this time. “Things were—things are—getting worse. In the magic world. I thought if I could reach the Thread directly, I might be able to… protect myself.”

Eileen inhaled through her nose. “So you leapt straight into ancient soul-binding rituals? Without asking me. Without supervision. Without a ward.”

Sevessa looked away, jaw tight. “You wouldn’t have let me.”

“No,” Eileen agreed. “Because it’s reckless. And it’s unfinished. And it never ends well.”

She paced a slow circle around the ruined centre, expression unreadable.

“And now,” she said sharply, “you’ve soul-bound yourself to five other teenagers.”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen!” Sevessa snapped.

“You meant to open a direct conduit to Lady Magic herself!” Eileen’s voice cracked like a whip. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

Silence. Then, more quietly:

“I thought I could handle it.”

Eileen sighed—a long, weary breath that deflated the last of her anger into something that sounded too much like disappointment.

She finally looked down at the bowls.

“Why did you need to protect yourself.” She said slowly, emphasising each syllable. “I am aware that there is a man in the wizarding world who is causing trouble, but he is not an active terrorist. At least not yet. So, why did you need protection?”

“I received an owl from Lucius Malfoy informing me that I have become a person of interest on account of my intelligence.” Sevessa said.

Eileen nodded once. “I see.”

Then, more quietly, “Did you reply?”

Sevessa’s lips parted in faint offense. “Not yet.”

“Good.” She took a measured breath. “What else?”

“He’s recruiting,” Sevessa said, gaze locked on the broken circle of bowls. “And it’s not just Slytherins. He’s been hosting these little... salons. Rhetoric dressed up as philosophy. Magical purity disguised as academic curiosity. It’s not official yet, but it’s growing. You can feel it in the halls.”

Eileen’s expression darkened. “And you think you’ll be targeted.”

“I know I will be.” Sevessa looked up, finally meeting her mother’s eyes.

There was a beat of silence as the wind stirred the grass.

Eileen exhaled slowly through her nose. “So you bound yourself to five Gryffindors as a magical human shield?”

“I didn’t mean for them to be included.”

“But you didn’t stop it,” Eileen said sharply. “You didn’t even try to stop it, did you?”

Sevessa didn’t answer.

Eileen’s face tightened. “You are clever. And careful. Which means you knew you were pushing past the margins. You let that ritual spin itself wider because, on some level, you wanted help. Or cover. Or power.”

“I didn’t want to be alone.”

The admission cracked out like a splinter from dry wood.

Eileen’s expression shifted—just a flicker—but it was there. A fracture of something softer. Regret, maybe. Or understanding. It passed quickly.

“Mum—here, I have Jem. And Cal, when I need him. Walter. You, Dad, sort of—”

Eileen’s mouth twitched into a grimace.

“—but in the magical world… it’s just me. Me and Lily, and that’s it.”

Sevessa let out a shaky breath.

“I didn’t know who had joined the ritual. I just… felt them. Like pressure building behind a closed door.”

She swallowed.

“And once it started, I couldn’t stop. The magic pulled harder than I expected—like it wanted them. Like it had already decided. There was a compulsion to continue, and I couldn’t break from it. Not without tearing the whole thing apart.”

Eileen turned her gaze back to the circle. “Well. You aren’t alone now.”

“No,” Sevessa said bitterly. “Now I’m magically welded to a bunch of hormonal boys and my best friend, and I feel everything they feel. It’s like having five extra limbs that all want different things.”

Eileen gave a tight nod. “Then perhaps next time, you’ll come to me before you attempt a communion ritual from the era of Gaulic necromancers.”

Sevessa raised an eyebrow. “Would you have helped?”

There was a long pause. Then, “I would have stopped you.”

“Exactly.”

Eileen looked down at her daughter with the same expression she’d worn when Sevessa had once tried to take apart the toaster to make it into a cauldron warmer: part frustration, part grim admiration.

“Well,” she said dryly, “at least you inherited my inability to follow instructions.”

She turned, heading back toward the house. “Come inside. We’ll need to draw up an observational framework, and I suppose your band of misfiring empathic disasters should have a copy too.”

Sevessa followed. “So you’ll help me?”

Eileen paused at the door.

“I’ll supervise,” she said crisply. “There’s a difference.”

Chapter 12: Bonding Time (haha, get it?)

Notes:

A deeper delve into the bond!! yay!!

The sun had begun its slow descent, washing the garden in gold. The air was sticky with heat, and no one quite knew how to begin. Sevessa sat cross-legged, her palms braced against the warm grass, gaze flicking over each of them.

She scowled. “Why are you even here?” Her voice was low, coiled. “You were supposed to leave me the hell alone.”

Her eyes fixed coldly on James and Sirius.

“You said your piece. You got your hero points. You don’t get to come back now and act like we’re friends.”

“We came back because we feel like arseholes,” James said, voice tight.

Sevessa rolled her eyes. “Congratulations on the self-awareness.”

“No—” He dragged a hand through his hair, frustrated. “You don’t get it. I do feel awful. I am sorry.”

She scoffed. “Right. You’ve been an insufferable git to me for years, Potter.”

James flinched at the name. “Yeah. I know.”

“So why now?” Her voice cracked like a whip. “What changed, Potter?”

James opened his mouth—then shut it. He looked down at his hands, then back up like he was trying to find the words on her face.

“I thought I had you figured out,” he said quietly. “And I know that sounds awful, but I did. I thought—you were prickly and proud and dark and just... destined for the Death Eaters.”

Sevessa’s expression twisted. “So you decided to beat them to it? Bully me before I could turn out evil?”

“No!” he snapped, eyes wide. “I—God, I don’t know. I was a stupid kid. I thought I was clever. I thought—if I laughed at you first, you couldn’t touch me.”

“Touch you?” she hissed. “I wasn’t trying to touch you, Potter. I was trying to survive you.”

James’s mouth parted, but no sound came out. He looked wrecked.

“I didn’t think twice,” he said finally. “I didn’t let myself. But then I heard you sing.”

“Don’t,” she warned.

“It ripped something open in me.”

Sevessa’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, it hardened.

“You sounded like—like grief and hope and war and peace all at once. I felt it in my bones. And I hated it. Because it meant I was wrong. About you. About everything.”

“Potter—”

“You’re not who I thought you were. You’re not cruel. You’re not cold. You’re burning. You glow, and it hurts, because I don’t know what to do with it.”

Sevessa stood, as if the ground had grown too hot beneath her. “You’re projecting.”

“No. I’m drowning.”

And she felt it—bloody hell, she felt it. His emotions burst through the bond like a sun flare: searing regret, self-loathing, shame, and buried deep beneath all of it—affection, wild and tender and terrified.

Her breath hitched. But she didn’t let it show.

“Pull yourself together, Potter,” she said, her voice like frost. “Whatever you think this is—it’s not.”

He stared at her like she’d just kicked him.

But Sevessa refused to yield. Not to this. Not to him.

Sevessa stood, shifting slightly. “You’re not making any sense.”

But his emotions surged through the bond anyway—an unwanted tide breaking through every wall she’d built. She could feel him: fractured, tangled, a boy who had locked everything he didn’t understand behind mockery and charm. And now he stood exposed, and she hated that it moved her.

She clenched her jaw. “Pull yourself together, Potter.”

Silence fell hard. Sirius didn’t joke. Remus didn’t mediate.

Then, quietly, Lily spoke.

“I can feel it,” she said. “The bond. We should see if we can use it intentionally.”

Sevessa shot her a look—sharp, still bristling. But no one objected.

So they sat. Or remained standing. Breathing. Not talking.

The air was thick with heat and something older, stranger, barely named.

Sevessa closed her eyes first.

It came in threads—not overwhelming, not loud—but like the brush of wind on skin. A subtle knowing. Someone else was there. With her. In her.

James ran closest. His feelings didn’t crash into her. They aligned, like magnets just shy of touching. His emotions moved parallel to hers, echoing her sharp edges with steady warmth—infuriatingly gentle, maddeningly sincere. Like music under a floorboard. He didn’t understand half of what he felt, but he felt it deeply. And Sevessa hated that she knew that now.

He’d been in front of the wand bowl. The bond between them was strongest.

Lily came next. She felt like water—cool, deep, deceptively calm. At rest, yes—but vast. Like she could drown the world if she chose. Sevessa felt the pull of her, smooth and ageless. A current you couldn’t fight, only learn to swim in.

Peter was air. Nervous, flickering, hard to pin down. But clear. Crisp. There was focus there when he let himself be seen. She felt the careful way he extended his trust.

Remus was earth. Moss-soft, weighty. He carried things. Heavy things. Guilt, patience, love so quiet it almost vanished. But beneath it all was something solid. Something unshakeable.

And Sirius—

Sirius burned.

A wildfire, untamed. At times playful, at times furious. But always dancing close to the line. He lit something reckless in her too, like flint on flint. Sparks and danger. But warmth, too. A hearth hidden inside the chaos.

She opened her eyes slowly.

They were all watching her.

“You felt it, didn’t you?” James asked, quieter now. He wasn’t sure he had a right to ask.

She didn’t soften. But she nodded.

“Yes.” Her voice was sandpaper. “It’s not thoughts. Or words. More like… emotional fingerprints. Or a breeze off someone else’s soul.”

“Do we all feel it the same way?” Peter asked.

“I don’t think so,” she said, guarded. “It might be shaped by where we stood. What we felt. What we are to each other.”

“So it’s unique to each of us?” Remus said.

Sevessa looked at James again. That strange echo still lingered—like her magic didn’t quite know where she ended and he began.

“Yes,” she said, quieter. “Exactly that.”

-----------

Tobias arrived about an hour later, shoulders heavy from a long shift in the mines, only to find himself stepping into what could best be described as a more chaotic version of the uneasy gathering his wife had endured earlier. Sevessa had meant for the bond-testing to be brief—a quick glimpse, a few cautious observations, and then everyone would return to their own lives. Clean, simple, distant.

But just half a kilometre down Spinner’s End, James had stopped cold in the middle of the street, clutching his chest like something vital had fractured. He couldn’t see Sevessa at that distance, but if he had, he’d have noticed her doubled over on her front step, gasping like she’d been winded. Their pain had mirrored each other’s exactly.

And though no one else felt it—not even Sirius, whose magic ran hot and wild—there was no question about the bond’s reality. Or its danger.

So, the plan shifted.

For now, proximity was the only safeguard they had.

A rough camp took shape in the backyard—blankets, conjured cushions, a few badly transfigured pillows courtesy of Peter and Sirius. Sevessa allowed it with clenched teeth and Lily’s quiet persuasion. The girls would share her bed, and the rest would make do under the stars.

Now, everyone was crammed around the battered dining table, hands darting as they reached for the array of dishes scattered between chipped plates and mismatched cutlery. The conversation was loud and light, carried mostly by the four boys Tobias had never seen before in his life. The one with wild black hair kept glancing at Sevessa after every joke, visibly checking to see if she’d laughed.

To Tobias’s quiet satisfaction, she hadn’t. Sevessa remained unreadable—her expression flat, mouth occasionally twitching into a smirk only for the red-headed girl whose name he never remembered, or when his wife scolded one of the boys for eating like a feral animal.

It was the kind of raucous noise the Snape house hadn’t heard in over a decade. He’d half-expected complaints from the neighbours on his walk in. Instead, the elderly couple next door had merely smiled knowingly, clearly thrilled Sevessa had friends for once. The level of loyalty this town carried for that girl was… unnerving. Almost cultish.

He stood in the doorway for a moment, unnoticed. The thump of his work boots was nothing against the teenage chaos unfolding before him. Still, he hovered. He didn’t want to interrupt—not because he feared them, but because joining the table meant inserting himself into a world that was very much not his. And yet… ignoring them entirely would feel like surrender. And he wouldn’t surrender his house—his kitchen—to adolescent boys with wands and too much energy.

Especially not the bespectacled one, who was still stealing glances at his daughter, desperate for a reaction.

That was enough.

Tobias cleared his throat, loud and deliberate. Then, for good measure, he grunted—a low, guttural sound that filled the space like a warning growl.

“What’s all this then?” he asked, voice gravelled and sharp.

Forks paused mid-air. Sirius, halfway through some exaggerated tale, blinked like someone had flipped a light switch behind his eyes. Peter froze, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk mid-chew. Remus’s brows lifted in polite alarm, and James… James shifted in his seat, spine straightening with the practiced ease of someone who’d faced far worse than an angry father but still recognised a line being drawn.

Only Sevessa didn’t look up.

Eyes on her plate, she spoke low and slowly,

“I performed a magic ritual in the backyard with the intention of protecting myself from the neo-Nazi magician who has been recruiting followers from Slytherin house, they got sucked in, and now we are all bonded to each other and to magic herself.”

She paused to meet his eyes, attempting to maintain a slightly bored expression, “There’s more to it, but that’s the basics.”

Tobias twitched.

A long beat passed. The sound of cicadas filled the silence through the open back door.

“...Right,” he said eventually, scratching his temple with calloused fingers. “And this neo-Nazi magician. Would that be the one your mum mutters about when she thinks I’m not listening?”

“That’d be the one,” Sevessa said, voice calm, head tilted just a touch. “Though technically, he hasn’t gone full fascist yet. Still in the cult-gathering phase.”

James coughed sharply. Lily thumped him on the back.

Tobias turned his gaze toward the boys again, gaze lingering on Sirius a moment too long. “And these are the ones who got... what, soul-bonded to you?”

“Not by choice,” Peter piped up weakly, then flushed under Sevessa’s glare.

Tobias pressed his lips into a tight line. “Are they dangerous?”

“Not to me,” she said. “And not to you, either. We’re... stuck together now. Like cosmic duct tape.”

Another beat.

Tobias let out a low whistle, moved to the sink, and ran the tap with a grunt. “I fucking hate magic.”

“Language,” came a warning murmur from the doorway.

Eileen stood with one hand resting against the frame, her eyes unreadable. The kitchen light cast her in half-shadow, highlighting the streak of grey in her hair and the deep line between her brows.

Tobias didn’t turn. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting,” she said mildly. “You’re upset. I understand.”

“She just said she bonded her soul to five people. Accidentally.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re not... losing your damn mind about that?”

“I already did,” she said. “Took the second half of my shift today to process it.”

That quieted him.

Eileen stepped further into the kitchen, brushing her fingers lightly over Sevessa’s shoulder as she passed. “We’ll be back,” she said to the table at large.

Sirius gave a low, appreciative whistle. Lily kicked him.

Tobias followed wordlessly, his boots thudding down the hallway behind her. Their bedroom door shut with a soft click.

------------

Inside, it was dim and close. A worn quilt covered the bed, the edges threadbare. There were stacks of old books on the nightstand—half Muggle crime thrillers, half magical treatises with titles Tobias had long since stopped trying to decipher.

He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

Eileen remained standing, arms crossed lightly over her chest.

“Well?” he asked finally. “Are you going to explain it to me, or am I supposed to just... make peace with the idea that our daughter’s now sharing her insides with a bunch of boys she met at school?”

Eileen exhaled. “It’s not like that.”

“No? What’s it like, then?”

She hesitated, then sat beside him. Not close, but not distant either. Her voice was soft, the cadence precise.

“She tapped into a very old branch of magic. Pre-wands. Pre-Hogwarts. It responds to intent and blood and song more than incantations. It’s raw. Primal. And it answers.”

“And it answered her.”

“Yes.”

Tobias looked at his hands. “Because she was scared?”

“Because she was powerful,” Eileen corrected. “And desperate.”

He shook his head slowly. “I always thought... all this magic business, it was like maths. Rigid. Predictable.”

“Some of it is.” She reached for a book on her nightstand and passed it to him. The title read Binding Threads: Soul Magic and Collective Consequence. “But the old stuff? It listens.”

He flipped it open and immediately shut it again. “I’m not going to understand this.”

“You don’t have to. Just... know that it chose her back.”

They sat in silence for a long moment. From down the hall came the muffled sound of laughter—James again, or maybe Sirius, trying to lighten the mood.

Finally, Tobias said, voice barely audible, “Is she safe?”

Eileen didn’t answer right away. When she did, her voice was tired. “No. But she’s not alone.”

He swallowed hard, stared at the wall. “I’ve never been able to protect her from that world.”

“You’ve protected her from mine,” she said, laying a hand over his. “You’ve always worked so hard to keep the Navy separate from this family, but there’s a war coming—and Sevessa doesn’t believe she’ll have a choice in participating.”

Tobias’s jaw clenched. He didn’t speak.

“You might have more to offer now than ever before.”

His laugh was short and bitter. “What, naval tactics and the ability to take a punch?”

She squeezed his hand. “Discipline. Strategy. The understanding that people break and still go on. And that no one wins a war just by casting spells.”

His eyes stayed fixed ahead. “She’s not a soldier, Eileen.”

“None of them are,” Eileen murmured. “Everyone at that table is a teenager, Tobias. Just kids. But war doesn’t care. It makes soldiers of everyone. Willing or not.”

That hit something in him. The muscle in his cheek jumped.

“She’s still so angry,” he murmured. “At everything. At me. She won’t listen.”

“She will, eventually.” Eileen leaned her head back against the wall, gaze unfocused. “But only if you keep talking. Keep showing up. She doesn’t need perfect. She just needs... present.”

They sat in silence for a long while, the ticking of the bedside clock loud in the quiet.

Finally, Tobias let out a slow breath. “I don’t know if I can be what she needs.”

“Neither do I,” Eileen said simply. “But I think we both owe it to her to try.”

Notes:

Awwwww, some Snape family loving!!

And ofc more James being head over heels :)

Let me know what you think!

Chapter 13: To Seem So Open

It was a dry night, thankfully. The boys could sleep outside without needing to conjure a tarp or tent. The stars here were duller than at Potter Manor, dimmed by the haze of city pollution. The ground was scuffed and uneven from the ritual, but a thin bedroll made it bearable. The warmth in the air acted like a blanket, clinging to the skin and keeping the cold at bay.

The others had drifted off hours ago—James could tell by the shift in snoring patterns—but his own eyes refused to close. His mind wouldn’t settle.

He hadn’t known what to expect of the Snape family. He’d never bothered to imagine where Sevessa went when she left Hogwarts. Her world beyond school had been a mystery—untouchable, even. And now, he realised, she’d always been that to him: untouchable. Despite the endless jabs, the rivalry, the sharp words and sharper glares—he hadn’t known her at all.

But maybe she didn’t know him either. Not really.

As far as he knew, she had no idea what his life looked like outside of Hogwarts. She didn’t know his childhood or how he’d grown up. Though to be fair, most of it could be easily guessed. James Potter—the boy who laughed loudly, who threw himself into chaos with charm and ease—seemed to live a charmed life. A life full of comfort and love, with parents who doted on him and a house big enough to get lost in.

And that was the trick, wasn’t it?

To seem so open, so cheerful, so overflowing with warmth that no one would ever think to look for what was hidden.

Like fear.

Fear for his parents—older than most, both of them. His mother had taken ill recently. Nothing serious, they said. Nothing to worry about. But James had seen the way her eyes looked these days—tired, a little dimmer than they used to be.

He feared for his friends, too. For Remus, who tried too hard. For Peter, who so desperately wanted to feel equal. For Sirius, who carried his fire like a weapon and a wound. And now, strangely, for Sevessa—for the panic in her eyes when they’d interrupted the ritual. For the way she always seemed to be trying to outrun something, or someone.

He understood that, more than he let on.

People thought he didn’t pay attention. But James noticed things. He noticed how the Slytherins whispered about a man in the shadows—some rising power whose name they spoke with awe and fear. Just as he noticed the quiet way Dumbledore had begun to gather his own circle. Whispers of an Order, a rebellion forming under the guise of mentorship and trust.

But Dumbledore was no distant, mythical figure.

He was there. At Hogwarts. Always watching. Always moving pieces.

A sharp crack—a twig snapping around the side of the house—yanked James from his thoughts.

In the muted moonlight, a tall, lanky figure emerged from the shadows. James tensed, heart stuttering. He stayed still, letting his fingers slide beneath his pillow until they curled around the familiar handle of his wand. Quiet. Ready.

It wasn’t until the silver glint of an earring caught the light that James recognized him. Jem. The boy from the pub.

Not immediately dangerous.
But no less confusing.

James didn’t release his wand just yet. He watched.

Jem reached into his pocket and pulled something out—too small for James to make out in the dark. A moment later, he lobbed it upward.

A faint tink echoed as the pebble struck a second-story window.

Sevessa’s window.

James stiffened.

Another pebble. Tink.

Jem shifted his weight, glancing briefly over his shoulder, then tossed a third. This one hit the glass with a slightly sharper tick, and a low muttered curse followed under his breath. Still, he didn’t leave.

He was... waiting.

James narrowed his eyes, mind racing.

He knew Lily had mentioned they were close but he hadn’t considered that Sevessa’s relationship with this boy might have extended beyond the bounds of the muggle world. That she had a person on the outside, someone from her world—this world—who knew her well enough to come calling at night.

The window creaked open with a soft groan of warped wood. A curtain shifted.

And there she was.

Sevessa leaned out just far enough to see the boy below, her dark hair a shadowy halo around her head.

“What the hell are you doing?” she whispered fiercely.

Jem grinned up at her, utterly unfazed. “Wanted to see if you were still breathing.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Good to know I haven’t lost my charm.”

James felt something twist in his chest. It wasn’t jealousy, not exactly. But it was something. Something uncomfortably close.

Sevessa disappeared from the window for a moment. Then, a soft click, and the sash slid open wider. Her foot swung out, finding purchase on the narrow ledge just below the windowsill.

James blinked.

She wasn’t.

She was.

She was climbing out.

With the ease of someone who’d done this many times before, Sevessa crouched on the ledge and reached sideways, gripping the old metal drainpipe that ran along the edge of the house. Her bare feet moved deliberately, silently, toes curling for grip as she inched down, steady despite the height.

James felt his heart crawl into his throat. One slip—

But she didn’t slip.

Of course she didn’t.

She landed in a crouch beside Jem, breath quiet but shallow, waves tangled from the night air. Jem reached out like he might steady her, but she batted his hand away before he could touch her.

“I told you not to come here.”

“You also don’t usually swing by the pub and shock your mum into silence for three hours, but here we are.” His voice was low—casual on the surface, but James caught the bite underneath.

“Not the point,” she muttered. “Something’s happened, Jem… I did something. And it’s had some unforeseen consequences.”

She grimaced, eyes scanning the shadows. James tried to steady his breathing, suddenly unsure if she could feel his attention through the bond.

“I can’t explain it all now—too many ears around, and I’ve already set my parents on edge, as you saw. But I’ll come find you tomorrow. You and Cal. I’ll fill you in then.”

Jem lingered for a moment, searching her face. Then, without another word, he stepped in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. His hand hovered at her arm like he wanted to say more—do more—but didn’t.

“Promise me,” he said quietly. “You’ll actually come find us.”

She rolled her eyes but gave a small nod. “I will.”

“Good.” He held her gaze for a beat longer before pulling away and disappearing back into the shadows, the crunch of gravel soft under his boots.

Sevessa stood there for a moment. Still. Like she might call him back after all.

Then she sighed, long and low, and leaned against the side of the house, spine pressed to the cool stone. Her hands came up to cradle her head, fingers threaded in her hair like she could hold the thoughts in by force.

From his spot on the ground, James didn’t breathe. He shouldn’t be watching—but he couldn’t look away.

She looked like she was falling apart in slow motion.

For a moment she just stood there, breathing — deep, steadying inhales like she could force the panic back down where it belonged. Then, with a small, quiet grunt of effort, she pushed off the wall.

James froze, heart thudding as she turned in his direction. Had she seen him?

But no — she didn’t even glance toward their little camp. Instead, she walked right past it, shoulders hunched, slipping soundlessly toward the far end of the garden.

There, half-hidden by the overgrown grass and moon-dappled shadows, stood a crooked cluster of trees. James’s eyes followed her as she crossed into them — and that’s when he noticed the makeshift ladder: small planks of wood nailed into one of the trunks, just enough for a climb.

Without hesitation, Sevessa began to ascend, vanishing into the foliage above like she’d done it a hundred times.

James hesitated for only a second before standing.
Still curious.
Still completely, hopelessly awake.
And now — completely unable to leave it alone.

He followed.

His footsteps were far from silent, twigs cracking softly underfoot as he clambered up after her. She would’ve heard him long before he reached the top, yet she didn’t move.

“What do you want, Potter?” Sevessa said quietly, her back still to him.

She was curled on a thick branch, one leg dangling, the other drawn up loosely beneath her. Her side rested against the trunk like she might sink into it, one arm draped across her bent knee. In the cool glow of moonlight, she looked almost unreal — porcelain skin catching silver highlights, hair tumbling around her shoulders in dark waves that gleamed like spilled ink. Her pyjamas clung to the long lines of her frame, thin cotton whispering against the bark.

James hesitated, breath caught somewhere in his throat.
She looked ethereal.
Otherworldly.
Like if he blinked too hard, she’d vanish into mist and moonlight.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said at last, voice low, unsure. “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

She scoffed — soft, tired. “You’re shite at hiding, for someone who gets away with fucking murder.”

He tried a smile, but she didn’t turn. Just leaned her head back against the bark, eyes closed now, face tilted to the sky like she might fall asleep right there in the crook of the tree.

James moved closer, settling on the opposite branch so there was distance between them, but not too much. The air smelled of damp leaves and night-blooming jasmine.

For a while, neither of them said anything.

Then, quietly — “Are you alright?” he asked.

Sevessa let out a long breath. Not quite a sigh — more like she’d been holding it in for hours and finally let it go. “No,” she said. “But I will be. Or I have to be. Same thing, really.”

Her voice was hoarse, rougher than usual.

He wanted to say something — anything.

“I’m not,” he started, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “Alright, that is. I’m not alright.”

She opened her eyes then, just barely — a slow, flickering glance in his direction. Not sharp, not surprised. Just tired.

Something in his chest fluttered under the weight of that look.

“I don’t know when it happened,” James went on, voice barely above a whisper. “I thought I was. You keep going, don’t you? You tell yourself it’s fine because no one’s bleeding, and no one’s dead—” He cut himself off, jaw tightening. “But I don’t sleep. Not properly. And sometimes it feels like if I stop moving, I’ll— I don’t know. Crumple. Vanish.”

He hadn’t meant to say that much. Hadn’t meant to say any of it, really.

But she didn’t mock him. Didn’t scold or scoff or change the subject. She just looked at him, quiet and still, like she understood more than she was willing to admit.

Then, with an aching sort of gentleness, she shifted on her branch — just slightly — and patted the space beside her.

An invitation.

James blinked. “You want me to—?”

“I’m not repeating myself.”

He moved before she could rescind the offer, awkwardly settling beside her, shoulder brushing hers. The bark was rough beneath them, but the closeness was grounding.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Then Sevessa leaned her head lightly against his shoulder.

“I don’t want to be alone right now,” she said, so soft he almost didn’t hear it.

James swallowed hard. “You’re not.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, they both let themselves believe it.

Notes:

Hey Guys!
Hope you enjoyed this chapter, it's definitely one of my favourites to write so far! I liked slowing the pace a bit, giving Sevessa and James a moment to connect.

I'm back at Uni now, so I'm gonna post once a week on Sundays :)

Chapter 14: We? We.

Notes:

Hi guys! I hope you enjoy the chapter!
It's not my favourite that I've written so far, but I feel it's necessary to set all the characters up where I need them.

Morning came quickly, to James’ immense disappointment. Sevessa had unstuck herself from his side the moment the horizon began to pale, slipping down the tree with the same effortless grace she’d climbed it. She didn’t look back, didn’t speak—just darted for the house and disappeared inside before anyone else stirred. By the time James and the others began moving, her expression had already hardened back into its familiar armour.

The kitchen smelled faintly of toast and tea. Tobias sat at the head of the worn dining table, a mug cradled in one hand, the other drumming against the wood in thought. Lily was at his side, looking fresher than James felt, hair neatly tied back and a notebook already open in front of her. Sevessa sat two seats down from her father, slouched slightly, eyes on her plate but chewing with determined efficiency.

“What are you all going to do today?”, Eileen said walking into the room, “Because I’ve got another lunch shift and I won’t have this house torn to shreds in my absence.”

“I’ve got a couple people I need to see”, Sevessa said shortly.

Lily looked up, curiosity flickering across her face. “Who?”

“Jem… and Cal,” Sevessa replied, shooting a quick glance toward Remus. Her hesitation was telling. Correctly so, it seemed—Remus’s eyes widened, and a deep flush rose up his neck.

“Oi! Isn’t Jem the one from the pub?” Sirius cut in.

“I’m surprised and dismayed to see you manage to squeeze words out around the entire piece of toast you’ve crammed into your mouth, Black,” Sevessa said dryly. “But yes, he is.”

Sirius grinned, unbothered, and took an exaggerated bite just to make his point.

“We’ll come with you,” James said, tone leaving no room for argument.

Sevessa turned her head slowly, her gaze guarded and heavy. “This may surprise you, Potter, but I don’t want your company—and neither will the people I’m seeing.”

“That’s all well and good,” James pushed, “but you seem to have forgotten we can’t go very far before the pain sets in.”

It was a dirty tactic, calling her out like that in front of an audience. He knew it. But they’d shared something last night—something raw, unguarded—and he wasn’t willing to let it dissolve into her usual walls. The magical bond might have been forced upon them, but the other one, the one forged in quiet words and unspoken understanding, was his choice. And he wasn’t about to let her walk away from either.

“Fine,” Sevessa conceded stiffly. “But you will keep your distance. We’ll use this as an opportunity to test exactly how far we can be from each other before… discomfort sets in.”

Her voice made the word sound like a polite euphemism for something far more unpleasant.

James leaned back in his chair, feigning nonchalance but feeling the small flicker of victory all the same.

Tobias, who had been silently nursing his tea until now, set his cup down with a quiet clink. “Good,” he said, voice even but carrying a weight that made everyone glance at him. “And when you’re done with that little experiment, we will starting proper training.”

“Training?” Sirius asked, eyebrows lifting in intrigue.

“The kind meant to keep you alive,” Tobias said simply. “You might not be soldiers—” his eyes flicked, just for a moment, toward Eileen “—but war makes soldiers of everyone.”

 

 

The streets were quiet that late in the morning, save for the distant chatter and the sharp cries of gulls circling overhead. Sevessa kept her pace brisk, boots striking the broken sidewalk with purpose.

Lily, Sirius, Peter and Remus trailed a few paces behind. James was further still—far enough to appease her temper, close enough that the bond wouldn’t bite. She could feel him there like a splinter under her skin.

Jem and Cal were waiting where they always did—leaning against the brick wall behind the old smithy, half in shadow. Jem straightened when he saw her, that crooked smile playing over his face in a way that was more guarded than usual. Cal shoved his hands deep into his pockets and glanced sidelong at Remus before looking away.

“You’re later that I expected,” Jem said, though there was no real heat in it.

“Had to bring the others,” Sevessa replied, jerking her head toward James without breaking stride. “Couldn’t be helped.”

Cal gave a low whistle, like this was somehow more dramatic than it already was. “So. You gonna tell us why you accosted your mum at the pub yesterday and nearly gave her a heart attack?”

Sevessa sighed. Introducing these two to magic had been easier than it might have been—mostly because they’d grown up together, and she’d never been that good at hiding from them. They’d known she kept secrets. They’d heard her sing for years before she worked at the pub, and in their minds that had already been a kind of magic. Extending that to the literal kind hadn’t been a massive leap.

They knew about Hogwarts, about the whispers of war. They knew Lily was a witch, and they’d picked up bits and pieces about the Marauders—and Lucius. But the bond… that was something even most magical folk would struggle to grasp.

She didn’t have the patience for a poetic explanation. Blunt had always worked with her father, so she went for blunt now—word for word, stiff as a recitation.

“I performed a magic ritual in the backyard with the intention of protecting myself from the neo-Nazi magician who’s been recruiting followers from Slytherin house. They got sucked in, and now we are all bonded to each other… and to magic herself.”

Silence. Then—

“You’re BONDED?!? To these boys?”

“Does this make you married??!”

“Can you undo it?”

“Why did you need to hide?”

“Why didn’t you come to us? You could’ve—should’ve—come to us!”

“Yeah, we would’ve helped!”

“I said I would help!”

That last one was Jem, voice rougher than the others, recalling the promise he’d made on her first day back. His hands flexed uselessly at his sides, as if he could grab hold of the situation and shake it into something he understood.

“Me… and, and Cal… and a brick or something…” he went on, faltering. “I don’t know, Sev, but we could’ve helped.”

The energy bled out of him then, his frame slumping against the wall. The others were still looking between each other—Lily’s brow creased, Sirius’s expression flickering between interest and annoyance—but the space between Sevessa and Jem felt heavy, the weight of old loyalty and the sting of being left behind pressing in from both sides.

The pause stretched, thick and uncomfortable. Jem’s words still hung in the air, Cal shifting beside him but saying nothing.

James broke it.

“It’s irreversible,” he said, stepping forward just enough for the light to catch his face. “The bond. Once it’s done, that’s it. No untying the knot.”

Cal’s head snapped toward him, suspicion in every line of his posture. “Convenient, that.”

James didn’t flinch. “Convenient would’ve been staying out of it entirely. This wasn’t supposed to happen. The ritual was Sevessa’s—meant for her alone. But I…” He hesitated, jaw tightening. “I was the one who pulled the rest of us in.”

Lily turned sharply toward him. “James—”

“No,” he said quickly, holding up a hand, eyes still on Jem and Cal. “They deserve to hear it straight. I didn’t mean to do it, but I wasn’t about to let her face it alone, either. And magic that old doesn’t exactly care about intentions.”

Jem’s gaze slid to Sevessa, as if weighing her reaction against James’s confession. “And you just… what? Decided to bind yourself to her forever?”

“Decided?” James let out a humorless laugh. “I didn’t decide anything. I reacted. And then it was too late.” His eyes softened—barely—when they landed on Sevessa. “For all of us.”

The gulls cried again overhead, shrill against the low thrum of tension between the five of them. Sevessa’s expression was unreadable, her shoulders tight, her weight balanced like someone who might bolt—or throw a punch—at any second.

“Nice as it is that you’d attempt to absolve me, Potter,” Sevessa said, her voice cool and measured, “you were pulled in by the bond itself. Your only fault was being close enough when I began the ritual—and your unwavering, stupid, insipid need to save people. The creation of the bond is my mistake, and mine alone.”

The words hung in the air like a blade.

Jem’s jaw tightened, his usual guarded smirk replaced by something sharper, more calculating. He glanced sideways at Cal, whose expression had darkened, brows furrowed in thought.

“So, it’s all on you then?” Jem asked quietly, voice edged with suspicion and something like betrayal.

James swallowed hard, eyes flicking between them and Sevessa, the weight of her confession settling heavily on his shoulders.

“It’s not about blame,” James said finally, voice low. “The bond is real, and it’s irreversible. But Sevessa didn’t ask for this—none of us did.”

Cal shifted, rubbing the back of his neck, before nodding slowly. “Still, we’re in this now. So what’s the plan?”

“We?” Sevessa’s head snapped toward him, startled enough for the word to land sharper than intended.

Cal nodded once, slow and deliberate, then looked at Jem.

Jem exhaled through his nose, a sound half sigh, half reluctant laugh. “Yeah, we. I don’t like this—hell, I hate this—and despite what you say, I seriously doubt you’re the one to blame. And I really don’t like that it involves these boys…” His eyes slid briefly over James, Sirius, and Peter. “…but it involves you too. So—” he spread his hands in a small, fatalistic gesture “—we it is.”

“Thank you,” Sevessa said quietly, her voice wavering just a little.

“Of course.” Cal’s reply was instant. “Besides, more time with pretty boy over there? Not something I’d ever turn down.

He turned toward Remus, grin sliding easily into place. “Don’t think I didn’t see you, darling. Just had to clear this up first.”

Remus blushed and buried his face in his hands with a groan.
The others erupted into laughter, the tension in the room thinning like steam.

“Merlin, Moony, you’re adorable when you’re embarrassed,” Sirius drawled, smirking. “You should do it more often.”

“Pass,” Remus muttered from behind his fingers. “Once a year is plenty.”

“Don’t worry,” Lily said sweetly, “we’ll treasure the memory forever.”

“Frame it,” Peter added with a grin.

“Maybe stitch it on a pillow,” James said, delighted. “Moony’s Scarlet Moment.”

“Oh for—” Remus dropped his hands just to glare, which only made Sirius snicker harder.

“Alright, alright,” Jem’s voice cut in, warm but edged with that subtle thread of seriousness that made everyone instinctively glance his way. “As much fun as this is, we need to talk about what’s next.”

“What’s next?” Sirius straightened up, grin widening. “Sevessa’s dad is gonna teach us how to fight! Muggle style!”

That gave the group pause. Jem’s expression flickered, curiosity and something quieter beneath it—hesitation, maybe even wariness.

“That’s… surprising,” he said slowly.

“He insisted,” Sevessa replied flatly.

Jem studied her for a beat longer than was comfortable, then nodded. “Right… well, I suppose we should join you then. If we’re gonna be of any use.”

The sudden drop in his certainty was subtle, but enough to make James and Sirius trade a glance.

They’d always thought the Snapes were just reserved — quieter than the Potters, less formal than the Blacks, but still distant enough to keep others at arm’s length. That was the simple explanation they’d come to at first glance.

But now, James wasn’t so sure.

When Sirius mentioned Sevessa’s father, James felt it — a faint, almost imperceptible twinge ripple through the bond. It wasn’t pain or anger, but something else. Something guarded. Like a door closing just a little too quickly.

It caught him off guard.

It was enough to make him think that maybe “reserved” wasn’t the whole story. Maybe there were entire rooms in Sevessa’s life that no one was allowed to open.

James swallowed the knot in his throat, the memory of her fragility—the way she’d leaned on him in the dark—settling deep inside. He didn’t understand her yet, not fully. But he wanted to. Desperately.

Chapter 15: Fight!

Notes:

Hiya Guys! Hope you all had a good week! and if you didn't maybe this'll brighten it, hope you enjoy!

The odd group arrived back at the Snape house a short while later to find the backyard had been transformed. All evidence of last night’s camp had disappeared. The rambling patch of grass had been cut back and cleared, its uneven ground stamped flat in places by heavy boots. At the far end, a pull-up bar stood tall, fashioned from two thick beams sunk deep into the earth, the iron bar set high enough to force a stretch from even the tallest among them. Beside it lay a small arrangement of weights: rough stone dumbbells, sandbags tied tight with rope, and iron plates stacked with soldierly precision.

An obstacle lane cut across the centre of the yard—trenches shallowly dug for crawling, wooden beams hammered into the ground for leaping, and logs laid in staggered rows to test balance. A rope dangled from the highest branch of the elm at the garden’s edge, its bark worn already where hands had gripped and climbed.

Even the trees had been conscripted into service—trunks marked with white chalk for striking practice, others notched to form crude handholds for scaling. The garden felt less like a place for rest and more like a proving ground, every feature demanding sweat and discipline.

There was no decoration, no softness—just the bare, uncompromising efficiency of something built to test limits. It looked, in its rough way, like a military camp compacted into the narrow stretch of a backyard.

The back door creaked open and Tobias stepped out, a cigarette clamped between his fingers, his eyes sweeping over their gawking faces with something between purpose and impatience. “Don’t just stand there like lost sheep,” he barked. “You need training, this is training.”

James blinked at the pull-up bar at the far end. “What in Merlin’s name is that supposed to be?”

“That,” Tobias said, stalking down the back steps with a deliberate slowness, “is a pull-up bar. Builds shoulders, grip, and lungs. You’ll thank me later—assuming you don’t snap in half first.”

Sirius gave a low whistle at the heap of weights and sandbags stacked with neat precision. “Those look charmingly medieval. Planning to drop them on our heads?”

“Those,” Tobias corrected dryly, “are for strength. You think duelling is just waving a stick around? Your arms give out, you’re dead. Your back gives out, you’re dead. Those lumps of rock will keep you alive.”

Remus frowned at the crude balance logs and crawling trenches cut through the grass. “And this?”

“Agility course,” Tobias replied, clapping a hand on one of the beams with a dull thud. “Gets you low, gets you moving, keeps you fast. Duck, roll, balance, climb. If you trip and eat dirt—well, better here than when someone’s gun – erg – wand – is aimed at your spine.”

He moved them along briskly, tapping the rope strung from the elm and then the chalk-scarred tree trunks at the garden’s edge. “Climbing and striking. Builds coordination, builds grit. Climb till your arms burn, hit till your knuckles do.”

Finally, he stopped at a square of trampled earth marked out in chalk. His expression shifted—half a grin, half a grimace. “And this area right here,” he said, raising his voice enough for the whole group to hear, “is for hand-to-hand combat.”

Tobias let the words hang before pinning each of them with a look. “Jem, Cal—scrappy bastards, both of you. I’d wager you’ve had your share of fights.” He shifted his gaze. “Sevessa, you can hold your own, I know that. But you’ve always had magic at your disposal. That changes in this ring. No wands. Just fists and grit.”

He sighed, raking a hand down his face, before turning to the rest. “Lily—” he smirked faintly, “I’d take home big winnings if I bet you’ve never laid a hand on anyone. Same goes for you.” His finger jabbed toward Peter. “Short boy. The mousy one. And you—” his eyes lingered on James with deliberate scorn before glancing at Remus and Sirius, “you three look like you could hold your own on body weight alone, but you look prissy. We’ll see how you go when it’s stripped down to bone and bruises.”

A tense silence followed his words, broken only by the soft creak of the rope in the elm as the wind tugged it. Then Tobias clapped his hands once, sharp as a whipcrack.

“Right. No point standing around gawping. Let’s see what we’re working with.” His gaze swept the group like a knife. “Jem. Cal. In the ring. Now.”

Jem cracked his knuckles, already grinning, while Cal gave an exaggerated groan but stepped forward anyway, rolling his shoulders. They squared off inside the chalked square, bare feet grinding into the dirt.

Sirius leaned toward James, smirking. “This should be good. Ten sickles on Jem.”

Tobias didn’t even look at him as he said, “You’ll keep your sickles in your pocket, Black, unless you want to run the course with a sandbag on your back.”

Sirius muttered something under his breath but straightened.

Tobias raised a hand and dropped it without ceremony. “Go.”

Jem lunged first, quick and dirty, swinging in with a hook that would’ve flattened anyone slower than Cal. But Cal ducked, catching Jem’s middle in a shoulder slam that knocked the wind out of him. They grappled, kicking up dust, fists and elbows flying in a flurry, more pub brawl than polished technique.

“Sloppy!” Tobias barked over the scuffle, pacing the edge of the ring like a wolf. “You’re swinging like drunks, not fighters! Keep your stance low—Jem, you leave your side open like that again and you’ll be eating ribs through a straw. Cal, use your damn legs, they’re longer than your arms—kick, boy, kick!”

Sevessa watched with narrowed eyes, the corner of her mouth twitching between amusement and calculation. Lily, meanwhile, winced at every punch that landed, hands twisting nervously in her skirts.

At last, Jem managed to twist Cal’s arm behind his back and shove him face-first into the dirt. Cal cursed, spitting out grass as Jem pinned him with a triumphant knee to the shoulder.

“Enough,” Tobias barked, stepping forward and hauling Jem off by the scruff. He glanced down at Cal, who was brushing dirt from his face with dark mutters. “Pathetic. Both of you. But it’ll do.”

He turned back to the wider circle, eyes glinting. “Next.” His gaze landed on James and Sirius. “Pretty boys. In the ring.”

James shot Sirius a look as Tobias barked the order. “Really?”

Sirius grinned wolfishly, tying up his hair with a frayed piece of leather. “What’s the matter, Potter? Afraid to ruin your pretty face?”

James flushed but stepped into the chalk square anyway. “Afraid? You’ll be the one flat on your back.”

Remus muttered under his breath to Lily, “And so begins the great tragic love story.” Lily snorted, though she didn’t take her eyes off the makeshift ring.

“Less chatter!” Tobias snapped, his voice like a whip crack. He pointed between the two of them. “Stance up. Fists high. Elbows in. You—” his glare hit Sirius, “wipe that smug look off your face. You’re not charming anyone here.”

Sirius smirked wider. “I don’t need to. I’m naturally—”

“Fight.”

The word cut Sirius off like a knife. James lunged first, swinging in with a clean right hook that Sirius barely dodged. They circled, dirt scuffing beneath their boots, both taller and broader than Jem or Cal had been. James moved with surprising discipline—quick jabs, short bursts of footwork—while Sirius fought like a street dog, unpredictable, throwing in knees and shoulders whenever James closed in.

“You’re telegraphing your punches, Potter!” Tobias barked, pacing. “Might as well send a letter first. And Black—if you drop your guard again, I’ll break your nose myself.”

Sirius ducked under a swing and rammed his shoulder into James’ gut, knocking the wind out of him. James staggered but caught Sirius’ arm on the way down, twisting and sending them both sprawling in a tangle. Dust rose, and they rolled, fists thudding against ribs, elbows catching chins. It was half-brawl, half-play, with both laughing breathlessly even as they tried to throttle each other.

“Merlin, they’re idiots,” Sevessa muttered under her breath.

“Idiots who’ll be black and blue by sundown,” Tobias said without sympathy. “Get up! On your feet, both of you!”

They scrambled apart, panting, dirt streaked across their faces and shirts. Sirius’ lip was bleeding; James’ glasses were askew, one lens cracked.

Tobias regarded them flatly. “Pathetic. Sloppy. And worse than the last two. You’ve got lungs, at least.” He jerked a thumb toward the weights. “Run the course. Now. If you can’t breathe, you can’t fight.”

The pair groaned but trudged off, still shoving each other as they went.

 

The group had expected Tobias to call out Lily or Remus next, but instead, he stepped over the chalk line himself, patting out the cigarette and tossing it aside. His sleeves were already rolled, his arms thick with corded muscle despite his age. He cracked his knuckles, the sound sharp in the heavy air.

His eyes locked on Sevessa. “In.”

She froze for half a second. “What?”

“You heard me. In the ring.” He gestured to the dirt square. “If you want to train, girl, you’ll fight me. No better way to learn than to be flattened by someone who knows what they’re doing.”

James immediately stopped running and stepped forward. “That’s not fair—”

“Life’s not fair, Potter.” Tobias’ tone cut through like a knife. “Better she learns that here than out there.”

Sevessa’s jaw tightened, but she stepped forward. She squared her shoulders, fists up—not quite textbook form, but close. Tobias gave a curt nod of approval.

“Better. You’re not a street brawler, Sevessa, don’t act like one. Feet planted, weight low, guard tight. Remember—magic’s no use here. It’s your body against mine.”

Then, with no further warning: “Fight.”

Sevessa came at him sharp, quicker than anyone expected, snapping a jab toward his face. Tobias deflected it with a flick of his wrist, but she was already stepping in, striking again, forcing him to block with his forearm. He grunted, almost pleased.

“Good. You’ve got speed. But speed without control—” He swept his leg, catching her shin and sending her stumbling sideways. She caught herself, spun, and threw another punch, this one grazing his jaw. The group gasped; even Tobias paused, his eyes narrowing with something close to pride.

“Not bad.” He surged forward suddenly, his larger frame overwhelming hers. She ducked under the first strike, retaliated with a sharp elbow to his ribs. He hissed through his teeth, but caught her wrist before she could follow through, twisting her arm behind her back in one fluid motion.

“Better,” he muttered close to her ear, holding her just long enough for her to strain against him, her boots digging into the dirt. Then, with a sharp shove, he sent her stumbling forward into the chalk dust, releasing her clean.

She hit the ground, rolled, and popped back up onto her feet, chest heaving, hair stuck damp against her face. Her fists came up again. She wasn’t done.

For a moment, Tobias only looked at her—assessing, weighing. Then he shook his head, almost smiling. “You’ve got grit, dúži čirikli. But grit doesn’t win fights. Control does. Technique does. Discipline does.”

She lunged again. He sidestepped neatly, hooked her leg, and dropped her to the dirt with a thud. This time, when she scrambled to rise, he planted a boot lightly against her shoulder, keeping her down without malice—just certainty.

“And that,” he said firmly, looking from her to the rest of them, “is why you train. So when you’re hit, you get back up. And when you’re beaten, you learn why—and you don’t make the same mistake twice.”

He stepped back, offering her a hand. Sevessa hesitated, then took it, letting him haul her to her feet. Her chin was high, her eyes burning, and Tobias gave a curt nod of respect before turning back to the group.

Tobias dusted his hands off, as if the scuffle with Sevessa had been nothing more than shifting firewood. “Break’s over,” he barked. “Pair off. Let’s see how you lot fair at the other stations.”

Notes:

Not a lot of internal thought being brought out in this chapter, if that what you long for, dw we have some coming in the next one :) And I reckon Eileen should join the training as well, but that might not come until ch.17. Lmk if you guys have anything specific you want them training for, I've got a pretty cool idea in mind for skill progression but I'd love to hear more!

Next update will be up on Sunday! (maybe Wednesday if I finish it quickly)

Chapter 16: Bruises, Blushes and Rogue Hearts

Notes:

I did it!! update on Wednesday!! YAY! I will still update on Sunday, this is just like a little bonus :)

Bit of a deeper delve into the internal landscape of the characters here and the first taste of wolfstar!! (not my go-to main ship, but I still believe they're soulmates)

Hope you enjoy!

The group scattered reluctantly, some to the weights, others to the logs and ropes. Sevessa lingered for a second, brushing dirt from her arms. James hovered at her side.

“That was bloody reckless,” he muttered, voice tight. “He’s twice your size.”

Sevessa shot him a sharp look. “And what would you have done? Stepped in for me?” Her lips curled, equal parts irritation and pride. “I don’t need a knight in shining armour, Potter. I need practice.”

James opened his mouth, then closed it, jaw tightening. He turned and stalked toward the pull-up bar, grabbing it with a bit too much force.

Nearby, Sirius leaned against one of the sandbags, smirking despite the bruise purpling his cheek. “Gotta say, Snape, didn’t think you had that in you. Nearly clocked the old man proper.”

Sevessa shot him a glare, though the faintest smirk tugged her lips. “I don’t want your praise.”

“Maybe not,” Sirius admitted, hefting the sandbag onto his shoulder with a grunt. “That was still bloody wicked though.”

Remus had stationed himself by the logs, steady and thoughtful as always. He glanced over as Sevessa passed, his eyes sharp despite the weariness on his face. “Where did you learn to fight like that?” he asked quietly. “You were good.”

“Not good enough,” Sevessa replied, grabbing the balance beam. She tested her footing, arms spread. “He had me flat in the dirt.”

“That’s the point,” Remus said, stepping onto the log beside her with surprising balance. “And you didn’t answer my question.” His tone carried no accusation, just matter-of-fact weight.

 

At the edge of the garden, Lily hung back by the rope dangling from the elm. Her face was pale, her hands twisting in her sleeves. Sevessa joined her after the balance beam, both girls looking up at the rope.

“I don’t think I can do this,” Lily admitted softly.

Sevessa wiped sweat from her brow, the heat a harsh addition to their training. “You can.” She grabbed the rope, tugged it taut, and fixed Lily with a steady look. “You’re strong, Lily. And despite your dismal attempts on a broom, I recall you having excellent agility on the soccer field when we were little.” Her smile turned grim. “Besides, you don’t have a choice.”

Lily’s throat bobbed as she swallowed, then set her hands on the rope. The coarse hemp bit into her palms immediately, rougher than she’d expected. She braced her foot against the knot at the base and pushed upward, arms trembling under the strain.

For the first metre she managed, pulling hand over hand with her jaw clenched tight. The rope swayed slightly, her body swinging awkwardly, but she clung to it with stubborn determination. By the second metre, her arms burned, shoulders screaming, and her grip slipped. She tightened her fingers, knuckles white, panic flashing across her face.

“Don’t look down!” Sevessa barked from below. “Up, Lily, keep your eyes up!”

“I—can’t—” Lily gasped, her feet scrabbling against the rope as her arms shook.

“Yes, you can.” Sevessa’s voice cut sharp, commanding. “Dig your legs in! Wrap them—good. Now haul with your core, not just your arms.”

Lily tried, clumsy at first, but managed to hook her legs tighter, thighs gripping as she dragged herself another handspan higher. Her breath came in sharp bursts, her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t stop.

By the third metre she was shaking so badly she thought she’d fall. Sevessa’s voice carried again, firmer now, laced with pride beneath the steel. “That’s it. Every inch counts. You don’t have to reach the top today—you just have to keep going until you can’t. And then tomorrow, you’ll go further.”

Something in Lily’s chest tightened — fear and defiance and something rawer. She dug in, hauled herself another half-metre, then another, until at last her strength gave out. Her fingers slipped and she froze, clinging desperately.

“Slide if you have to,” Sevessa called, stepping closer, hands half-raised as if she might catch her. “Don’t just let go. Control it.”

Lily’s boots squeaked against the rope as she inched her way down, shaking with exhaustion by the time she reached the ground. She collapsed onto her knees, breathless, her palms red and raw.

Sevessa crouched beside her, soft and steady. “See? You did it. Not perfect. But you did it.”

Lily lifted her head, chest heaving, and for the first time all day, there was a flicker of pride behind her fear. “I… I climbed a rope,” she said faintly, almost laughing at the absurdity of it.

“Yes, you did,” Sevessa said, leaning down so their foreheads brushed for a moment before she straightened, “and next time, you’ll climb higher.”

From across the garden, Tobias’ bark cut through the murmurs. “Less talking, more climbing! This isn’t a tea party, it’s training. Move like your lives depend on it!”

The group fell back into motion, the thud of weights, the scrape of logs, the grunt of bodies straining filling the air. And through it all, Sevessa’s fight with Tobias hung in the back of every mind—a reminder of just how far they all had to go.

The garden echoed with the grunts and thuds of effort, but James barely heard it. His hands gripped the pull-up bar so tightly his palms burned, knuckles whitening with each rise and fall. He kept seeing her — Sevessa pinned under Tobias’ boot, chest heaving, her chin lifted in defiance. She could have been hurt. Badly. If Tobias hadn’t pulled back… James clenched his teeth, chin lifting above the bar. She was too stubborn, too reckless. He admired her for it — but it terrified him all the same.

James dropped from the pull-up bar, chest heaving, eyes flicking to Sevessa again. Sweat streaked her face, but her chin was still high. She looked unbreakable, so different to the vulnerability he’d seen last night. And Merlin help him — he missed that depth, the invitation to see what others didn’t. Still, he couldn’t help but feel grateful for her strength.

 

Across the yard, Jem slammed a sandbag to the ground, sweat dripping into his eyes. Unlike James, his chest swelled with pride. Sevessa had fought hard, cleaner than he’d remembered, sharper than anyone untrained had any right to be. He’d given her a few lessons last summer when she’d come back from school with a bruise on her arm – a quiet hex, courtesy of the bespeckled marauder had shoved her into a wall – but he held no claim over her skill. There was an edge in her that matched Tobias blow for blow, if not in strength then in sheer grit. Innate, he thought, hauling the bag up again. She wasn’t just keeping pace — she was meant for this.

Cal, beside him, muttered something about the old man being mad, but Jem barely heard it. He couldn’t stop grinning.

At the balance logs, Lily’s hands shook as she steadied herself, arms wobbling as she tried to cross. Her heart thumped loud in her chest — she’d never hit anyone, never even considered it. Tobias’ words still echoed: I’d bet you’ve never laid a hand on anyone. He’d been right. The thought of throwing a fist, of hurting someone, made her stomach turn. But she looked over and saw Sevessa climbing the rope now, arms straining, hair plastered to her face, and shame burned hot in Lily’s chest. She wanted to be strong like that. Sevessa was right, she had been athletic – before she’d reached the age when it was considered unladylike. Even if her hands trembled, even if her stomach twisted, she wanted that power back.

“Good, Lily,” Sevessa called down, voice ragged but steady as she pulled herself higher. “One foot in front of the other. Don’t look down.”

Lily swallowed and forced her legs to keep moving across the log. One shaky step, then another. Don’t look down. Don’t think. Just move.

 

Remus crouched at the base of the elm, catching his breath after a lap of the yard with a sandbag on his back. He watched Sevessa climb, noting the tension in her muscles, the determination in her jaw. Her form was messy, Tobias’ critiques sharp but fair, and yet she didn’t give up. That sheer refusal to stay down, even in the face of exhaustion, set her apart from the rest of them. He supposed it made sense, having seen that determination in her when forced into duels with the marauders. Facing four against one had clearly sharpened her senses and honed her reflexes.

He shifted slightly, feeling the familiar stir of the wolf beneath his skin. They were about a week away from the next full moon, something he would soon have to share the importance of with Lily and Sevessa now that they were bonded. He seriously doubted such an event as his werewolf transformation would go unnoticed when they could feel things as delicate as hunger. The wolf is his greatest strength and his greatest weakness intertwined in a single heartbeat, and he had spent years learning to walk that knife’s edge. It lent him speed, reflexes, strength he could never access as a boy, but it was a wild thing, untamed and hungry, a power that could just as easily betray him. Control was everything—control of the wolf, control of himself. To let it take over meant losing more than a fight; it meant losing who he was.

He wondered fleetingly, if Sevessa was so proficient that she could bind them all irreparably together, whether she could unbind him from the wolf – tip the scales in his favour, provide him with mastery over the wolf.

“Hello, Pretty Boy”, whispered a low voice in his ear.

A blush spread quickly up Remus’ neck as he yerked in the direction of the voice.

Cal smiled slowly, placing a light hand on his waist. “I do believe I was promised time with you in return for my commitment to these training sessions.”

Remus’ blush grew deeper, “I believe you made that assumption yourself, after volunteering to join these sessions in support of Sevessa.”

Cal leaned closer, the heat of his presence brushing against Remus. “Maybe,” he said, voice low, teasing, “at least promise me a spar later. I’d very much like to feel how your body moves against mine—for training purposes, of course.”

Remus’ pulse stuttered, caught somewhere between amusement and distraction. “Training purposes,” he echoed, trying—and failing—to keep his tone neutral. His mind attempted to focus back on Sevessa, climbing effortlessly, sweat glinting on her skin, muscles taut with determination. He intended to study her form before attempting the rope next. And yet… here was Cal, pressing into his space, making it impossible to ignore the wildness of his own heartbeat.

“I suppose…” Remus began slowly, trying to keep his voice even, “for training purposes, we could work something out.”

“Something, hmm,” Cal grinned, the corner of his mouth curling mischievously. “I’d certainly be down for something.”

Remus felt a flicker of both exasperation and amusement. Cal gave him one more once over before walking away.

 

A few feet away Sirius lay sprawled flat on the grass catching his breath after another run with the sandbag, couldn’t stop laughing under it all. Not mocking, not cruel — just wild amusement at the insanity of it. Sevessa fighting Tobias head-on, Lily tottering across a log, James shaking with rage and worry. It was chaos. Brutal, ridiculous chaos. And he loved it.

Yet… a flicker of something darker stirred beneath the laughter. He watched Remus—blushing, tense, distracted—so clearly affected by Cal’s teasing touch. His jaw tightened without his permission. Cal. Who is this fucking guy? What sort of name is Cal? Egh! Always invading his space, always making Remus flush and stumble. Sirius’ amusement soured, replaced by a twist in his chest he didn’t want to name. He should have been focused on the chaos, on the training—but instead, he found himself counting Cal’s steps, watching the way Remus’ attention drifted, feeling the tug of irritation curl in his chest.

From the centre, Tobias’ voice cut through like a blade. “Faster! You’ll thank me when you’re not corpses on a battlefield! Push harder—your worst enemy is the thought you can’t do more. You can.”

 

Peter had lingered at the edges of the group, Tobias’ jab still stinging: the mousy one. He’d laughed it off at the time, cheeks burning, but the words sank deep. He hated how easily they fit — small, soft, overlooked.

Now, crouched in the dirt beside the striking tree trunks, he wrapped his fists tighter and slammed them into the bark. The first hit jarred up his arm, making his knuckles ache. He bit back a hiss and struck again. And again. The pain was sharp, hot, but it was his. Something he could endure. Something he could control.

He could hear Sirius and James bickering across the yard, hear Tobias barking corrections, hear Lily’s quick breaths as she tried to balance. Nobody was watching him. Good. He didn’t want pity — didn’t want jokes. He wanted to be stronger. Strong enough to prove he wasn’t dead weight. Strong enough to stand beside them when it mattered.

“Good,” a low voice said. Peter startled, glancing sideways to see Jem watching from a few feet away, sweat streaking his brow. He hadn’t realized the older boy had noticed. “Keep your wrists straight or you’ll shatter them before you land a single blow.”

Peter adjusted, jaw tight, and struck again, this time cleaner. The sting was still there, but less wild.

Jem gave a faint nod. Approval. That was enough.

Peter set his feet firmer, hit harder, and whispered to himself between breaths, “I can do this. I will do this. For them.”

For Lily, who was always kind. For Sirius, who always laughed. For Remus, who always steadied. For Sevessa, who had recently flipped reality on its head. And for James — because Merlin knew, if they didn’t protect him, he’d burn himself to the ground trying to protect all of them.

He slammed his fist into the tree once more, knuckles raw, and this time didn’t flinch.

Across the garden, Tobias’ bark carried: “Mousy one! Don’t just tap the bloody wood, break it! I want to hear that tree cry out before you’re done!”

Peter grit his teeth and struck again, harder than before. He would not be the weak link. Not here. Not ever.

Notes:

Yay Peter! He is gonna be a good person in this fic, I genuinely believe that his downfall in canon was so cruel. They were all just kids who were way in over their heads in a war with adults at the helm. So, he's gonna get a second chance in this fic :)

and ofc, some Cal/Remus flirting because it makes me giggle.

Lmk what you think in the comments!!

Chapter 17: Beans Spilled, Cat Killed, Lily Happy

Notes:

Hiya! Hope everyone's having a good Sunday!
This one's got a bit of mischief in it! And a cute little Sevessa and Lily girlhood moment, hope you enjoy!!

Night fell around the house without warning, cloaking the yard in shadow and bringing the training session to a reluctant close. Only then did the young group seem to notice the grit of dust clinging to their skin, the sheen of sweat cooling on their backs.

Eileen had arrived home in the mid-afternoon, slipping quietly into the house so as to not announce her presence to those in the backyard. Instead, she had spent time observing their efforts through the sitting room window and admiring her husband. For a man of 55, Tobias still wore the remnants of youth on his frame, muscle holding fast where time might have otherwise stolen it. She watched as he regained strength in his voice and posture. Each barked command leaving him a little taller than before. She watched as his eyes flickered between the youngsters – because they were youngsters, full of self-importance and self-assured in their ideals and so so young – his eyes slowly regaining the light she had missed.

Even when they had met, he had been a fairly severe man, but he was intelligent, and that intelligence threaded itself through every aspect of his life and soul. She had seen it in the wry comments he would make, and the way he treated her; with a rare softness, seemingly able to see right through every carefully crafted mask she’d employed. It was why he had risen so quickly through the naval ranks, a lieutenant at 21, commander by 30 and executive officer by 38, receiving the title just months before Sevessa’s birth, and still, he’d said ‘Father’ was the most purposeful title he could carry.

She saw that truth in him now.

She tore herself away from the window with haste and moved towards the kitchen as they all bowled in through the backdoor, busying herself with chopping vegetables for what was sure to be another very large dinner. Thankfully, Walter was generous in letting her take home the extras—the bruised ones, the ones with small patches of mold—imperfect for service but perfectly fine once trimmed.

 

Cal and Jem both went home to shower and eat dinner, promising to return later, deciding to join the other boys sleeping under the stars. The rest cycled through the cramped bathroom, taking quick thirty-second showers before gathering again at the old dining table to patch up the day’s small scratches and rubbed soothing balm into the bruises already beginning to bloom.

Sevessa was last to leave the bathroom, steam curling around her as she stepped out of the shower. The voices from the dining room carried easily, full of laughter and the scrape of chairs, and she paused—just long enough to realize with dawning horror that she hadn’t brought clean clothes downstairs, and unlike the others, her mother had taken her sweaty, dirty clothes and placed them in the laundry instead of giving them a quick cleaning charm.

Her damp hair dripped against her bare shoulders as she tightened her grip on the towel knotted around her chest. Wonderful. Just wonderful.

“Lily!”, she called with hesitantly, attempting not to let any urgency seep into her voice.

There was no response.

“Liiillyyyy” she called again.

A knock came at the door.

“Umm, it’s—it’s not Lily—but did you need something?” James’ voice came softly through the door.

Sevessa froze, her stomach dropping straight through the floorboards. Of course it had to be James. She pressed a damp hand to her face, groaning into her palm before forcing out, “No. Nothing. I’m fine. Perfectly fine.”

There was a pause, longer this time, and when he spoke again his voice was gentler, edged with worry. “Are you sure? You don’t sound perfectly fine.”

Her cheeks burned hotter than the steam fogging the mirror. “Potter, if you value your life, you’ll walk away right now.”

Another pause—she could picture him standing there, torn between respecting her words and making sure she wasn’t actually hurt. Finally, he let out a low breath. “Alright. Just… shout if you do need something, yeah?”

She waited a few moments, listening to his footsteps as he walked away.

Muttering a string of curses under her breath, Sevessa adjusted the knot of her towel and cracked the bathroom door just wide enough to peek out. The hallway was empty. She took one cautious step—

—and ran straight into him.

“FU—Merlin!” James’ voice cracked out suddenly, starting loud and breaking into a hissed whisper.

Her breath caught as she collided with James’s chest, the bandage roll tumbling from his hands to the floor. Instinctively, his arms came up to steady her, one hand catching her bare shoulder—right where a dark bruise was already blooming courtesy of her father’s boot.

Sevessa hissed, wincing at the sharp pressure.

James’s eyes widened as he jerked his hand back, guilt flashing across his face. “Shit—sorry! I didn’t—I didn’t mean—” His words tangled as quickly as her towel threatened to.

“Hold on – you are hurt!”

She glared at him through her flush, clutching the terrycloth tighter around herself. “Potter,” she bit out, voice low and dangerous, “move.”

He swallowed hard, ears going pink, and stepped aside at once, still looking like he wasn’t sure if he should apologise again or demand she let him tend to the bruise.

Sevessa shoved past him, her damp shoulder still stinging from the contact, and bolted up the stairs before the laughter from the dining room—or her own racing heartbeat—could betray her further.

 

Dinner was a reasonably calm affair, with Tobias resuming his silence when he walked in the house, and Eileen only chiming in to chide Sirius’ abysmal table manners. A little chatter passed between the Lily and the Marauders, but it was clear everyone was exhausted from the day’s training. Sevessa ate without a word and then retired quickly to her room with a whispered “Goodnight” to her parents. Lily disappeared up the stairs soon after.

Cal and Jem returned just before sundown, and the boys went outside to move their sleeping bags back onto the grass, now slightly more squashed together than before.

“I’ll just set mine up here then, shall I?” Cal said, a teasing lilt in his voice as he placed his bedroll, so it overlapped with Remus’.

Sirius snorted, a faint bite of derision in his tone. “If you can deal being that close to someone in this heat!”

“I think it’s fine,” Remus said quietly, shifting slightly. “I run rather cold, so…”

“I hear you, pretty boy,” Cal replied, grinning, “I’ll keep you comfortable.”

Remus felt his ears heat and gave a small, reluctant shrug, the faintest smile tugging at him.

Jem settled himself between Peter and Cal, shooting the younger boy a small smile.

“You did well today, Peter. Keep punching like that and you’ll have your opponents dropping like flies.”

“Thanks, mate,” Peter shrugged, trying to downplay his elation at the praise. “Not much use if I can’t catch them though. I’ve always been a shit runner.”

“Aww,” Sirius cut in, waggling his eyebrows, “don’t you worry about that, Wormtail. We’ll train stamina together. That can’t start until tomorrow though. Tonight! Tonight, I suggest us boys take a chance to get to know each other, ease the rifts a bit.”

Jem shot him a sharp look, suspicion written across his face. “Your ‘rifts,’ in question, exist because your behaviour toward the girl whose backyard you’ve abducted has been abysmal at best. So, tell me, Black, exactly what do you have in mind to mend that?”

Sirius only grinned, utterly unphased by Jem’s glare, and dug into his pillowcase, producing a well-worn flask with a flourish.

“Some of Ogden’s finest Firewhiskey!” he announced, waving it theatrically through the air.

“Fuck yes!” exclaimed James, all traces of tiredness disappearing from his frame in a flash.

“Cute,” Jem said flatly, “but that thing’s got a sip each at most, and I’m going to need a lot more than a shot to play buddy-buddy with you lot.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, a faint edge of irritation creeping into his frame. “Yes, well, my dear muggle, I think you’ll find this little flask can hold a lot more than you think! A whole bottle, in fact—perhaps a bottle and a half. I didn’t check if it was empty before adding more in.”

Peter blinked at him, wide-eyed. “Wait… you smuggled that over here?”

“Of course,” Sirius replied, smirking. “Now, anyone brave enough to play a game with me?”

Remus, shifting uncomfortably on his bedroll, gave a small, wary glance at the group. “What game exactly?”

Sirius winked. “Aye, Moony. A game to test courage, honesty, and maybe a little skill. Truth, dare or drink! Think of it as… bonding time.”

Jem groaned, rubbing his forehead, while Peter’s nervous grin betrayed his excitement. Even Cal’s smirk was tinged with anticipation.

Sirius took a swig from the flask and held it out. “Who’s in?”

James didn’t hesitate. “I’m in!” His grin was all teeth, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Sirius leaned forward, eyes glinting, and pointed at James. “Yes, Jamesy! Ok! You first. Truth, dare, or drink?”

James smirked, bouncing on his heels. “Dare. Obviously. I’m not starting soft.”

Sirius’s grin widened. “Bold. I like that. I dare you… to sprint naked around the yard and back.”

The group erupted in laughter, James freezing mid-bounce. “What?!”

Peter’s eyes went wide, and Jem raised an eyebrow, half in disbelief, half in amusement.

“Relax, Prongs,” Sirius said, holding up a hand, “I didn’t mean really naked. I meant… ditch your top. Shows off those arms.”

James rolled his eyes but shrugged. “Fine. You asked for a dare.” He peeled off his shirt, tossing it onto the grass, chest covered in a faint flush of embarrassment. With a running start, he tore across the yard, the group cheering and laughing behind him.

Sirius picked Peter next. “Alright, Wormtail. Truth, dare, or drink?”

Peter swallowed hard, looking at the others, trying to appear unflappable. “Truth,” he said, voice small but steady.

Sirius’s grin turned mischievous. “A good start. Alright… what’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever done to impress someone?”

Peter’s face flushed crimson. “I… uh… tried to learn some slight-of-hand to impress a muggle-born girl in third-year. Thought it’d make me look cool, might convince her to go to Hogsmeade with me.”

Cal snorted, barely hiding his amusement. “Did it work?”

Peter’s shrug was meek. “Not exactly. I failed so miserably I nearly cried. I… I didn’t get the date.”

Sirius chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. “Well, points for effort, mate. And honesty. That’s half the game.”

Cal leaned back on his elbows, smirking at Remus. “Your turn, pretty boy. Truth, dare, or drink?”

Remus hesitated, then let out a breath. “Drink. Best not to tempt fate with a dare from you,” he muttered.

Sirius’s grin widened. “A sensible choice. Take a swig, then, Moony. Don’t spill on yourself.”

Remus lifted the flask carefully, eyes flicking to the others as he took a measured sip. The heat of the firewhiskey rolled down his throat, and he coughed softly, earning a chorus of laughter from the group.

Sevessa and Lily sat on either side of the window upstairs, eavesdropping on the boys’ antics, shielded from eyes below by the darkening sky.

“They’ll be the death of each other,” Sevessa murmured.

“Maybe they’ll get along,” Lily shrugged.

Sevessa frowned, “Unlikely. I’ve been sharing my grievances about those idiotic Marauders with Jem since first year, Cal too, but Cal doesn’t hold onto stuff like that.”

“Cal’s also never kissed you.” Lily added with a small giggle.

“Lily!!” Sevessa whisper hissed, kicking her shin just a bit too hard.

“What?” She said laughing, “It’s true, isn’t it?”

Sevessa huffed and tilted her head back against the wall, “Yes, but we’re not dating. It’s not like that. We’re just friends, plus… you know… sex.”

Lily’s jaw went slack, eyes wide as she tried to process the revelation. “Okay… okay, wait. Hold on. You… you had sex?!”

“Fuck.” Sevessa groaned, pressing her palms to her face, realising her mistake to late. “Yes, I had sex.”

Lily poked her shoulder, grinning. “Merlin, Sev, you didn’t even tell me! I knew you two snogged, that much was obvious on Friday,” she giggled, “When did this happen?”

Sevessa leaned fully back against the wall, attempting to keep her composure, though she couldn’t help but smile at Lily’s enthusiastic questioning. “Last summer. The development was gradual, organic, and mutually consensual. Nothing theatrical. It transpired between Jem and me, predicated on mutual affinity and trust.”

Lily’s eyes widened further. “Right, ok, Merlin your language gets fancy when you’re uncomfortable. I’m going to pretend I understood all those words. And… the experience itself? Was it… satisfactory?”

Sevessa’s lips twitched, a light flush appearing on her cheeks. “Satisfactory is an understatement, though I prefer not to delve into superfluous minutiae.” Enjoying Lily’s fluster at her ‘fancy words’.

Lily leaned closer, curiosity practically vibrating through her. “Did you- did you talk about it? Or… did it merely occur in the moment?”

Sevessa sighed and relaxed fully. “We kissed, sort of by accident at the beginning of last summer when we were drunk, after a gig. Didn’t talk about it for a week and then it happened again. Ended up at his place and things just sort of progressed. Not immediately – obviously – but it felt… natural. And by the end of the summer… well… bye-bye virginity.”

Lily chewed her lip, processing. “Wow… and you withheld this because…?”

“Because it was private, Lily. You are my best friend, but sometimes I just need some time to keep things to myself. Plus, I didn’t know if it would continue this summer.”

Lily rolled her eyes, though her grin was fond. “Fair enough. But, Sev… you have to tell me next time. I want to know these things!”

Sevessa exhaled softly, nudging her lightly. “Very well. I shall acquiesce to disclose all future endeavours within a significantly shorter time span. In return, you shall maintain confidentiality concerning your own affairs.”

Lily mock-saluted. “Scout’s honour.”

Sevessa stretched, glancing out the window at the laughter still drifting up from the yard. “Are you satisfied, witch? Or do you have other questions?”

Lily giggled. “Nope, beans spilled, cat killed and Lily happy.”

Sevessa shook her head and turned back to looking out the window, a faint, almost imperceptible smile on her lips. “Sevessa happy too, you sap.”

Notes:

Thanks so much for reading! The game will continue next chapter, so look forward to some slightly more intense truths and dares!

See you all next Sunday, have a good week! :)

Chapter 18: The Tower

Notes:

Hello! I hope everyone's had a good week! I really enjoyed writing this chapter, so I hope you enjoy reading it! I had a bit more spare time this week so I was really able to take my time and tease out the scenes so they delivered what I wanted, I feel last week's chapter was a bit rushed (If I have time during StuVac I might go back through and edit it).

Anyway, enjoy reading!

Morning came far too harshly in the opinion of the boys sprawled around the backyard. The soft morning glow a blazing haze to their alcohol addled heads.

Remus turned his face further into the soft chest he was resting upon, hiding his eyes from the sun. It felt strange to feel so comfortable with a person he barely knew, but Cal brought out a gentler side of him he’d not had the chance to explore before. To be treated so preciously, not like a fractured vase that could crack at any second, cutting the person who held it, but like an old manuscript, that needed its pages turned with deliberate ease. Cal treated him with the same level of reverence one would give to that sort of object as well, eyeing him hungrily, not with the intention to own, but to worship, and Remus has never been worshipped.

A hand made its way to his head then, fingers threading into the soft blond strands of hair, nails scraping lightly along his scalp. Slightly chapped lips brushed his forehead, and a low hum came from the boy beneath him.

That was the other thing about Cal. He called him ‘Pretty boy’, not maliciously, or even ironically, but because that’s how he viewed Remus­­, pretty. There had been a couple of girls at Hogwarts who’d found him mysterious, and one had been bold enough to call his scars ‘sexy’.

A boy in the year above them had also expressed interest but had made the rash assumption that Remus would be on board with a physical relationship only. That had amounted to nothing more than a quick snog and a messy hand job after Remus realised his intentions. But Cal – Merlin Cal – this man seemed so genuine it scared him. He decided then and there that he’d have to find time to talk to Sevessa about him today. He didn’t feel comfortable falling any deeper into this… thing… without understanding a bit more of the person he’d be falling into, and Sevessa was a notoriously blunt person.

-------

Sirius awoke with a groan and a foreign feeling of warmth in his chest. Groggy and hungover it took him longer than he would have liked to realise the feeling felt foreign cause it wasn’t his, and didn’t that put a sour twist on the morning. He forced his eyes to open just slightly so that he could look across the yard to confirm his suspicions. And there they were, that random nobody and one of his best friends cuddled so close they hadn’t needed Cal’s bedroll at all. Frustration fuelling him, Sirius shook himself awake fully and lent over to kick Peter in the shins.

“Pete! Pete!” he whispered.

Peter grunted and rolled over to glare blearily in Sirius’ direction.

“Fucking what, you absolute twat?” he mumbled sleepily.

“Get up! Come on Pete, get up!”

Sirius kicked him again and added a shake to his shoulder for good measure.

“You wanted to work on your cardio, right? Well, here’s your chance, I’m itching for a run, and you,” Sirius paused to poke Peter’s nose, “are gonna join me.”

Peter groaned again, but very slowly began to sit up, blinking his eyes in quick succession in an attempt to make them stay open.

The air was sufficiently warm again, but not blisteringly so at this time of the morning. The two boys ditched their shirts and made their way quietly around the rest of the group and out the front gate.

They started with a medium jog, to warm up, and shake off the last tendrils of sleep clinging to them like Devil’s Snare.

They fell into rhythm, the quiet slap of bare feet on pavement punctuated by the occasional birdcall. Sirius set the pace, naturally faster than Peter would have liked.

The uneven ground beneath his feet gave him something to focus on. Step here. Watch that rock. That one’s loose—pick the one next to it. All the while, the feeling in his chest only grew heavier. It made him sick to his stomach for a reason he couldn’t name, though he had felt it before. The change had occurred six months ago, just before leaving for the winter holidays. Sirius had been forced back to Grimmauld Place despite his best attempts to avoid it. On the platform in Hogsmeade, Remus had seen the dread curling in his stomach and had wrapped him in a hug so warm, so unshakably sweet, it had banished every inch of tension from Sirius’ body.

After that, he had started to view Remus in a different light to the other boys, he refused to think about it of course – he’d have to be knock-out drunk before he did that.  To have Remus’ soul entwined with his and exuding affection for Cal… well, if he really thought about that it’d be enough to bring him to tears; so, he didn’t think. Instead, he pumped his legs faster, forcing a sprint.

“Keep up, Wormtail!” he barked over his shoulder, hair flying loose around his face.

Peter cursed but dug in, short legs pumping furiously until Sirius slowed again, letting them both catch their breath with another jog. It didn’t last long before Sirius surged forward once more, the sudden burst making Peter groan.

“Merlin’s balls, are you trying to kill me?” Peter panted, huffing after him.

“Cardio, Pete!” Sirius shouted back with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

They kept at it, sprint, jog, sprint, jog, until both of them were puffing hard, lungs burning, sweat glistening on their backs in the morning light. Sirius finally slowed to a walk, dragging in air like he’d never tasted it before, and Peter collapsed onto the curb with a wheeze.

For a few moments, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing. Then Peter glanced sideways at him, face red and hair plastered to his forehead.

“Alright,” he rasped, “what’s wrong with you?”

Sirius dragged a hand through his hair, still panting, and let out a sharp bark of a laugh.
“Wrong with me? Nothing’s wrong with me. Just trying to keep you from turning into a doughball, Wormy. You should be thanking me.”

Peter wheezed, unimpressed, and lent forward on his knees. His glare flat.

“Nope. Absolutely not. You do not get to kick me awake at the ass-crack of dawn after shoving firewhiskey down my throat last night and then try to act like you’re not being tormented by something that is clearly very big and very dramatic.”

Sirius’ stomach twisted further, jaw tightening for a second before he scoffed and looked away.

“Big and dramatic? Please. That’s your department.”

Peter didn’t blink. Just stared, eyebrows raised, until the silence stretched.

Sirius held the stare for all of five seconds before groaning and throwing his head back.
“Fine! You want it? Here it is: I wake up, and what do I see? Moony draped all over some random nobody like they’re bloody—bloody star-crossed lovers in a sodding Shakespeare play.”

His voice cracked into a laugh that was more bark than humour.
“But he’d not just anyone, is he? No, it’s Cal—mister bedroll’s-optional, mister look-at-me-I’ll-keep-you-comfortable. Give me a break!”

Peter blinked at him, chest still heaving from the run. “So, you’re jealous.”

“I’m not—” Sirius started hotly, but the word caught. The implication slicing too close to that feeling he’s refusing to think about. His mouth twisted, eyes flashing. “I just don’t like it. He barely knows the bloke, and suddenly they’re all…” He waved his hands in a helpless gesture, “… tangled together like some sappy romance painting. It’s pathetic.”

Peter tilted his head, still watching him with that irritatingly perceptive look.
“Right. Not jealous at all.”

Sirius scowled and kicked at a loose stone, sending it skittering down the road.

Peter let out a long breath, still red-faced from the run, and leaned back on his hands. “Look, Pads… if it is jealousy, that’s not the end of the world. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Sirius snorted, sharp and immediate. “Please! God, Pete! Stop beating the dead horse. I’m not jealous. I’m just—” He gestured vaguely in the air, fingers twitching. “—looking out for my best mate. Someone has to. Remus deserves better than some bloke he barely knows!”

Peter watched him, lips pursed, clearly debating whether to call him out again. In the end, he just sighed and gave a small shrug. “Alright. You’re just looking out for him.”

Sirius nodded once, firmly, as if that settled it.

“But,” Peter added, softer this time, “if you ever… want to talk about it—for real, I mean—you can. With me.”

Sirius looked away, jaw working, then smirked without humour. “What would I even say, Wormtail? ‘Hi, I’m Sirius Black, and my feelings are a bloody mess’? Real riveting conversation, that.”

Peter only rolled his eyes. “You’d be surprised what I’d listen to.”

For a moment, Sirius’s shoulders eased, taking a moment to appreciate Peter’s friendship, though his mouth stayed sharp. He kicked another pebble down the road, muttering, “Yeah, well. Don’t hold your breath.”

But Peter caught the flicker in his expression—just enough to know the offer had landed.

Peter pushed himself back to his feet with a groan and dusted his palms on his shorts. “Alright then, Mister No-Jealousy, let’s get this over with before I collapse and you have to carry me home.”

Sirius huffed a laugh, relief flickering in it. “Please. You’d be lucky to have me haul your sorry arse anywhere.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Peter muttered, but there was no bite in it. He set off at a slow jog, leaving Sirius to match his pace this time.

The road stretched quiet ahead of them, their footfalls falling into rhythm once more. Sirius kept his eyes forward, hair sticking damp to his temples. Peter let the silence sit.

By the time the crooked fence posts of the Snape’s yard came into view, Sirius’s breathing had steadied again. He rolled his shoulders, straightened up, and flashed a grin that was almost convincing.

“See, Wormtail? Cardio. You’ll thank me later.”

Peter snorted, half-dead on his feet. “If I live that long.”

They slipped back through the gate, Sirius looking as untouchable as ever—except for the faint, unsettled gleam in his grey eyes that Peter didn’t miss.

 

---------

 

After breakfast, everyone gathered again in the backyard. The camping gear had been shoved to the side once more, clearing space for a tall wooden tower that loomed like a watch post. Its four walls were sheer and unwelcoming, the handholds set deliberately far apart, daring anyone to try.

Tobias clapped his hands once, the sound sharp enough to cut through the morning chatter. Eileen stood beside him, shoulders squared, dressed in an old t-shirt and leggings that made her look more warrior than mother. Together, they carried a quiet authority that silenced the group without effort.

“The tower is an intense test of teamwork and communication,” Tobias said, voice carrying across the yard. “To scale the walls, you will need to balance give and take. Each hand and foothold is set too far apart to reach alone and leaping for them is reckless — you’ll waste your strength and have nothing left to fight with at the top.”

He let the words settle, then turned to Eileen. Without hesitation, he extended a rough, calloused hand. She met his eyes — steady, unflinching — and laced her fingers through his.

“We will demonstrate,” he said simply. “Watch closely. This climb is not about power, but partnership.”

They approached the base, movements unhurried but sure. Tobias crouched low, lacing his fingers to make a stirrup. Eileen planted a foot and let him hoist her upward, her body uncoiling in one long, graceful reach. She caught the first ledge, swung her other hand to the next, then looked down. Tobias was already climbing beneath her, his frame a ladder of muscle and intent. She bent, bracing her heel against a foothold, and extended her arm. He caught it, his weight pulling hers taut, and in a single practiced motion he used her balance to propel himself higher.

They moved like gears in a well-oiled mechanism — alternating, anchoring, giving one another leverage until the climb became a rhythm. Breath short, muscles straining with effort, they pressed upward together. In seconds, they were crouched on the platform above, Tobias’s hand steadying Eileen as she pulled the last of herself over the edge.

The group below was silent, caught between awe and intimidation.

Tobias leaned over the rim. “Who’s first?”

The ground crew turned to look at each other.

Sevessa caught Jem’s eye and raised an eyebrow. It had been a screwy past few days and other than the initial explanation they hadn’t had a lot of time to talk. She knew he was still uneased by the marauders’ presence, and even more so at her newfound tolerance for them. Their relationship wasn’t so shallow that her world turning upside down would break them, but they were both fairly sensitive people, and it didn’t hurt to remind him of his place in her life.

“Jem?” She said, reaching out a hand in mimicry of her Father.

He kept their eye contact a heartbeat longer before looking down at it, and grasping it in his own, a light smirk curling on his cheek.

Jem pulled her in closer to himself, so they were standing side by side, then looked up to Tobias.

“We’ll go first.”

He nodded.

“Alright. Your goal is to get to the top in under 10 seconds, once you’ve accomplished that, it will go down to 5. I doubt any of you will achieve that today.”

Tobias moved to the grab a rope that was coiled around a series of pulleys and used it to abseil his way down the tower, before releasing it and allowing Eileen to do the same. He took hold of her waist as she neared the ground to steady her landing, squeezing her hips as an almost imperceptible show of affection.

He gestured at Jem and Sevessa to approach the tower, then spoke to the group at large.

“You’ll want to start by giving Partner A a boost so they can grab a solid hold onto the wall. Then, that person will lend their strength to Partner B on the ground allowing them to climb up next to them or higher. If done correctly, Partner B should have the momentum to swing Partner A higher as they push off the ledge, and so on, using one person’s movement to fuel the other’s.”

The others watched with rapt attention as Jem knelt to one knee, providing a platform for Sevessa to push off of.

Sevessa planted her boot in the cradle of Jem’s thigh, the warmth of his grip steady at her ankle. She pushed off hard as he shoved upward, the sudden burst of momentum sending her just high enough to snag the first ledge. Her fingers slipped on the rough grain before catching hold, splinters biting into her skin as she clung there, arms trembling with the strain.

“Got it,” she hissed through clenched teeth. She braced, pulling herself flush to the wall. Jem rose in a fluid motion beneath her, springing upward to catch the grip she left behind. She shifted, extending her arm, and their hands slapped together with enough force to sting. He swung on her pull, the motion jerking her shoulders but dragging him up into position beside her.

They were significantly less graceful than her parents. Their weight pulled against each other, rocking them dangerously with every move. But that swing — that back-and-forth — carried them higher than raw strength ever could. Jem bent low, bracing himself like a coiled spring, then boosted Sevessa upward with a grunt. She shot up, fingertips just brushing the next hold, and had to kick hard off the wall to reach it. For a breath she dangled there, boots scrabbling against the wood, before finding a purchase.

“Plant your foot!” Tobias barked from below. “Don’t dangle like a ragdoll!”

She anchored herself and immediately crouched down. Jem held strong, and instead of jumping straight up, he swung — letting her weight drag him sideways before she hauled him back, the pendulum motion vaulting him to the next ledge. The wall itself seemed to shudder with their rhythm.

Halfway up, Sevessa lost her footing entirely, boot slipping clean off the narrow groove.

“Shit!”

Her body lurched, dangling only from Jem’s locked grip on her wrist.

A sharp gasp came from somewhere beneath them.

“Don’t let go!” Lily’s voice rang, panicked.  

He swore under his breath, bracing with everything he had until she could claw her way back into place. Their foreheads nearly knocked together when she steadied, and for a heartbeat they both laughed — sharp, breathless, desperate — before surging upward again.

By the time they reached the top, their movements were less climbing than flinging. Jem grasped her hand for one last push, launching her upward with every ounce of strength left in him. She caught the rim, elbows screaming as she pulled herself over. Then she leaned back, arms outstretched, and Jem took them without hesitation. He swung up on her pull, feet kicking at empty air, before tumbling onto the platform beside her.

They lay there, side by side, lungs heaving, sweat stinging their eyes, hands scraped raw. Below, Tobias’s approving nod was curt, businesslike, but Eileen’s mouth twitched into the smallest flicker of a smile.

The yard below hummed with gasps, mutters, curses under breath — a nervous chorus. The climb suddenly more daunting now that they’d seen what it truly demanded.

Notes:

Ahhhhh! Eileen and Tobias! My favourite rare pair!! I hope everyone else is enjoying the rekindling of their relationship as much as I am. I know we didn't see a lot of tension from them in this chapter but in my opinion that makes sense for their characters. This training ground is where they are comfortable together, they know what they are to each other. It's in the softer areas of their relationship that are going to take more time.

Some jealousy from Sirius there in the beginning, and Remus my darling, you absolutely deserve to be worshipped. I'm honestly getting kind of attached to Cal/Remus, idk how I'm going to end it, cause obviously WolfStar is endgame. I'm starting to think I might have to do something drastic to get him out of the picture, lmk if that would make or break the story for you. Personally, I have a love/hate relationship with character deaths. I adore when a story is so good it makes me cry, but also: noooooooo :'''( my baby!!

Jem and Sevessa getting a chance to work together in this chapter, I feel like their relationship deserves more 'screen' time. I also think the James/Sevessa thing is moving a bit fast, like I'm pushing it too hard. If I do go back and edit that's something I'll change, but I'd love to know how it reads to you guys! Do you think it's too fast?

Anyway, clearly I'm feeling very talkative today. I hope it connects you to the story more! I always love reading author's notes, so I hope some of you guys do too!

As always, I really appreciate comments and would love to hear your thoughts!!

Love you all, see you next week! Byeee :)

Notes:

Hi! This is my first fic, I really hope you enjoy it! I'd love feedback!